Don't Ride in Cars with Girls

Uhm, yeah, these are just some thoughts on my surroundings, that is, on the laden nothingness that surrounds me and constructs the reality to which I’ve fallen prey.

First of all, when will girls learn that they REALLY need to monitor the quality control of their leggings manufacturers? Because poorly made leggings have a fabric content closer to dense tights, and dense tights are most often partially transparent, which is to say, ladies, that when you wear your poorly constructed leggings as pants I am subjected to an unnecessary preview of what you look like in the nude. In case you were wondering, that is not something I was curious about. Oh, and while I’m on the subject, I know I’m an asshole for pointing this out (especially in print), but ladies… you really shouldn’t be wearing even the most opaque leggings as pants unless you have the appropriate body for it. I know, I’m an asshole. Cover up is what I’m saying; less is more.

Furthermore, why are certain women so profoundly annoying at times? Allow me to let you in on a conversation I had the distinct displeasure of being involved in while traveling in a cab with two women I had just met through circumstances I’ll get into at a later date:

Unwanted Blond Traveling Companion: “So which one of the guys is your boyfriend?”

Coerced Traveling Me: “Oh, no, neither of them are my boyfriend. D is my roommate and J is my neighbor.”

Unwanted Brunette Traveling Companion: “Ohhhh, so, D is your boyfriend?”

CTM: “Uhm, no no, he’s my roommate.”

UBlTC: “Uh huh, soooo, J is your boyfriend.”

CTM: “Uhm, yeeaahh, no. I. Am. Not. Dating. Either. Of. Them.”

I would also like to point out that we were not in an environment that was rife with noise; I was sitting directly next to them. Which leads me to believe that they asked questions not necessarily to hear the answers to them, but merely to run through the motions of asking and accruing points for being nice enough to take an interest in the girl who mysteriously showed up with the men they wanted to flirt with that night. Actually, let me amend that to note the probable total absence of any deep thought process. The dumb bastards probably couldn’t hear the answers I was giving over the incessant humming that was most likely running through their brains; something has to fill all that dead space, am I wrong? And I’m assuming Fergie and Justin Timberlake are the deep thoughts that are doing the filling.

Honestly, I’m at a loss for words, so there isn’t going to be a final thought here. Moral of the story: we should all strive not to be these women, ladies.