CALTROPS: A GAME THAT HATES YOU

Hi, I'm Craig.

I don't know how to be alone.

I don't care that I'm an unwanted third wheel, either, because Beth scheduled two dates in one night and I'm not going to let her get away with it. 

What's really messed up is the other guy's name is Craig, too, and he totally looks like me only better looking and funnier and more accomplished and he has a six figure income -- like a real six figure income, one to live on in this stupid city where everything costs about as much as a new car, including the ice cream.

Who does that? I hate you Beth and Other Craig. I mean, really, who does this? 

I'm going to make her regret doing this at least as much I regret doing this, which is enough to step on this here *uuurggggh* oh god oh god what the ... f--! This is the stupidest looking dice I've ever seen and who put it there? Who makes a dice with only 4 sides? What stupid kind of game would use such a stupid thing? Worse than Lego...

Anyway. 

I met Beth on LinkedIn because I was impressed with the training modules she created and wanted to pick her brain about strategic and tactical challenges through every stage of a product life-cycle.

Over ice cream, of course. At Bar Ape. Because I'm a vegan and hate myself.

I also hate this interminable line, which seems to grow rather than contract -- much like my loathing for Beth, who won't shut up about her birthday after one of the staff asked somebody else if it was their birthday.

Shut up, Beth, it's not your birthday, and you're not getting free ice "cream". 

Hell, the way this line is not-going, you're not getting anything at all whether you pay for it or not. And please be assured that, no matter what, I'm not paying for it. 

Equal Rights = Equal Fiscal Responsibility , Beth.

Anyway, now that we're in the Hellzone of Beth being an absolute lunatic to the staff about her birthday, I figured I'd really put my foot down and make her -- and myself -- miserable, because life is barely worth living when your nemesis is doing so, so well. I'm speaking of Other Craig, btw, whom I'm not sure I mentioned is the senior VP of marketing at the firm I used to work for before he fired me for "unacceptable internet searches during company time". 

What does that even mean, Craig?

And now my mom is asking me about gooning, which is awkward AF, but almost simultaneously Melissa texted me a funny video and-- wait, is maybe that what I got fired for? oh god, it's pumas! This is hilarious!

God, Melissa. I--I think I love her. So what am I so afraid of? This morning I woke up with this feeling I didn't know how to deal with and so I just decided to myself I'd hide it to myself and never talk about it.

Anyway, Melissa. I think I do need to talk about it. Maybe tomorrow, after therapy.

Regardless, my mom's awkward AF texts at least gave me a great idea. Tomorrow, I'm going to message Melissa. I'm going to say:

Melissa. I think I love you, but I'm afraid that I'm not sure of a love there is no cure for.

But first I need some alone time to figure this out.

Bye Beth. 

Enjoy your totally not ice cream. I hope it gives you a tummy ache and the dribbles.

No time like the present:

Hi Melissa. Your video montage of pumas dancing through Mardi Gras confirmed what I already knew. I'm going to ask you to your face if you think I have a case. I think I love you.

Time to goon.