It’s just a soul-sucking system made to oppress women. It's fucked up.
You’re not as rare as you’d think. You know how I know? Because every week I go to a club.And every week I act like I’m too drunk to stand. And every...fucking week...a "nice guy" like you comes over to see if I’m OK.
Look. You’re making the assumption that I want any of it. If I wanted a boyfriend and a yoga class and a house and kids and a job my mom could brag about I’d have done it. It would take me ten minutes. I don’t want it. I don’t want it.
And then she wasn't. Suddenly, she was something else. It wasn't her name she heard when she was walking around, it was yours. Your name all around her. All over her. All the time. And it just...squeezed her out.
One coffee. Hold the spit.
I guess you just had to think about it the right way. I guess it feels different when it's someone you love.
In the old days, we'd have to go through a girls' trash. Now one drunk photo at a party. oh you wouldn't believe how hostile that makes a jury.
Because if there is one thing that I learned at Forest, it's how easy it is to slip something into a drink. You'd think they'd remember that. Especially Joe!
- Is it a nice suitcase, at least?
- Oh yeah, it’s definitely the fanciest“get the fuck out of our house” metaphor I’ve received so far.
- I spent a few hours composing a like very witty, very romantic text, and then I sent that text to an oil rig worker called Red.
- Was he into it?
- Surprisingly into it. It was like immediately inappropriate.