Your ex isn’t even supposed to know you smoke when you’re drunk and you bum cigarettes from well meaning gentlemen who are about to witness a terribly painful interaction and have their OWN story. He luuuurbs the boobies, and he lives around here.”Īnd THAT, my dears, is when it happens. And what do you say upon entering the strip club, to seal your fate? The boobs purveyed to you, however, are not of a proper caliber (just because you personally live in a hovel doesn’t mean you don’t want to see the palace at Versailles when you visit Paris, if you know what I mean), so you get bored, go outside, bum a cigarette from someone because by now you’ve had six drinks to forget the horror of how you look. The birthday boy is bored with listening to Blackstreet because we all got pretty bored with listening to Blackstreet by 1999, and wants to go do what every red blooded American grown up wants to do. You look kind of like what a hooker looks like if a 17 year old screenplay writer had written the part of “hooker” into a script after watching 400 hours of 80s movies (I know this is too many decades to keep track of).ĭo you run into your ex at the 90s themed bar dance party after four Moscow Mules that you downed in quick succession so you could try to dance (you can’t) because your friends WON’T STOP ASKING? NO. You will literally walk into a crowded bar with a miracle push up bra and a sparkly mini dress that you stuffed yourself into like a sausage in a defective casing, complete with Snooki hair bump because Ginger Spice was apparently a seer and wore that hair HIGH. ANOTHER friend can get you to dress up as Ginger Spice because NINETIES DANCE PARTY DUH and you make the Spice Girl entourage complete. You can go out to celebrate a birthday party with your friend at an all 90s themed night at a local bar. How, might you ask? WHAT COULD POSSIBLY BE WORSE!? There are worse ways to run into your ex.
Cloudplay tumblr full#
It happens when you are having a period break out and you’re at the grocery store to get three things you forgot from your real grocery store trip (which was totally normal and sane), and you have this basket with eggs, white wine, and box of tampons and you skipped a shower because “oh who cares that it’s been three days and my hair sticks up like Cameron Diaz in ‘There’s Something About Mary’? It’s just the grocery store.” And your ex is there with a cart full of craft beer and kale and no he did not see you just stand and debate whether buying an entire tube of salami was a good idea (because you’d probably eat it in 15 minutes) for what seemed longer than reading a Harry Potter book. And the sickest part about this social idea is that we are supposed to still think this no matter how happy we are in our current relationship (and let me tell you, I found gold in them thar hills in this department).īut it never actually happens like that. So anyway, we all grow up with our failed relationships, thinking we will run into our ex and hoping it is when our ex is fat and sad and our asses look good enough to wear those yoga pants with words across the butt and like - ACTUALLY look good in them. We are to run into our ex and hair flip and say, “YEAH I’M A DOCTOR NOW AND MEGAN FOX PROPOSITIONED ME THIS ONE TIME, BUT I TURNED HER DOWN BECAUSE I HAVE STANDARDS.” (You don’t). YOU ARE AMAZING AND I WAS SCUM TO LET YOU GO! YOU ARE PERFECT I SUCK, PLEASE DON’T EVER CONSIDER ANY PERSONAL GROWTH FROM OUR RELATIONSHIP, IT WAS ALL MEEEEE!”īesides being totally untrue (unlike everything else in movies, because it’s 2013 and Marty McFly promised me a hoverboard), that’s what the movies have told us we are supposed to achieve. It couldn’t possibly be that the combination of our two personal dysfunctions could not healthfully coexist. This is all ultimately to teach the ex a lesson, like, “Well geewhizz you are the best thing since sliced bread. It’s supposed to be exactly like First Wives’ Club, where Goldie Hawn loses 30 pounds and takes all of his money and rises to stardom while the husband eats cold pasta because his too young for him wife can’t cook and then he gets an ulcer and has that gross thing where the stomach fat hangs over his belt like like a sad Panda.
I am divorced, so with that comes some sort of weird socialized thing to A, hate your ex, and B, believe that anytime you see your ex, you’re supposed to be doing better than your ex.
0 kommentar(er)
