Strange times.

I tell you, like flies to shit.

I received an email from a past ex at the same time the Old Panty Stalker calls my cell phone.

I mean the exact same time.

My work email makes the beep-boop sound right as the phone is ringing. Its funny. Everything is just funny. How do these niggas sense that I'm on my own? Or more specifically, that I just cut someone loose? Its like they have some kind of supersonic signal, or tracking device attached to me.

The email was from this dude I used to mess with back in, uhhh, I guess '03? I'm not sure anymore. This dude here. Oh man. Ours is a thick past, one not really worth recounting here. Basically I'm just too lazy and cramped up to type it out. We didn't part amiably, I was pissed at him. Things were fucked up and it was both our faults; moreso his than mine... communication had broken down. Where I acknowledged my part in the breakdown and tried my damndest to fix it, he did the exact opposite. He played the victim, acted like he did nothing wrong. Treated me like shit warmed over for a cool minute until I got sick of his ass and gave him the official Fuck You.

And now, he hits me up. Outta nowhere.

That says that he's bored, he just broke up with someone, and he's remembering the sex. Bottom line. Niggas always come back. ALWAYS. I haven't left a man YET that hasn't made that u-turn at some point. I'm really sitting here trying to remember if any man has left me and stayed gone... and I'm drawing a blank. I usually end up going bizerk immediately followed by going into hiding, changing numbers, etc to get away. Finally they get the hint and roll on.

Dude is no different.

He wants to "see me" this weekend. He actually had the audacity to ask me if I'd stay the night with him over the weekend. WTF? Nigga we ain't together! We didn't even really make up. We're just now on speaking terms with one another, and thats because I just said, "fuck it" once I realized he'd joined the ranks of the Permanent Stalkalistics.

I swear. Shit just gets more and more hilarious as the day goes by.

CA is still bellyaching throughout the city. Big Sis told me he's still at it. He hasn't emailed me again, because he hasn't whined about my blocking his address... but he will. He is a punk bitch and he doesn't want to be ignored. Fuckin drama queen. Give me a break. I don't even care. If he ever calls me, I'll probably just tell him what I told him initially. I ain't pregnant. Only this time I'll add, "so go away and forget I'm alive, you sad, small dick having, whining bitch of a drama queen ass-fuck."

Think thats got enough stank on it?

I'm not even mad enough to really toss it out with all the venom it demands, but dammit, I'mma conjure up some venom from somewhere. He ain't gettin off that easy if he actually steps to me.

But he won't, 'cause he's a bitch.

And so, I chill. With my cramps, and my baby-less uterus. Ugh. I feel like shit. What a wonderful feeling. I'm out.