I’m in a rotten fucking mood. I’ve been in a rotten fucking mood.
I give up. Officially. I give up on men. I’m revoking all access to men interested in my vagina.
I try, you know. I stopped looking for fuckboys or assholes I could maybe “fix.” I started giving opportunities to regular ass guys, but all-in-all they fuck up just as hard.
I’ve had a man cancel on me because he was too depressed to keep our date, but still texted me at 6pm cause he changed his mind and asked if I was still down.
Uh. Nah, bruh. You just told me you were depressed and poor company—way to sell yourself.
I’ve been viewed as ideal potential Filipino/Asian GF material. It’s weird as fuck being fetishized by white men. They tell you stories and its obvious they’re trying to make you their Filipina princess no. 4. Personally I’ve never experienced cultural appropriation until a white dude tried to flex with his “sinigang making skills” or ask me if I’ve ever had balut.
No. You can’t do that. You can’t try to take my own culture and hold it over my head as if you’re an expert. I won’t allow it.
I set up a second date with a man who never cashed in, even when I already made it clear I would foot the bill. It was supposed to be breakfast, I was to bring him a donut as an appetizer, we had it all figured out. He never cared to text, until it was weeks later and he hit me up at 2am trying to ruse a conversation out of me.
Needless to say I was heated as fuck when I woke up unnecessarily at 2am by a man who went ghost yet conveniently found an opportunity to contact me when he was drunk. Also, I don’t need to remind everyone that I am an insomniac and quality sleep is precious to me.
Even when I mind my own business men come out of the woodwork and stir the pot, with conversations they don’t realize are completely disrespectful.
Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. And FUCK YOU.
My legs and heart are closed. Access revoked.
On the other end of the spectrum I’d like to thank my boys, my platonic loves, who even in the smallest ways let me know I am cared for, who remind me I deserve someone who understands what the fuck they’re getting.
I’d like to especially thank the person (who I assume is a man) who anonymously sends me flowers on Valentine’s for the past 2 years. Who, despite getting any type of formal “thank you” or acknowledgement, is willing to drop $60 on a beautiful bouquet without knowing if I even receive them. The gesture always leaves my female coworkers dumbfounded. As much as the romantic sector of my life perpetually SUCKS BALLS somehow I’m managed to be reminded that I am loved… throughout all the shit I’m dragged through.
I don’t understand why I am such a magnet for shitty, unavailable, rude, and lazy men—but that era has ended. They can continue sleeping on me, meanwhile I’ll continue with my life and all my goals. Fortunately I don’t need a man for a child, just good ol’ sperm.
For the record, I still believe in love. However I figure maybe I’ll be 47 or something when it comes around again, with a good man who is secure with what he wants and is too fucking old to be acting a fool.
Until then… I’m not allowing the opposite sex to ruin my mood any longer. They don’t pay enough personal tax for that.
Nice for what?
No. Fucking. Good. Reason.
BYE.