This British Chick (Part II)

Being single is usually amazing but every so often you step on a landmine. We were out on Saturday night and, oh man, it backfired. I gave her some MD and she got too high to talk to me. She ran around grabbing other dudes. She went home with an Irish kid. I hung on the periphery to see if my fortunes would change but when she started giving him an unrequested scalp massage and I knew my defeat was confirmed. This motherfucker was benefiting off my drugs, god damn it. I wonder how many times some other dude’s drugs have worked in my favor without me knowing it? Probably most of the time.

So she’s gone and it is too bad. I thought we were going to have a little story here but I was overdue for a little karmic backhand. I’m sad. But at least I have to work all the time these days. My head is, thankfully, full of mundane administrative checklists. I’m mercifully distracted. Although now I work so much that I have nothing to talk about except work. I don’t have time to do anything interesting. This is late-stage capitalism we’re dealing with here folks; merely gaining an inch or two of financial traction requires a nonstop, full-tilt sprint. Today it’s July 4th and I have to work all day. The stupid YouTube gig. You know, I think I’m the only person who ever has to go to work. I hear peals of laughter floating over the rooftops. Some EDM music too. I think everyone in the world is at a pool party right now, except for me.

Overall I am on the right track though. Everyone is 30 now, so my two best friends are engaged. In 2018 I get to be the mysterious Best Man, The Bachelor with that funny toast, which is always what I’ve wanted to be. I haven’t wanted to be the groom for a long time.

***

Well. Can’t wait for the weekend again. 52 weekends a year equals 104 nights out a year. Still not enough, nowhere close to enough. You always have to go out. If the previous weekend was all magic, then you want to repeat it. And if the last weekend was horrible, then you want to go out to avenge your misfortune. Man. Rosie, I really wish you hadn’t done that.

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