So much for my happy ending.

Well, since I missed a day (almost two), that means, I get to share especially vicious complaints today. Here it comes:

Boris- Lacked phone etiquette. Really. Ok, first of all, he had this job over the summer at his father's place of work. He got a short lunch break, and for some reason felt he must call me everyday during it. Of course, whie he did this, he usually, no, ALWAYS was eating. Let me just say, that eating on the phone is gross. I do not want to hear chewing noises amplified into my ear, thank you. It didn't stop there though. He called way too often. If I didn't for whatever reason, answer my phone, he would call my best friend's phone. If she didn't answer, he would call her mother, and ask where we were. Ok, I don't know what you do in Romania, but in the US, we leave voicemails. Then, he went out of the country for two and a half months. During this time, I heard fromhim for a grand total of 5 minutes, spread over two phone calls...um...what happened to the calling, buddy? Find something easier over seas? If I had been the person then that I am now, I would have taken a side order during this time, but I was way too loyal to do anything like that then. Needless to say, the relationship died fast after his two and a half month disappearance.

Fruit Fly- Is completely self-unaware ( I think I made that term up). What I mean is this: most of us have a good sense of who we are. We know what our strengths are, and we know what our weaknesses are. This guy had no ricking clue. First of all, he thought he was straight, when he was clearly not. This didn't bother me though, I mean, a gay boyfriend is fun to shop with. What did was the fact that he thought he was the world's greatest musician, destined for rock-star status. The truth of the matter was: he played a few cords on his bass guitar. He couldn't sing for crap, but he thought he could. He didn't really know how to play a single instrument, and he knew nothing about music, other than the bad punk he illegally downloaded off the internet. He often got on these kicks about how I don't understand him, because I am not a musicain. Once, this finally got to me, and I asked him if he could read music, and suggested giving him a sight-reading test to find out. He declined this offer, and admitted that he cannot read music. Then, I asked him if he played anything other than a few cords on the bass. His answer: no. So, I told him to get off his damn "I'm a musicain" kick, because I am not buying it, and I am sick of hearing it. Then, there was the whole art thing. Look, the guy took photos, warped them on paintshop, then traced them on a canvas. This is such crap. I cannot accept this as artistic talent. Sorry.

Shrek- I used to do this guy's laundry. The first time I ever did, I was horrified when I saw his boxers. They had skid marks. I tried not to let it get to me, but it did. This is so gross. I knew then, that I could never marry this guy. I mean, imagine the honeymoon. What if his butt leaked all over the white sheets of the resort which we were at. Not only could I not have sex with this guy because a) he is nasty and b) the sheets would be icky, but I would also be mortified when housekeeping came to change the sheets. Surely they'd be thinking that he was putting it somewhere that I would never let anyone put it.

Well, those are the worst stories I will publish for awhile. I feel bad having said all this mean stuff. Well, not bad enough to push the "Publish Post" button...hehehehehhehehee...SCREW YOU, EXES!