Curse of the fat fingers
Friday, January 19, 2007
I swear to God, if you've already dialed the wrong number THREE TIMES, step AWAY from the phone and check that the number you're dialing is right... or that your pudgy fingers didn't hit the wrong number as you stupidly fumbled with the keypad in rage.
No, don't wait 15 minutes only to dial THE SAME NUMBER because that person won't be there!
AND stop bellowing and breathing into the phone like a gorilla.
Looking for someone who doesn't jolly well live in this household and screaming "HARLO? POR POR AH?" every fucking time through the mouthpiece doesn't help matters ESPECIALLY when you've dialed the wrong number (mind you, a couple of times already) and the person on the other end happens to be me.
Learn to dial, you cunt.
I am high strung and angsty, more so than usual this weekend because my weekend plans were ruined -_- That an the foreboding probability of having another awkward meeting with a friend.
I mean... well.
I really just want to be friends? O.o
But then again, it's a slight tragedy when you encounter try hards who aren't even the slightest bit charming. I mean the ones who really, REALLY try...
...even though there isn't an inkling of hope despite the shameless hints mercilessly and painfully regurgitated. Especially the ones who make conversations a chore; the back-breaking type.
Now, I don't think of myself as someone who's terribly hard to get along with. I have a shitton of bullshit to talk about and generally, finding common ground isn't that hard (population of normal distribution, best buds with Pareto and then some, thanks).
Look, do you really want to go hang out with someone you can't converse with (unless you're looking for a fuck buddy, then ignore this paragraph)? Or feel like you're struggling for dear life hanging onto a perpetual rubber float too small for both your asses just trying to keep the conversation going? And I'm not even speaking in a different language -_- It's not a conversation, really. It's a monologue.
Not to mention when their compliments backfire and really make it seem like their buttering needs a *little* polishing. It's not smooth and basically the epitome of spreading half churned butter onto toast with a fork.
I'm sorry; I do believe there is a certain amount of sexiness to a man who has the swagger, charm and sensuality to decently converse both in and out of the bedroom.
Sometimes the frequency is just... wrong -_-
And for fuck's sake, stop bleeding calling and flush the damn phone down the toilet bowl already.
I swear to God, if you've already dialed the wrong number THREE TIMES, step AWAY from the phone and check that the number you're dialing is right... or that your pudgy fingers didn't hit the wrong number as you stupidly fumbled with the keypad in rage.
No, don't wait 15 minutes only to dial THE SAME NUMBER because that person won't be there!
AND stop bellowing and breathing into the phone like a gorilla.
Looking for someone who doesn't jolly well live in this household and screaming "HARLO? POR POR AH?" every fucking time through the mouthpiece doesn't help matters ESPECIALLY when you've dialed the wrong number (mind you, a couple of times already) and the person on the other end happens to be me.
Learn to dial, you cunt.
I am high strung and angsty, more so than usual this weekend because my weekend plans were ruined -_- That an the foreboding probability of having another awkward meeting with a friend.
I mean... well.
I really just want to be friends? O.o
But then again, it's a slight tragedy when you encounter try hards who aren't even the slightest bit charming. I mean the ones who really, REALLY try...
...even though there isn't an inkling of hope despite the shameless hints mercilessly and painfully regurgitated. Especially the ones who make conversations a chore; the back-breaking type.
Now, I don't think of myself as someone who's terribly hard to get along with. I have a shitton of bullshit to talk about and generally, finding common ground isn't that hard (population of normal distribution, best buds with Pareto and then some, thanks).
Look, do you really want to go hang out with someone you can't converse with (unless you're looking for a fuck buddy, then ignore this paragraph)? Or feel like you're struggling for dear life hanging onto a perpetual rubber float too small for both your asses just trying to keep the conversation going? And I'm not even speaking in a different language -_- It's not a conversation, really. It's a monologue.
Not to mention when their compliments backfire and really make it seem like their buttering needs a *little* polishing. It's not smooth and basically the epitome of spreading half churned butter onto toast with a fork.
I'm sorry; I do believe there is a certain amount of sexiness to a man who has the swagger, charm and sensuality to decently converse both in and out of the bedroom.
Sometimes the frequency is just... wrong -_-
And for fuck's sake, stop bleeding calling and flush the damn phone down the toilet bowl already.
Labels: rant
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previously on nekomatta.com
timeless bitchings
nekomatta is...
Sean Sean Tan;
sarcastic wordsmith, dirty in oh-so-many ways, fun-loving IE-hating CSS worshiping markup "engineer", anime-styled arm flailing expressive communicator, proudly self-initiated member of the cult of milk and caffeine, snotty pink crayon lover, tree hugging hippy organic designer, pole dancer wannabe, swing-a-ling lindy hopper, rabid arcane mage/bitchin' disc priest/annoying resto druid--sometimes spazzy, often giggly, always loud.
20% sugar, 80% kink.
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