ANTI-EMO, PRO-SELF-DESTRUCTION CAMPAIGN.

October 21, 2006 at 9:44 am | Filed under a waste of human capital, ditz drivel, the single girl phenomenon

#1: Graduate from Wanarexia Idiosa and get into the real thing: Anorexia Nervosa. Listen to The Carpenters and scout for So Little Time episodes for thinspiration.

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#2: Fine. Food isn't that easy to give up. So. Be a functioning bulimic.

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#3: He hates it when you drop Vis (yes, this is about a boy, it is always about a boy, everything is about a boy), but you just love those li’l blue pills. So drop ‘em, mix ‘em (with your drink, ne?), or snort ‘em. JUST DON’T PROFESS YOUR UNDYING LOVE FOR HIM WHEN YOUR HEAD’S UP IN THE MOTHERFUCKIN’ CLOUDS AND YOU’RE CRASHING INTO FURNITURE AND SHARP OBJECTS, BECAUSE THAT AUTOMATICALLY MAKES YOU THE LOSER. Deleting all contacts from your mobile phone helps. A lot.

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#4: He also hates it when you get drunk (because you do, and I quote, a lot of "stupid stupid things"). And of course, you're always practically drunk and on your favorite drink, which he naturally hates because like I said, he hates it when you're drunk.

What the hell, right? Even teddy bears love that stuff!

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Okay, folks, I'm off to take my last cigarette break (oh oh, I've figured out a way to sneak my mobile in and out of the floor: tuck it into my bra, in between my boobs :woohoo: ). 11.30am seems so far away, I can't wait to knock on Tanduay Rum Barbie's room so we can start drinking.

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THE EMOTIONALLY-ABUSED HOUSEWIFE SYNDROME.

October 6, 2006 at 9:13 am | Filed under breaking up the girl, the single girl phenomenon

Helga: I hate not having a D anymore. :(
D: Hay, can we not talk about that now?

Let’s make it sound less pathetic than it already is: I was naughty, so he dumped me. Now ship me off to Bad Girl Rehab and move on, right?

Well not until I’ve been emotionally battered to the bone. It’s not that I enjoy making a trashy romance novel out of my life (or maybe I do), it’s just that I refuse to acknowledge that what once meant something to us is now a lost cause.

WHAT A BITCH. I’m not about to turn this blog into an Oublier: The Bitter Girl Diaries version 2. Again: WHAT A BITCH.

Dumdeedumdeedum. :huh:

And it’s final: I’m moving out of my condo unit and into a house with a South African white boy, a French cutie, and two crazy batgirls. I do get my own bedroom, but my main worry is that I won’t be able to traipse around the place naked anymore since I’ll have to share two bathrooms with four other people. That, and how the hell do I transport my broken bed frame down five flights of stairs and across the street from my building to the new house?

Sigh. Adieu, unit 108, thou wilt always have a special place in my heart. Thy memories are lovely, but unkind: moving in on my 21st birthday, baptizing the place with hot hot D lovin’, and so on and so forth.

:(

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A VOICE UNKIND.

October 3, 2006 at 8:03 am | Filed under breaking up the girl, technicolor lover, the single girl phenomenon

I guess one way to start feeling better is realizing that he wasn’t that good a catch after all.

But frankly, it’s more like “convincing”.

I miss D [:cry:] and it’s a struggle deflecting the urge to e-mail him. Resist resist resist: that’s my new mantra; must stick to it. We were texting each other yesterday afternoon— and like all conversations we’ve had these past two weeks, that didn’t turn out well, too.

Did you say “no, this can’t happen to me”?  Did you rush to the phone and call? Was there a voice unkind in the back of your mind, saying maybe you didn’t know him at all?

I told him: I’m just realizing how stupid I was, but whatever. It’s sad because we used to be so happy before.

His reply: Before what?

Why can’t we overcome this wall? Well, maybe it’s just because I didn’t know you at all.

SO ANYWAY. Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve had The Last Goodbye and Your Woman on repeat (though sometimes, I squeeze in Meryn Cadell’s The Sweater and Bree Sharp’s David Duchovny) for two nights now that’s prompted Alon to play matchmaker.

We were sitting out on the hallway last night, just chatting and smoking, when he threw me a “funny question” (his words): out of the five Frenchies, who did I like? Basically, he’s trying to set me up with one of his French friends, to take my mind off of D. :blush:

I went ahead and said that I find Tibo cute. Except he’s heading back to France on the 18th and might be back April next year. Not a big deal, I just think he’s a cutie? Alon was building up his other friend, Clem, who’s staying longer but who I find merely ‘okay’. Alon had this goofy smile on and his phone was out: “I’m SERIOUSLY going to text Tibo!” Eep. I said I’d think about it.

I swore I’d go on a rhum-coke and antacid diet this week, but chocolate chip cookies and Sausage McMuffin meals are just too goddamn enticing.

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