...confirmed that I'm a Fucking Idiot. So I called old boy this morning to see if he could take me to Best Buy (I needed to pick up an ink cartridge...and the drama that ensued b/c I didn't have one is another story.). He agrees.
So when I'm in the car, I ask him who he was writing too in his "manifesto." He says:
"No one. Just free thought writing."
So, after a little prodding he says:
"I wasn't writing to anyone. That's just how I write. I have to think that I'm writing to someone...."
So then I ask:
"Why did you write that and let people read it?"
And he says:
"Well people are always asking...so..."
By "people" I guess he means the women whose hearts he routinely breaks.
So then I replied:
"I copy edited it for you."
Hell what else was I going to say?
Well my suspicions were confirmed. The letter was written to a generic woman. It could have been anyone of us that he's screwed over. So I'm a fucking, pathetic, idiot. As Tony The Tiger would say: That's GRRRRRRRRRRRRR-EAT
On a side note he (allegedly) bought me a Barnes and Noble book card.
On a double side note, Boy did his ass look GOOD! Hot Damn. He had on this white shirt, with colorful stripes, with his collar open and his bare chest showing, these nice jeans and leather sandals (yes a man who realizes that socks and sandals DO NOT go together). He really did look hot.