musical shame

exhibit A:
as soon as I said yes, I immediately regretted it. oh well... but, you know what I think I like him. oh, I say that about everybody I guess...

exhibit B:
yeah, well, a hate fuck is a hate fuck. but it was fun I guess. he's cute. had to fucking bail afterwards though. I should really stop doing that. guys think it's weird.

exhibit C:
I'm so sorry--I know that out of context that must have sounded bad. um, right. I'm that asshole. but for whatever it's worth I meant it when I said I had a good time.

Oh, dear reader, did you miss me as much as I missed you? Did you think that perhaps your friend AAA had stopped humiliating herself via the written word? Of course you didn't, you're far to clever for that. You knew that it was simply a short attention span that was keeping her from you. Well don't worry, all that is over now.

To celebrate this return to shame, I've composed a medely of ill-fated text messages for you (which is fitting for a varitey of reasons we won't get into here). I call it: "Ode to a Hate Fuck."

Let's start with exhibit A or, as I like to call it, the begininng of the shame. Here we have a clear-cut example of sending a text not to the person you're trying to write to, but instead to the person you're writing about.

Ehibit B sent a week or so later is, of course, more of the same. That's right dear reader, double shame for me!

And ehibit C is what's known in shame circles as "making a bad situation worse." Due to the mysteries of my particular cell phone, the recipent never actually got exhibit B. so I sounded like even more of an asshole than if I'd never sent it. Great. Really fucking great.

Anyway, Hark, the herald angels sing!, etc, etc., becuase taken together these three texts offer a peculiar insight into the evolution of a hate fuck. What exactly is a hate fuck, you ask. (Dear reader, you are well adjusted aren't you?) Well, I'll tell you: hate fucking is something done either becuase you hate the person in question, a third party, or (most likely) yourself.

You begin with something normal--in this case a, er... date (for lack of a better word) with a reasonably cool guy, but for whatever reason (read: problems with intimacy) act so strangely and send so many inappropriate missives and are generally mean, cold, and indechipherable you eventually stir up enough shit that at the end of the day you could never possibly have any kind of actual, interpersonal exchange with this person.

Even if at some point durring the dissolution you were telling yourself that this already was a hate fuck, you realize that you were just being defensive. Of course, now you really have relegated the whole thing to the realm of hate fucking which--though it doesn't really matter in this case--is kind of tremendously shameful, regardless. The point is, dear reader, I've really got to stop doing that.