People in California are flaky. And non-committal. And this week I've reached my limit.
A couple weeks back, a friend and I were talking about boxing. I mentioned how I took a class once a week on the east coast and was missing it. Because said friend has guest passes to his crazy boxing/marital arts gym (one of the five gyms he's a member of...because all people do here is workout), he mentions that I should go check it out with him sometime. He offers, right? So you'd think that because an offer was made ...and I accepted said offer...and I follow up -- three times --that eventually he would take me to the fucking gym. You'd be wrong.
Example #2: I meet a boy online. I chat with online-boy. We start texting. We start talking. He even offers to pick me up from the airport...in LA (which is not close, and no, I will not do that for you). But after six weeks, has he asked me out? Clearly, the answer is no.
Between these incidents (and trying to survive on one income in a state with a 9.3 percent income tax (fucking socialists)), I'm starting to question this move to the Golden State (...golden...because they take all my gold). How is it possible that I'll meet people and make friends when I can't get the few people I know to follow through?
My frustration led me to ask another DC transplant where all the bitchy East Coasters hang out. His answer...they go home.
A couple weeks back, a friend and I were talking about boxing. I mentioned how I took a class once a week on the east coast and was missing it. Because said friend has guest passes to his crazy boxing/marital arts gym (one of the five gyms he's a member of...because all people do here is workout), he mentions that I should go check it out with him sometime. He offers, right? So you'd think that because an offer was made ...and I accepted said offer...and I follow up -- three times --that eventually he would take me to the fucking gym. You'd be wrong.
Example #2: I meet a boy online. I chat with online-boy. We start texting. We start talking. He even offers to pick me up from the airport...in LA (which is not close, and no, I will not do that for you). But after six weeks, has he asked me out? Clearly, the answer is no.
Between these incidents (and trying to survive on one income in a state with a 9.3 percent income tax (fucking socialists)), I'm starting to question this move to the Golden State (...golden...because they take all my gold). How is it possible that I'll meet people and make friends when I can't get the few people I know to follow through?
My frustration led me to ask another DC transplant where all the bitchy East Coasters hang out. His answer...they go home.
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