Next you're going to tell me you drive a BMW

I've been in a baaaaaad mood the last couple of days. I, personally, attribute it to PMS. But if you are a man and you value your reproductive organs, you better not even SUGGEST that is why I'm cranky. Seriously, don't even start a word with p. For your own safety and the safety of innocent pedestrians, you don't have to pee, you aren't a member of the PTA, you aren't concerned about the PLO, and you SURE as HELL aren't going to PA.

I went out last night with high hopes, but it SUCKED with a capital F. There has always been a surplus of ugly menfolk in this town, but it seems to be a recent development that they are all FOLLOWING ME AROUND. Two different bars last night, not a hottie to be seen. And these girls that I was hanging out with, oy. Nice in a mildly superficial, slightly snarky way, but ultimately totally unconcerned with me or my welfare, wellbeing, or fun quotient. I miss my girls thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiisssss much. Actually, more.

Icing on the shitty-night cake, the only guy, UGLY OR OTHERWISE, who hit on me was approximately 4 foot 7 inches tall, had a mustache (ew), and thought he'd get in my pants by telling me "There's so many ugly chicks in here, I was stoked to finally see one like you come in." THAT'S RIGHT. He hit on me by telling me I was NOT AS UGLY as everyone else.

And I am such a right raging bitch I said, "Yeah, there's a hell of a lot of ugly guys here too." END. OF. SENTENCE.