This Is Why I Suck.

On the 4th of July, about 20 minutes before my store was closing, a dude named Eddie came in and struck up a conversation with Monique and myself. He asked for my number and cause I'm a sucker for a half latino dude, I gave it to him. He texted me later on with what might be the worst thing ever:

The word "conversate". As in "I just wanna get food and conversate wit you." (no 'H' on 'with')
I took the liberty of looking up the definition for this word on a very reliable source known as urbandictionary.com. It says:

1.	conversate
	A word used by backwards, ignorant, illiterate inner city trash who mean to say 'converse'. "Yo, I just needs to conversate witcha!" To which I replied, "No, you need to _converse_ with me, you dumb shit-eating fuckhead!"

YO, CONVERSATE ISN'T A GOD DAMN WORD. I HAVE SPELL CHECK ON RIGHT NOW AND THERE'S A RED SQUIGGLY LINE UNDERNEATH TELLING ME I'M AN ASSHOLE AND I'M WRONG FOR TYPING THAT WORD. GO BACK TO SCHOOL AND LEARN GRAMMAR.

I tried my damndest to ignore this kid. There is absolutely no way I am hanging out with him based on this alone. Granted I might not be the smartest ever, but I am fully well aware how to speak properly. Between last night and this morning, he called me 8 times. I answered one time (the first time). Wild. Along with cute must come brains.

Today, I made a vow to myself that I won't give out my number unless the dude asking for it likes and can tell me about the Cro-Mags. NO CRO-MAGS, NO WAY.

Sucks for me, because an hour before closing, a dude came in and while conversating (-_-) with me, I mentioned the Cro-Mags. He was into it, as well as other hardcore bands I like. Except this time, he gave me his number.

Forever fucked.