Saturday, January 29, 2011

It isn’t Educational. It’s History. It’s Poetry.

I have this theory… Or philosophy… Or maybe even mental deficiency, who knows; I can’t take seriously long time unrequited love.

Basically I take my set of beliefs about the subject from my very uneventful life and the frail view of love one develops at the age of 12.

Here we go.

In Jr. High I fell for my best friend. I take this as my first ‘serious’ crush since it wasn’t the typical “OMG! He’s like so beautiful and popular, why doesn’t he know I exist…?” He was a very nice, smart, funny and average looking fella. Big mistake: I took his kindness as a sign of interest (you have all been there, right?). That marked the beginning of an almost 3 year obsession in which I thought he would wake up one day realizing how much he loved me.

Of course it was hard. If there was still some dignity in me I would avoid telling you about all those times I pictured him hugging me (aw… Don’t we all miss those days when a hug was erotic enough?), moments later I used to find myself sobbing “why doesn’t he like me?” No. I’m not kidding.

A bit more than 2 years had to pass for me to be emotional exhausted. I felt like I had tried everything to make him noticed me. Everything but actually telling him. So, I did. Good thing I wasn’t expecting much because his first reaction was: Oh… Yes. I already knew that.

A charmer, that one.

Still, best thing I could have done. It was such a relief to not have this “what if…?” weight on my back that getting over him was relatively easy. Again, best thing I could have done. Gotta love that feeling of “Wow! So there’s actually a world full of boys?”. I swear, to make up for those lost years, from the age of 14 to 16 my heart became a two-dollar whore.

After six years, a couple of princes and a bunch of dicks (and by dicks I mean jerks, not actual penises… Ok, I guess there were some penises), I realize how meaningless my love for that guy was; I don’t mean it in a rude way, I still talk to him and he’s truly a nice guy.

You can disagree with me on this one but I believe you can’t develop true romantic feelings for a person without being in a committed relationship. There’s a bunch of bullshit and baggage one doesn’t unpack until he/she is settled in. Worse goes for the youngsters, which was my case. I’ll talk just for myself here; I was clueless on what was I looking for in a guy, which is expected at that age, problem came when my obsession convinced me he was everything I was looking for.

Point being: Years of longing mean years of expectations. With a corny pop song as my background music I used to lay on my bed creating inside my pretty little head these stuffy conversations, adventures, jokes and declarations of eternal love… Basically, what I still do now every time I have a crush. Main difference lays on the amount of time creating this image. Two years gave me the chance to transform this little fucker into a man who was outrageous, witty, liked piña coladas and getting caught in the rain. Even though he still is a wonderful dude, I know for a fact he’s not one of those things… He wouldn’t have even got the joke.

I want to say ‘point being’, but I already went for that one, so… Conclusion: No matter how super duper awesome a person is, no one can live up to the standards of so many years of expectations.

I got a great thing out of this situation: A subject for my blog… Yes, of course I’m kidding, what I meant was my repulsion for unrequited love. I may let a guy mess with me in a bunch of ways, but if I notice a sign of disinterest I run away as fast as I can. Someone who doesn’t laugh at my jokes, who doesn’t think my stories are interesting or my perspective on life is fascinating… Or doesn’t want to fuck me every hour, every minute, every day sounds like a bore to me, and definitely not someone I want to be with.

This blog won’t become a self-help crap thing. I just want to share my probably only worth of your time advice: Don’t fall for someone who doesn’t think you’re the shit, it’s not even worth it.

Sunday, January 23, 2011

Horse Manure

Never do things half way; there’s no fun in being mediocre.

Take me for example, if I’m staying in a stuck-up college dorm… I’m going to stay in the most stuck-up bitch’s dorm of all: all chicks, no guys allowed, hot healthy meals and strict curfews.

Now.

During my school break, you know I had to take the opposite track: Brother’s apartment (couch, as an added detail), just-dudes’ place with a fridge full of beers and pizza left-overs.

This place is a cliché of what guys living together means. Let’s put it this way:

  1. I chose one of two bathrooms to keep relatively clean, when I’m forced to use the other one, I’m honestly afraid of catching an STD…
  2. The kitchen… The damn kitchen is always sticky.
  3. Don’t even get me started on the countless times I had to pop my head out the window facing a 0°C (32°F) degree weather just to get away from that mixed smell of pot and sweat.

Dirt, of course, is not the only thing that rules this joke-to-the-health-regulation-system apartment. Let me rephrase… It’s not the only kind of “dirty” going on. I think I make a pretty clear image of what this place is all about just by saying that a few days ago I was woken up by the moans of a 17 year-old girl. Far from me to criticize which teenagers should or should not have sex here; I think there’s a time and place for everything, 8am on a school day is definitely not the time at all.

Funny. I just got to the point where I don’t even care how these thin walls have made it so easy for me to hear everyone who lives here going at it. Yes, of course that includes my brother.

Whatever. Boys will be boys.

I just celebrated my womanhood performing on myself a Brazilian wax and going pantie shopping… I’m not even planning on getting laid, I did it for the estrogen rush.

Monday, January 17, 2011

Where Did the Ducks Go?

At first, I was a bit ashamed with my sudden adoration for teenagers (and I mean all kinds, not just the male types)… A short Gossip Girl promo was all I needed to realize we all have this fascination with them; those shows wouldn’t be so popular without our sickening need to watch kids be disappointed by life.

Sometimes I feel like I should paid The Teenage Boy for every appearance he makes in my blog, then I remember I’m not earning a damn with this hobby of mine so I scratch the idea. Don’t worry, dudes, you don’t have to call child services… I’m no longer screwing with the poor bastard; we actually get along great lately (and very innocently, may I add).

Looking for some cheap entertainment, just a few days ago, he watched me waste my precious time on my laptop; mistaking that with an actual ability he asked me why was I studying architecture while my interest were clearly somewhere else. I had a hard time explaining how some career paths are a bit too “frail” for some people to pursue; he didn’t have a hard time at all to answer me with a “You should major in what you love, no matter what other people say”.

Now, I’m happy for you, people, who from the start wanted to be a ‘doctor’ or ‘mechanical engineer’, I’m sorry I’m not one of you. And here comes a shout-out to you, people, who love music or fashion and majored in that subject… I’m sorry I’m not one of you either.

It goes without saying how much it pained me to tell him the issue is more complex than that, specially since he reminds me a little bit of myself when I was his age. I was going to become a graphic designer and nobody was going to stop me; apparently ‘nobody’ was me, the day I hit 18 and high school was over.

“Architecture is a career based on design” I explained in an almost mechanical voice “If I can design in 3D I’ll easily design in 2D… I guess I took something I loved and I alter it into a secure path”. I’m not sure if he bought that.

Never mind that… There are youngsters with more serious issues.

I noticed my blog suffered some serious lack of estrogen… Ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce you to The Teenage Girl. In case I’ve lost some of you along the way, let’s remember some old characters. I have a brother, my brother has two roommates: The Hot One (yum…), The Other One (I’m not even sure I like him as a person). The Other One (who’s 21, for the record) has The Teenage Boy as a best friend and is now dating a 16 year-old girl aka ‘The Teenage Girl’ (but seriously, who the fuck am I to judge, right?).

The Teenage Girl, where could I begin? She’s a cheap horror movie waiting to happen. Two dates were enough for this girl to believe it was alright to tell the guy she was falling in love with him… And to call him uncontrollably the very next day. When he stopped answering his phone, she started calling mine.I don’t even want to know how she got it. He pleaded me to tell her he wasn’t home, I told him that if I picked up that phone my only words would be: Bitch, pull yourself together. So it was better for everyone if I stayed out of it.

I’m getting ahead on birthday presents right now, so you will have to excuse me while I look on Amazon for some copies of “He’s Not That Into You” and “Kid, Just do Whatever the Hell You Want. Don’t Listen to that Twat…She’s 20, What the Fuck She Actually Knows About the Real World?”

Monday, January 10, 2011

Don’t Tell Anybody Anything

Not that long ago I received an email from  someone who clearly wasn’t a fan asking me (and I quote): “Ever thought about why you soulstrip?”

Needless to say, I was prepared for answering in the most respectful (and I’m not even being sarcastic here) and cliché way possible how much I enjoy writing, especially about myself. Then, I realized my answer would be invalid, simple because I don’t ‘soulstrip.’

Is writing about awkward purchases of vibrators, sexual fantasies regarding my brother’s roommate and my low patience for women’s common behavior suddenly soulstripping? Are you sure about that?

Let me show you how is done, bitch.

  1. Most people won’t understand this, but one of the things I miss the most is my dog. I was there when she was born and from that point is the closest I have to a child. With people I can tell them how much I miss them, my dog probably thought I abandoned her and forgot about me.
  2. I miss everything, everyone, all the freaking time.
  3. It’s been almost a year since I broke up with my boyfriend. Every time I’m with somebody else I feel as if I’m cheating on him.
  4. I just had my math final. I’m pretty fucking sure I failed, even though I studied for weeks. I’m wondering if I have some kind of mental retardation that hasn’t been diagnosed.

I’m not even going to pretend these are real problems, however, it’s stuff close to my heart. Point being, if my objective with this blog was to strip my soul, I’d talk about “deep” shit, not about the dirty thoughts I have when I masturbate; partly because (to quote NOFX)why think of all the bad things when life is so good?”, but mostly because: soulstripping, just like regular stripping, unless you do it to someone you share intimacy with or you’re getting paid for… It’s just not worth it.

Friday, January 7, 2011

Special Kind of Fall, a Horrible Kind

The girl is not green
But she’s got no clue
What they’re whispering about her.
She’s got no clue.
She’s never quite sure what to do,
With her hands,
In social situations.
 She’s so sick of herself sometimes,
Leaves her stomach
Inside a bathroom stall.

A Girl I Know
The Matches

Details later… If I’m still alive by January 10th. You see, my math final may have killed my wit, but I won’t lose my sense to dramatize.

I’ll take off my Christmas ornaments when I get the chance, too.

Monday, January 3, 2011

A Rude Bastard

If you liked “The Teenage Boy and the Adventures of the Penis” you’re definitely going to love the sequel: “The Teenage Boy and The Girl Wh0’s Going to Cut His Balls Off”.

The other night I spent a very pleasant couple of hours watching “500 Days of Summer” with The Teenager, afterwards we talked about me being an architect and he wanting to be something of that sort since he loves drawing. He then proceeded to draw me some very un-profound shit and confessed me he wanted to be a Super Saiyan when he was 5. The niceness of the night was cut up short when I offer him a quickie and he told me “He wasn’t in the mood”.

You will tell me if I’m blowing this out of proportions, but what kind of 16-year-old boy is not in the mood for sex? I’d have to be some kind of leper for that to happened… And that’s a very low blow to my self-esteem.

Next day, when my brother saw my bloodshot eyes asked me what was wrong; I told him I was very stressed with my upcoming Math final. Not very convinced he assured I was the smartest little fucker in the family and shouldn’t be worried about it. Then I decided to lie (kinda). I said (and this is a true story, after all) last night his roommate (NOT the cute one, he’s the sweetest) took a look to some one or two year-old pictures of mine and told me I used to be way prettier and skinnier, something that normally wouldn’t bother me that much but right now was the last thing I needed… I’ll just paraphrase my brother here: “What does that idiot know? Is he remotely perfect now? Maybe if he was someone who mattered, but him? He’s just pathetic and ugly as fuck”.

I had to lie, you know that, right? I may not be thrown to jail for fucking the kid, but my brother would surely for killing him… And even if it wasn’t that what bothered me, for all intents and purposes it served the same effect. I just had to pretend my bother was talking about The Teenager to make myself feel all better.

Really… Why should I care if he didn’t want to fuck me? He didn't last more than a minute inside me before cumming (yes, I just went there…) and thought my Lolita (and I just named my pussy) was some kind of lottery ticket meant to be scratched.

See, there’s a point when people say being with a younger guy makes you feel younger… But at the age of 20 is just sad to be acting like a 15 year-old: resting my self-esteem on the hands of someone else and worse, bashing him over the internet. If I still have felt my own age I’d had remember how awful being 16 was, since one spends half of the time being mad at the world and the other half mad at oneself, which is already hard enough without someone 4 years older pressuring into having sex… That, and: Any guy who doesn’t think I’m the shit is just useless for his lack of taste….Yes, yes, yes, if it means that much to you, I’ll apologize to the damn kid.