WordPress Rule #54

When writing a reply to comments on a previous post, consider writing a new entry when it starts exceeding 500 words to spare the inboxes of those who don’t actually give a shit.
So contrary to popular belief, my vagina is not a man-magnet. It is not psychic, it cannot transfer the powers of Christ unto me and it really can’t make a decent tuna sandwich either. Also, my v-card doesn’t double as a bus pass… or a credit card to my own disappointment. Sadly, neither are useful tools to find a boyfriend although one is pretty helpful  when substituting as a can opener (don’t guess which).
Re: Being in a relationship. I realize that relationships are shit. 
Mine will probably be shit. But once in a while, I’ll find a couple that are perfect for each other. I realize that my chances of being in a relationship are not so good in the first place, forget an ideal one, but my simple brain somehow still believes that when I find a guy, he’ll be **the one**** (just going to keep adding stars to emphasize the oneness of him) I don’t know why I’ve deluded myself into thinking this. Blame Disney y’know… when all else fails.
But yeah, you guys are right. I do need to learn how to throw a brother a bone- as flesh-packed as my bones are- if I ever want to get laid I guess (which I don’t really but everyone else seems really fixated on it). It’s just that every time I’ve hooked up with a guy, no matter how friendly or well we got on, I always feel grossed out the next day. On the same train of thought though, I’ve never hooked up with a friend so I don’t know if it would feel better. If anything, it would be more awkward the next day but at least I wouldn’t feel like a skank. I know my friends are trying to help but it just seems a little degrading, the way they’re treating it these days. Oh poor G will never get a chance, maybe this time it’ll work? I guess they don’t understand that I’m not like them and I can’t treat a romantic encounter very casually- as lame as it may make me sound. I’m just straight up uncomfortable.
While I was in Vegas, I kind of stole this guy’s VIP table. He seemed really cool with it though but he was also drunk as hell and 30. His situation was something straight out of The Hangover, he was at a friend’s stag and one of their party was in prison. They had all left them there. So I kind of adopted him into our group and danced with him, he protected me from these psychos having a fight etc. Later on, my friend told me that we were acting so cute and that we should have made out. Okay, I’ll give her the fact that he seemed more my type than any other guy I’ve ever talked to at a club but I don’t know- I was pretty drunk too but I didn’t want to take advantage of the poor sap and secondly, yeah he was too old. I told her that I just “wasn’t like that”. I guess that applies to everything. “It’s just not me”, “I’m not that kind of girl”, I guess I really am not but like, so what if I hooked up with him? Why do I need to put so much pressure on one little thing? Because I’ll regret it? Because he’ll regret it? I was never ever going to see this guy again and I still wasn’t down.
I like, define the word: frigid bitch.

Fucking My Comments Page

It only shows me like half a dozen of my last comments.
If you know me, you know that I’m a comment dumpster- I dump out comments like a mother.
So right, I read a few comments, scroll down and then… there’s nothing. Now what am I supposed to do? Actually click every blog I’ve ever commented on and check to see if anyone has replied? Fuck that shit. I’d rather get wasted.
If I’ve left you a comment and you think up of an amazingly witty reply to stick on there. I’m sorry.
I know you check it daily and wonder why the fuck I’m not dazzled by your brilliant wit.
Well, I probably would be if I ever read it. But I haven’t. Because Dashboard is an asshole.

Ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone

I love sunny days.
I hate them too.
Because sunny days want you to get off your ass and be productive. They practically demand that you be productive.
And preferably do something in the sunlight.
Which means that I will need to go outside in order to do this.
If sunny days were a person, they’d get beat… by me… and then apologized to because I’m a pussy.

Warning: This title is extremely irrelevant to the material of this post

I’m pretty much swamped with this shit called school and when I’m not, I’m trying to salvage whatever I have left of a social life.
I just got home from watching Transformers at friend’s place. I got there at 12:30 and finished at like 3:30. It’s a fucking three hour movie and it doesn’t even have the colourful song-song-and-dance routine with men gyrating and spinning across the screen that characteristically long Indian movies do (at least that shit gives me time to go take a smoke break). Nope, instead I have to watch two robots beat the shit (“lubricants”) out of each other (and Mr Robot/Yellow Camaro/Alien, I’m sorry but no matter how big and blue your eyes are, I don’t feel emotionally connected to you. You’re still just a heavy chunk of machinery. You’re not alive. I’m the one wasting my life. 3 hours? Seriously? That’s enough time for me to get laid… no ironic laughs? Kthanks)
Ughhh fuck my life. And especially fuck the fact that everytime I type fuck, my iPhone tries to turn it into fuch, tuck or duck.