Monday. November 23rd. I was having a bad day. Deadlines got moved up. Things kept getting piled on my desk. I managed to cut my chin on the bathroom counter that morning (klutz). And I'm still fighting with the bank over my money.
I just kept telling myself, "Self... we just have to make it three days this week."
Around lunch time, I received a text message from a number I didn't recognize. All it said was "hey." I didn't reply since I didn't know the number and brushed it off as a wrong number. Then I got another message, "hey. how are you? how have you been?" Same number. So I text back, "Sorry, but I think you have the wrong number."
"no i don't. this is ****." And **** is The Rock. (If you don't know about my history with The Rock, you can read it here. Or you can just read about the bitter end here and here.)
My jaw dropped as my blood pressure rose. I blocked his number for a reason. Because I didn't want to hear from him anymore. And then he goes and gets a new number while keeping mine? Hell no. So I replied very adult like, "Fuck off."
"look, i know you're probably still mad, but i'd like to see you."
"Well I don't want to see you. Matter of fact, I don't want to talk to you."
"what do you mean you don't want to talk to me? *really sad face*"
"I mean I don't want to talk to you. When I slammed the door IN YOUR FACE, it should have been a clue. So I say for the second time, fuck off."
Number blocked. Again.
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Is he missing some sort of connection in his brain? Was he dropped on his head as a baby? I honestly don't understand how some men can be so unbelievably dense.