I Used to Date A Stapler...

I'd like to give a shout out to FIN for making me feel like I matter. Thank you, hun. But as I said, when more than four people share that sentiment I might start to believe it.

So I went to get my haircut today, which is one of my favorite things ever. There's just nothing like having a stranger massage conditioner into your hair and then blatantly flirt with you. It's flattering, but, seriously. Today, the girl I got, totally wanted my cock (Who could blame her? It is pretty nice.). In any case, as much as it makes me feel all giddy inside, it also gives me a nervous feeling. The Oh-shit,-this-bitch-is-going-to-fuck-up-my-hair-because-she-can't-think-about-anything-but-making-love-to-me kind of feeling. But she seemed super sweet so I thought maybe she could tell that I preferred to bat for the other time. I mean, "Not many guys use conditioner," as she so aptly put it. So if she figured I was a 'Mo, I reasoned that she would hook me up with a sweet do.

But no. No, no. She definitely wanted me to journey down her tunnel o' love. I walked out of there completely content and feeling irresistible delicious like I always do after I get my hurr did. Then I got in my car and looked in the mirror. All I can say is that the mirrors in the shop, which shall remain nameless to protect all the innocent hair stylists across the nation, must have been manufactured by the same people that make the mirrors that go in fun houses. She didn't buzz my hair evenly, and I had longer patches on the side near my left temple and in the back. The front was too long...it was just not fly. She did give me $3.00 off of a pomade, though. So technically, I only gave her a $1.00 tip. Right? I hate math.

Another thing I did earlier was text my ex boyfriend, "T." After a drunken night about two and a half months ago, in which I proclaimed my undying love for him via text message (It happens a lot; you'd be surprised.) we started talking again. I hadn't heard from him in awhile so I texted him and we've been going back and forth all day updating each other on our lives. I have a strict policy: When people whose opinions matter to you, and who you want to impress, ask you what you've been up to? You lie. So when questioned, as opposed to saying "Oh, I've been great. Most days I play Grand Theft Auto for at least four hours before I read for another eight and then pass out by ten 'o clock" I opted for "I'm redecorating my whole house!" I did, however, let an "and trying not to lose my mind..." slip out at the end.

At about this time I started to get my shit ready to dye my hair again, since Slutty McIwantyourdick cut all my color out. I glanced back at my phone and saw that I had a missed call, which I didn't hear because it was on vibrate (and wouldn't have answered anyway). And who should happen to call but my ex, T.? Silently praying that he would leave a voicemail I went back to the business at hand and finished my hair. When I got back there was indeed a voicemail. This is it, I thought to myself. This is him calling me and telling me to stay strong, to not give up. That he misses me desperately and that I have to believe in our love to get through the days ahead until we are again reunited! Preparing to hear his voice again for the first time in almost two years, I lit a cigarette, dialed my voicemail, and entered my password, my heart thumping in my chest.

And then I heard it.

It sounded like the phone was shuffling in between people, possibly being thrown out the window of a moving car. Oh, bless him! He got so nervous he dropped the phone! I knew I loved still loved him for a reason! I patiently waited for him to regain control. And then I heard a voice. The voice of a woman. From far away. Very far away. More shuffling. Barely audible voice. Even more shuffling. And then...stapling? A pitching machine? Silence...more stapling...