Am I overreacting?

I called in sick to work after I woke up with a hangover without having had a drop to drink. After a day of feeling tremendously shitty I'm finally holding a little Powerade down. The next time I'm going to get whatever jailhouse virus is floating around, I hope it gives me some warning so I can go out and get hammered first. Afterall, if you're going to wake up with a hangover, you might as well get the advantage of being drunk first.

Physical illness aside, I'm here to mope about something else. For those of you not in the know, I thought that I had snagged myself a good catch in the BRF. She has no kids, no felony record, and no hilarious physical deformities. Out here, that's what we call a "keeper." Anyways, after a few stumbles (aka calling Matthew Mcconaughey a "badass" within minutes of meeting her), the fact that she continued accepting invitations to go out led me to believe that i was in the clear. But it appears God quoted Lee Corso when he said "Not so fast, my friend."

So as of last week, I got an abrupt call canceling our plans to go out. Apparently something had come up. That was a perfectly reasonable explanation, and one I accepted without question. However, when I suggested that we get together later, I recieved an email stating that "I can't, I've become REALLY busy for the next few months." The email also indicated her phone wasn't working. A phone call seeking clarification has not been returned.

Now, I know when I'm getting the brush-off. I do it all the time to people. "Sorry, I have a big trial." "I'm actually going to be busy helping orphans." And of course, my favorite: "Well, I'd love to, but I have to trek to Mordor to destroy the one true ring before it falls into the hands of the dark lord Sauron, you understand." However, at this point, I think I at least deserve an honest response. I find it awfully hard to believe that someone can become so immediately busy that contact will be impossible in the next three months. More difficult yet is the simultaneous failure of her telephone. I've run plenty of mental cross examinations on this ridiculous possibility over the past few days. The bottom line is: if she doesn't like me, she should let me know, rather than making me ponder whether this really IS a huge coincidence, which would effectively make me the asshole. The form of the notice really doesn't matter...whether it's telling me to fuck off, moving to Afghanistan, or threatening to push a teacup through my chest, Chronicles of Riddick style. It's the message that counts.

Next post: Why women hate Johnny Utah and prefer him to die alone in an Afghani homeless shelter.

UPDATE: It turns out that I am, in fact, the asshole in this scenario.