It's no fun being a girl

So after attempting to listen to my voice mail and unintentionally hitting some stupid button that made my phone revolt against me and call him instead (and I very hastily hung up, I might add), I wrote the buttmunch an email. My six sense is twitching and that's never good.

Anyway, it went something like this:

I'm getting the pictures developed today (Tuesday), so if you want them tell me where to send them. If I don't hear back from you, all things considered, I'll toss them. I can also upload them onto Kodak Gallery if you'd rather not have the hard copies.

Also, if I don't hear back from you in any respect, I'll consider that your indication that you'd rather not hear from me anymore. Don't make that face at me and my semi-seriousness. Don't "Yeah, yeah, yeah" me either. We've been psuedo-friends for around seven years now: I'd think after all that I'd at least warrant a phone call.

So, that's it, I guess. He'll either call, IM or email to let me know if he wants to pictures. A female would also hope that he would offer some explanation for his actions, but being the realist that I am, I know he won't. He probably won't even want the pictures. Either because he doesn't want proof that someone was with him at that hotel or simply because I took them and he must converse with me to get them. No se. No me gusta. Estoy muy molestando. (If any of that is incorrect, bite me. I'm not fluent, you insensitive bastards.)

I'm off to complete more schoolwork. I have a feeling that more journaling will be done by the end of the day. We'll see.