The Company I Kept

Everyone knows the phrase, "You're as good as the company you keep". Well what the hell does that mean? I feet like I kept good company with Andrew- oh, take a seat Bloggie, this is good: ANDREW DUMPED ME LAST NIGHT BECAUSE HE THINKS I'M FRIGID. Yes, you can re-read that if you want. He doesn't get that my friends made me sign the no-sex contract so I could learn a lesson, and originally he said it was okay but again, as usual, men think with their dicks. It all goes back to evolution. And you know, even if I had sex with him he probably still would have slept with that stupid bartender, Staycey and then said, "I can't handle a relationship" blah blah. But it doesn't change the fact that for one second, I thought he was different. Please ignore any past blog entries about how he is a good guy. Change the words "fun" and "understanding" to "vile" or "limpdick". Maybe I'll do an auto-word-replace after I post this.

So who's company do I keep? The girls continue to be a constant source of support/endless drama in my life. First of all, I am writing this from a laptop in Starbuck's because the apartment Sophie and I are subletting has smoke and water damage from a fire next door and I am relegated to Jean's couch for a week. Sophie had her surgery so she needs attention from Bonnie and I couldn't deal with staying with Bonnie because she'll just give me chores to do centering around Sophie, and I just feel like being alone right now. Andrew had the balls to show up to that industry party last night and we barely spoke. And frigid? Isn't that a 14th century phrase invented by men who could never make a girl have an orgasm? If a person in Japan can design and mass produce a vibrator that places jelly "rabbit ears" at the exact location of the clitoris every time, there is no reason anyone can't get it. Big ups to the Rabbit Habit, BTW.

I think what makes me the saddest is that the dog I was inadvertently given, Martini, is not with us. No, he's not dead, he's on a five acre estate in Connecticut with guess who- Jon Stewart. Oh yeah, did I mention that I brought Martini to the party (he had nowhere to go after the fire) and Jon Stewart fell in love with my dog? I know I can't have a dog anyway so Iet him take it. I mean, it's Jon Stewart; he could have my first born child if he asked nicely while wearing that hot suit with an underscore of Daily Show music.

Which brings me again to Andrew. We work together. Awkward. Maybe I'll ask to be reassigned to another cubicle. I thought that by phasing out my bar work there'd be less "office drama". Guess what- everywhere you go, relationships mess everything up. Screw him. He has no idea how not frigid I am. I think the girls are giving me some leeway in the contract now. There must be an addendum for "heart broken pity sex". Last night someone at the party said to me, "You have every right to sleep with whomever you want to right now". Then again I think he was just trying to get me in bed. Men are good at smelling out windows of opportunity. The question is, do I even want to anymore? I'll just screw everything up. No, wait, Andrew is the one that screwed everything up. F@#k that; I am as good as the company I keep and he doesn't deserve my company.

I miss Martini.