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You Just Can’t Be Nice To Some People.

August 23, 2011

Because if you show a little kindness, they fucking move in on you.  Seriously.  I have an acquaintance who is going through a rough time.  So the last time I saw her, I told her I empathized and was sure everything would work out for the best.  She took that opportunity to ask for my cell number.  Hey, I’m not made of stone, people.  I gave it to her.  And now it is on like donkey kong.

This weekend alone, she called and/or texted me approximately 8,000 times. Don’t roll your eyes at me, I said it was an approximation. I have been crystal clear that we are only acquaintances at best and if she needs a drinking buddy, confidante or even a quick cuddle, she should buy a fucking poodle because I am not the girl.

Look, I like to think I’m a good friend. I would listen to my friends’ problems, refill their wineglass and maybe even throw in a foot rub. OK, not a foot rub. But this chick is NOT my friend. I only know her because I used to work with her sister. That’s it. And worse, she is 105 pounds of needy in a Coldwater Creek dress. I’m getting increasingly annoyed and our phone conversations are starting to sound like this:

Her:  Kitten, you are my only friend. What more can go wrong? My life is terrible. I think I want to die.

Me:    Who is this?

Her:   The only good thing in my life is my child, who is an angel. Did I tell you about her excellent grades and all the charity work she does?

Me:    Yes, like times infinity. Look, I gotta bounce because my daughter just stabbed the dog. Again.

Her:   I feel so connected to you. You are so spiritual. We should go to church together.

Me:    I don’t go to church. It’s no fun for me, being an atheist and all. Like seriously, stop asking me.

Her:   Would you like to have dinner?

Me:    OK, listen. We are not friends. This will not work for many reasons, but mainly because I am a vampire and you are a muggle and it’s just not gonna happen, ok? So stop fucking calling me all the damn time.

Her:   Well, we can do something you like to do.

Me:     I vamp alone.

Her:   I feel like I can tell you anything.

Me:    Great, now my daughter just fell down the stairs and busted her head wide open due to my negligent parenting because I AM LISTENING TO YOUR SHIT 24/7. I have to go to the emergency room now, goodbye forever.

Her:   Do you think I should start dating again?

Me:    Hey, Play Misty For Me! I think you need a good fuck, a fat joint and maybe a syringe full of morphine because you are as crazy as a shithouse rat.

Her:   OK, I’ll call you tomorrow then. But of course I will text you like 100 times in the middle of the night because that’s how I roll.

What can I do? I briefly considered telling her she had turned me gay and I was having impure thoughts, but at this point, I think she would just start picking out china for us.

I am ten kinds of pissed off and this has totally ruined my day.  Nothing will cheer me up now.   Nothing.

Oh hi, Reni!  Don’t you look gorgeous?  You are easily the best Pretend Boyfriend I ever had.  And the most talented.  And hottest.

What was I talking about?

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