Cynical Bitch for the Evening.

You said you would call. I chuckled, because from experience, I know it's not true. You did not call, nor would you. That's just how it is. At 31, nearly 32, I am very sure of one fact, and one fact alone: he will never call. And if he does manage to call, it's only for one night, and one night only, and therein is the rub - more ways than one, but the basic point still stands.

No one ever makes time for a bar slut. Of that I do know. It's annoying, in a way, to know that you embody a movie trope, and it will get you laid, but you have be around willing people who want to be laid, who like you as well. Or ply them with beer.

No one will ever truly like you enough to date you; you're just a thing to them, a notch on the bedpost, and in a way, that's comforting to a girl like me, who is terrified of commitment, who hates the word "love", and doesn't really want to be in a relationship. Last time I was in relationships, I got kicked one time, sexually assaulted another, so I'm not fond of the concept. But it's hard, growing up in this society, where you learn that that is want you want, that's what your parents want for you, but it's not necessarily what you want, but you have to humor the old folks. The bitch of it is, they're in nursing homes, not even aware of any of that, and if they are, they don't care one way or another.

I'm always fighting that part of myself that hangs onto my mother, to tell me that I want a husband and children, and the other part, that wants to have a companion and foster kids over 5 years old. I don't want to be pregnant; I'm not willing to have someone's kids. Unless they're forlorn and forgotten; I can sympathize with children who've lost parents to drugs or illness...that is what made Kat awesome. "Oh, you're my new mommy," she said, and of course, I was like, "Hell, no", but in a way I was. Den Mother, or more aptly, I felt better dealing with teens than with toddlers. I don't want to be pregnant, nor do I want children of my own. But the draw is so great - once you get past those years, they grow up so fast. At least, that's what's been promised to me, but I don't see it.

So I call tomorrow - the Texan (a different one!) and the young guy and leave voice mails. Either way, it doesn't matter to me. Call me or not, I know what's going to happen. I'm not naive nor stupid - no one will call me back, which makes the guy in Chicago win with actually continuing to talk to me or text me, though two hours away, and has a hectic schedule. It is worth it.

If guys only knew how simple it was, they wouldn't be such fucking chickens, right? Y'all assholes only have yourself to blame...

updated to reflect clarity, seeing as how I'd had a few drinks with the rosemary rum...it truly is a thing of beauty