Harrison

I swear to you I can't win. I had the longest day on Saturday. A little over 14 hours worth of work, 1000 people, too much Tri Tip, not enough chicken, and a bunch of drunk groomsmen later I made it to meet my friends for a much needed beer. Guess who was working at a certain bar, a certain boy that I hoped had really died as I imagined in my head. Let's call him Harrison, if you can figure that one out please enlighten me. So Harrison and I engage in some brief banter at the door before I ever so slyly made it into the bar. I took a business call outside and had to engage in another mini convo in which I broke it down for him, he's a dick, my phone died, he can't work his, I don't care, and blah blah blah. Then he comes into the bar and stands by our table. Hello obvious, and starts texting me. I'm so sorry, I'm an idiot. I give him shit for awhile and my phone dies. Don't fall for it. Harrison like every other boy will say whatever he needs to so he can sleep at night. They never mean it. It's the alcohol or the pressure of running into you or the guilt. Yet, you are still at home wondering if and when he's gonna call and what his last text meant. Although, now I know what it means. He's just not that in to me.

And another one bites the dust.

I can't even bare the thought of writing a bridal tip right now.