Pet Peeve

More than anything else I can possibly think of, I absolutely fucking hate being canceled on.

Slater and I were supposed to go to the Pride march today. It's been planned for nearly a month. I scheduled my entire last week in New York--in the freaking USA--around this day being dedicated to Slater and his friends.

He was supposed to call me last night to let me know where/when we were meeting. Or early this morning, at the latest.

By 11:00am I had heard nothing, but was completely ready to go--showered, make-up applied, bag packed. The march started at noon so I knew that I would have to fly out of the house as soon as he finally called.

At 11:11am, after two texts and a voicemail, I receive the following: "in bed. sick."

Now, on one hand, I know I should feel bad that my friend is not feeling well. On the other... WTF? How did this just suddenly come on when yesterday he was totally fine? Is he actually sick or is it just some lame excuse? Why did it take until after 11:00 for him to finally let me know? I could have been sleeping! Instead I got up at 9:00am so that I'd be ready to go whenever he finally called with details.

And now I have absolutely no fucking idea what to do with myself.

In case you hadn't figured it out by now, I can be a little bit of a control freak. And when I've already planned to dedicate an entire freaking day to something, and that something is then yanked out from under me, I find it difficult to recover. I was so focused on what was supposed to happen, that now I cannot comprehend a change in plans.

To be honest, I had a bad feeling when I hadn't heard from Slater by the time I went to bed at 1:00am. I think it all hearkens back to a particular ex, whom I shall call The Flake, because he was infamous for making plans and then just never showing up. Supposed to come visit me in Maryland for the weekend? Oh, sorry, I won't bother showing up or calling, but I'll text you sometime on Wednesday of the following week to say that something better came along, and attempt to casually name-drop the semi-famous people that I chose to hang around and do coke with instead of visit you, in hopes that you'll probe further and I can brag. Meanwhile guess who sat around her apartment all weekend wondering where the hell you were?

I know that Slater is not my ex. But whenever something like this happens, all the old frustration comes boiling back to the surface and I'm not sure how to cope.

I fucking hate being canceled on.

Now me and my newly purple hair need to find something to do for the next 12 hours.

Any suggestions?