So as many of you smart readers may have already deduced, I have not been in contact with the Venezuelan since our last date two weeks ago. Yes, he did say he wanted to see me that week. And yes, he did say he would call. But have I heard from the Latin liar? No, I have not. Bastard. What really burns me is the fact I was not even that into him – like I said, there was no “zsa zsa zsu,” if you will. That means I wanted to be the one to say, “Oh gee, I’m sorry I just don’t feel the same way. I know you’re madly in love with me, but heart break happens. You’ll pull through this – be strong.” Or in reality, screen his phone calls and return them with awkward text messages like, “Sorry, can’t tonight! But had so much fun!!!!!”
This humiliation is the risk you take with dating. Luckily in New York (please refrain from comparing me to Carrie Bradshaw with this sentence) there are enough men that chances are I will not have to see this mentiroso (that’s liar for you lay people) again and be embarrassed by his rude ways. Hell, I haven’t even run into my ex-boyfriend of 8 months since we broke up (except those 3 times I “accidentally” went to his apartment at 3 am). So, now it is onward and upward. But I’ll be avoiding all Venezuelan restaurants and discos, just in case.