Stop Me Before I Strike Again
I have pictures of my cat on my phone.

It's not right. At thirty-two, I should not have pictures of my cat on my phone. I should not be hanging around at bars on Saturday night without dates STILL. I've been doing since I was in college, as an undergraduate. The same thing I do now. Wait until after midnight, get dressed up, and go to a bar where I am comfortable or familiar enough with the bouncer/bartender to be OK as a Woman Alone.

And the first person to tell me I have to be OK with being alone, I swear to G-d, a mack upside the head for you. Because I've been going to bars alone for a DECADE now. I've been going out to dinner alone SINCE I WAS IN HIGH SCHOOL. Let me repeat that, not dining alone, but taking myself out to dinner. I've gone to France alone. I've been living alone for six fucking years. I can't tell you how OK with being alone I've been.

Enough. I've had it.

Welcome to the Saturation Point.

Oh and incidentally, that person who hit on a friend of mine by talking about how depressed I was in front of me. Well, now they are in love. And I have to find this out from some anonymous twit in a bar who sidled up to me and said, "Well I hear B--- is in love and you're the one responsible."

So although I am the Cure for Romantic Love, I can apparently find nice work as a cupid. Christ what is it about me? I can seduce anybody. Popes if given a chance I'm sure (but seriously ewwwwww). But love. Nope that's not gonna happen in this life apparently.

And it only gets worse.

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