This Can’t Be A Good Sign

It’s 4:21 pm and I just poured myself a glass of chardonnay.

Scott is picking me up in two hours, and really, I am not looking forward to it. It’s like the longer this goes on, the surer I am that he’s going to tell me how fabulous I am but he just doesn’t like me “that way.”

Why do I keep hearing Mark’s words — “You’re everything I should be attracted to, but I’m not” — in my head?

That ass was so f-ed up, very little that he said was valid. Well, except for the hours-worth of shit he said about himself, I’m sure. And I don’t even think he was trying to hurt me when he said that — I think he was trying to explain to me and to himself his feelings for me or lack thereof.

Ugh.

I am going to drink my glass — maybe two, I’m not driving — and hope the delightful Robert Mondalvi chardonnay (which I don’t even know why I have; I usually buy the $6 stuff at Costco lol) and my beloved Matthew Good (today’s listening: “In a Coma: 1995-2005″) quiet the not-so-delightful voices in my head.