[x] Something Blue (Because That's How I Feel)

I find myself to be so keen on my latest post that I actually wouldn't like to post anything new.

But I realized that the front page of my blog is still featuring 'Taupo', and as much as I still feel like moving to Samoa, it might be that some of the hints provided in that text might be slightly out of date.

It's not like I was good at falling for someone. I most certainly am not. It seems like the phase described surprisingly well by 'Taupo' might be part of the ordinary procedure. Then, I get kind of creepy and then need to hold myself with mucho force so as to keep myself from sending c.r.a.z.y. texts like 'I went swimming today and missed you'.

To be honest, that message would probably have turned out as 'I went swimming today, and in the sauna I saw much more of an old lady's ladyparts than I would have wanted to, and then I missed your facial hair'.

I consider myself lucky as long as I am able to keep telling myself that the kind of messages I plan in my head eventually (or, more like, right away) would begin to sound like I was a hairy man in my late 50s, wearing a catsuit, just outside their window trying to sneak in. With my over-attached girlfriend eyes, and they're creepier than that girl's in the original meme. Trust me. I've been told that.

This picture is here because I relate to it quite much. And just so you know - I wouldn't dare to publish this post if there was even the slightest possibility that the person in question would be reading this blog. But he's not! Because he does not even know I blog! HA HA HA, in your face, world, I win at life! Self-five!

see? getting creepy... and totally losing it...

Also, before ending this horror - sorry for the title of the post. I know it sounds like a bad country song, or something that Britney Spears would have done when she was seventeen and everyone still believed she was nice and not naughty at all.

Mirror of Erised

Did you have a nice Christmas, guys and gals? Did you eat so much chocolate you looked at your legs and thought, oh my God I gotta stop eating or I'll get so fat no one will ever fancy me again? Whatever is your answer, I bet you dealt with it better than I did. I dealt with it by realizing that no one has ever fancied me before and no one ever would, no matter how fat or thin I was. Then I went back to my chocolate and cheese and crackers and all the stuff I've been, um, eating (there must be a more suitable word to describe the exact connection that I've developed with food) all Christmas long.

So that was just a lil' story. But I have something to actually talk about. Like, seriously talk, not just to make you suffer from my self-pity but to make a point.

I want to talk about desire.

And when I write 'desire' or 'want' or anything ever remotedly similar, I from now on in this text mean sexual desire. Mostly. Try to follow me if I'm getting inconsistent.

So the thing is, no one has ever wanted me. Desired me. Of course not in the sense of wanting to have a relationship with me, either, but I want to focus on the sex aspect now (oh when wouldn't I?). No-fucking-one has EVER looked at me and thought, oh my God I want to have that woman, like, right now, here on this table or wherever I don't even care because she's so desirable I cannot think anymore. No one has ever wanted to sleep with me - or sleep next to me, though, but that I understand because I tend to be annoying while sleeping, including loads of kicking, talking, drooling and also kind of climbing on whoever happens to be sleeping next to me against their will. Dudes, I'm a goddamned creeper (a creep, too, but more like a creeper in the sense of the plant, check it out on the internet).

I'm sure if I posted this now without getting further, someone might comment something like 'oh don't ya worry, anyone will find someone to fuck them if they really wanted to, just go to a bar and you'll see you don't need to go home alone'. I get that. First of all, I know of experience (not personal) that this is true, and also, I've read A Geek's Guide To Get Laid! (Have Sex Even If You're Fat, Ugly or Worse!) by Dave Briner, which by the way does not only involve practical information but also is a hilarious read that I recommend to anyone interested in relationships or sex (guilty). The book is free to download, just look for it. And when I say free, I don't mean you can find torrents or something, I mean that the writer has put it online to give it to read for free so it's not even illegal to get it.

So the problem is not that I couldn't find someone to fuck me. Anyone could. The problem is, I want someone to want me, in the sense of wanting me and not just anybody that has the necessary bodyparts. In the sense of choosing me when they could choose anyone in the world.

Oh! Now you are saying: but no one has such infinite choice, you silly girl.

And I am responding, so hear me out: yes they effing do. They have a choice. And I'm not talking about people getting delusions of grandeur and successfully hitting on Chloë Sevigny. And I sure am not talking about rapes either. Have some class...

People do have infinite choice in their own minds. Inside their own fantasies, they can fuck whoever they are willing to. They can choose. They can have a threesome with the Hemsworth brothers if they choose to. Inside of their head. Because that's the place where everything is possible and nothing hurts (unless they want it to).

So whenever people are just fantasizing or even masturbating to their fantasies (or trying to and then getting bored and quitting once again without a result - I'm not quite the one to judge in this matter, and besides, the point of my argument can be made without getting too deep in the sea of masturbation (please slap me in the face because my metaphors are getting horrible)).

What was I trying to say? No one has ever wanted me, desired me, fancied me (which choice of words do you prefer, sir?) that much that they would have chosen me over every other person in the whole wide world and possibly beyond (I know there are some scifi geeks out there that might fancy fictional people who don't quite count as homo sapiens sapiens).

I do realize I now do sound like my sole wish was that someone would think of me while jerking off. That is not quite the case. Or at least not the whole truth. But the thing is, what happens in those people's minds happens to reveal their deepest desires (it's like looking into the Mirror of Erised) and this is why I don't feel wanted if I'm not so utterly wanted that I'd get chosen over that goddamned Jessica Alba that all the men I know seem to find so irresistibly hot (WHY her? There are so many hotter women on this planet so why HER? She looks BORING! Look at her FACE!). Of course I know my body isn't as hot as Elizabeth Banks' of Zooey Deschanel's or *insert here a female of your desire*'s. But I know when people, umm, fall in love? have a crush? find someone irresistible? - they forget about Elizabeth and Zooey and those others and just dream of the one person that they would very much like to sleep with (and possibly even sleep next to). So it's not too much to ask, if you happen to be able to be that someone to someone else. That is how relationships begin, after all... I just never have those. This forms a pattern, right? You see where this is going?

I think I've made my point.

But to make it perfectly clear, the whole point in other words: in the Mirror of Erised, no one would ever, even for a while, see themselves with me. And perhaps I do have 'high standards' or something, but I don't want to fuck someone who wouldn't.


Do you even know how much this can hurt, from time to time, not being desired? No you don't, you bastards, because someone has fancied you and the odds are they've also fucked you and what the hell are you doing reading this blog anyway if someone somewhere is wanting to have sex with you at this very moment? Not that this blog wasn't hilarious, but seriously, not that hilarious.

Aaand please leave a comment if you're reading this because it also hurts that it seems like no one ever reads me, if I myself don't count, even though I might as well count because I reread my own posts quite often.

December 6th: Dependence day

Independence day supposedly going on here in Finland. Feeling independent.

Is it possible to be cockblocked by a bicycle?

I imagine myself typing that previous sentence like Carrie Bradshaw types those couple of words that appear on-screen with the sound of a typewriter and her reading it out loud. Doesn't help that I now literally read that out loud.

Examples of realism

A friend told me she has found that the height of her new boyfriend is perfect. Because he's like 20 cm taller than her and she thinks it's nice to have to get on her toes to be able to kiss him.

Yeah right. Luckily she has a realist as a friend. That is, me.

Told her that she should think things through. When they get married and spend their honeymoon in Hawaii, they'd be taking a scuba diving course. And after all that diving, her ears will get wet and then she'll be getting an ear infection. A chronic one. And where is our vestibular system again, that is, what keeps us balanced when we stand? That's right - EARS. I'd like to see her try to get on her toes then! No more kissing during that honeymoon, and ta-dah, you're on your way to an early divorce.

Choke on your cuteness.

No, really, I love you and stuff, but be a realist!!

BTW! Scuba diving was one of the very first words I learned in English! What a nice flashback! I had the Barbie Ken Scuba Diver with these:

Taupo

I'm almost officially unable to fall in love.

I mean, to that point that if there was any possibility to register this unability and thus make it official, then that'd be the case. But let's go with unofficial for now.

I hate my brain and I hate it how it won't collaborate with my heart. I hate my unability to fall for good guys and I hate my habit of only feeling physically attracted to men who aren't my type in any non-physical attributes.

Did you know that in some Samoan cultures, there is a concept of 'the maid of the village' or 'the official virgin', called taupo in their language(s)?

Current status: thinking of moving to Samoa.

(Sidenote: loving taking these ethnology courses.)

I love Carl and Ellie

No news. Nothing's new. Not in this front, at least.

Whatever.

I can fulfill my need of feelings by watching something that makes me overly emotional and that makes me cry and sob for eight minutes without being even remotedly able to stop. Even when I'm not having my period, that is. So you can just imagine what it's like when I do. I'll spend the whole tomorrow trying to scrape all the salt off my face that used to be tears until the water dried out. Probably going to look like a shaved yeti. Still talking about my face, that is.




Btw I heard the next episode on Glee is going to be called The Break Up. I'm almost crying already and it hasn't even aired yet.

Why am I so goddamn emotional about fictional characters but cannot feel ANYTHING about real people I actually know and that EXIST? There's gotta be something wrong with me.

Least

THIS. So damned much.

"I swear I’ve been least expecting it for years."

Yoghurt and other announcements

I notice I nowadays tend to post much of pictures, quotes and other stuff made by someone other than me. I somehow feel sorry for that, but the case usually is that I just cannot find a place more suitable to put these things to, and I very much feel like they need to be posted here.

Oh my, writing the last sentence, I just spilled some yoghurt on my pants.

Anyway, I will be wanting to begin this autumn very much free of any man I already know. Probably also free of any new men. I just want to shake off the weigh of any previous and/or imaginary crush. I from now on want to be free. I want to stop thinking 'what if' because if any of these people were right for me there would be no need to think 'if'.

So I'll still be alone and a bit desperate but hopefully even slightly less miserable.

I've been sheldonized

Sheldon Cooper: I believe I would like to alter the paradigm of our relationship. 
Amy Farrah Fowler: I'm listening. 
Sheldon Cooper: With the understanding that nothing changes, whatsoever. Physical or otherwise. I would not object to us no longer characterizing you as not my girlfriend. 
Amy Farrah Fowler: Interesting. Now, try it without the quadruple negative. 
Sheldon Cooper: You're being impossible. 
[Amy leans over to Stuart] 
Amy Farrah Fowler: Hi, Stuart! 
Sheldon Cooper: Fine! 
[Amy leans back again] 
Sheldon Cooper: Amy... Would you be my girlfriend? 
Amy Farrah Fowler: Yes. 

I have recently finished watching all the seasons of The Big Bang Theory. I cannot help wondering how it is possible that even Sheldon Cooper finds a soulmate, when at the meantime I myself lie around alone watching this series. Hell, much of the time I'm naked and I got popcorn so you'd think someone would consider me the perfect woman. You'd think.......

Also, when will I learn to write dialogue that'd be as sparkly as in TBBT? But this is not a blog for rant about any other topic than oldmaidness. Thus I will remain silent on this topic.

I have settled a movie date for myself for next wednesday. ALONE. I'm planning to watch What to Expect When You're Expecting, only to drool over Matthew Morrison whilst crying about the fact I'll never be expecting.

"i love it! it reminds me of you." (said a friend)

A way out?

I just need a hug.

Someone to make me feel safe, someone to take care of me, someone who'd promise it's going to be allright

because today, once again, I'm back in the dark place inside my chest and don't seem to find a way out.

Wedding ideas

Occasionally, I come up with incredibly great ideas about my imaginary never-to-actually-become-reality wedding.

Yesterday, I got this idea that instead of a horse carriage, I and my husband could use a tortoise carriage, drawn by a giant turtle. And the reception could be just around the corner from the church, but it'd still take, like, hours for us to get there because the turtle would be so goddamn slow! Wouldn't that be hilarious! No one could start eating or anything before we'd get there! And they'd just be angry and awkward!

Also, what about telling about the wedding so cryptically that hardly any guest would actually find their way there?

Or what if everyone should tattoo our names on their chest in order to get in? To make sure every guest actually loves us enough to deserve a place in the festivities? Now I'm just coming up with these ideas as I write. And I never run out of them!

Also, wouldn't it be awesome if the ceremony would begin with some show wrestling, and the announcer would announce that as a prize, the winners will be getting married - and then it'd be plotted so that we'd win and then as winners we'd walk down the aisle.

And they'd play The Imperial March instead of the basic wedding marches. Or then just some unbelievably awkward song. Maybe even Nyan Cat. Wouldn't that make us walk faster.

My long-lived dream has also been that instead of throwing rice, everyone would throw cheetos on us newlyweds.

I don't even get why I ain't getting married. Why don't anyone want to make use of these great wedding ideas with their original planner? I mean, go fuck your american rustique vintage dream castle. Maybe I should begin a career as a wedding planner. With all these awesome ideas, I'd figure I'd do pretty well, maybe even well enough to be able to marry someone who wants to marry my money.

wtf

Is it sad to feel like I might just be in OKCUPID ENEMIES if only I used said date site?

Plus, the deeper I go with my thoughts of dating, the more unsure I am whether I even could handle that shit. I mean, at the same time I'm utmost dependant and extremely anti-social. This leads to weird situations, people. This leads to being weird and isolated by choice - both my own choice and that of the public.

I clearly don't seem to find anything legitimate to say so I'll just end this tragicomic post here.

An open letter to my co-blogger

Hello, Ling.

As much I love our desperate conversations and how you always are there to listen to my angst, I have grown to understand that you'd rather be in a relationship with a nice guy than spending time with me being all angsty and stuff.

At the same time, I know you for some weird reason seem to like me as a person. Thus, I figured, maybe you should just find a guy who shares some of my good characteristics but not any of the unwanted ones. So what about a deal: next time I see someone who resembles me a little bit in a good way but also seems balanced, I tell you about it and you can go ahead and get to know that person?

Then you could think you basically are spending time with me, and not feel guilty at all for not actually spending time with me.

So I just saw this person who has a jacket that is remarkably similar to mine and who wears his hair the same way as I do. But, contradictory to my case, he might actually be social and nice. Who knows, anyway. Go get him. Or someone else. Whatever.

With Love,
Yours Truly

PS. Please do not welcome this advice. It would be super creepy. Like, extra super creepy. And I could not come to your wedding or anything, because it would just be so creepy. Please just try and find someone who is as far from me as possible. (That also increases the possibility of you having a happy marriage.)

"I think I will"

This post is all about that picture and I'm certain that if I ever tried online dating I'd end up on OKCUPID ENEMIES or something like that.


PS. Okay gotta tell you this. A 35+ drunken man tried to talk to me at a bar around 3 am after being turned down by a dazzling colleague of mine. So basically, that's the most male interest I've got, like, ever.
Anyhow, I wasn't quite that desperate...

idon'teven

Hey world,


are you fucking serious with this shit?????

Let me tell you what: every-damned-one else is finding someone these days. And when I say everyone I mean all the universally friendzoned guys and even sixty-something relatives. I mean everyone but me. SERIOUSLY.

You have no goddamned idea of what it feels like to be an adult and have as much relationship experience as an average 7-year-old.

NO ONE has ever looked at me like I was the most important thing in the world. NO ONE has ever turned to see me another time. NO ONE has ever noticed I exist. NO ONE has ever liked my smile, or my laugh, or anything I say.

I'm the friendzoned girl, except that I even am outside the friendzone. I'm not in any zone.

You. Have. No. Fucking. Idea.


...and I just don't get what the big deal is, what is so wrong with me, because most days when I look in the mirror I don't look that bad, okay I might not comb my hair daily and I don't wear makeup and I'm not thin, but some days I look good, so it's not only about looks, and thus it must be about me being a horrible person.

I don't get it

fuck you

We need to go deeper

'I have no one. My ears have each other and my nostrils have each other and my eyes have each other but my head has no one.'

This was said by my little sister, 7 years old, and of course she didn't mean anything too deep with it. But I wrote it down because it sure as hell described how I feel. My head has no one.

My other sister is beginning to learn English, word by word. She saw some sentence with the word 'I' in it and she, having learned some phrases on some stickers or cards or t-shirts or something like that, commented, 'I don't know what 'I' means when there isn't 'love' after it.' This, too, was something I considered deeper than it was meant. I guess I have no idea of who I am outside of the things and people that I love, and thus I'd find more of me if I had someone to love.

Going through an existential crisis. I feel like I want to feel something. I want to want something. I want to get excited and become alive. But try as I might, I fail in my attempts to pursue any kind of goal, and also, I fail to set goals as I lack a direction.

.

Happy Never-Gonna-Be-A-Mother's Day To Me!!

My birthday is in January, my name day is in April. Ain't it brilliant to know that I will never be celebrated in May!

Oh let's get real. It's fucking depressing. But at least my hair looks nice today because my lil' sister did it. Yay.

I Will

Will Schuester with a fedora. 
I VOLUNTEER


That, my dear followers, is the current state of my social/sexual life.

If I lived in a bigger city and there would be a territorial magazine or something, I could go all Carrie Bradshaw and write my own column. It'd be called "No sex and the city".

People would actually love to read it, because it'd be closer to their real lives than the Carrie one.


Yeah, but seriously talking, dudes: Will Schuester with a fedora. And all his vests. I'm thinking developing OCD (on my way anyway) and bambi eyes (with these Furby eyes this is a very, very distant dream) just to get to him. I mean, it's not like I didn't realize he was fictional. He just happens to be the perfect incarnation of one of my favourite types of men.


Also, I currently am not having any love interest toward any person in this town. (Not that I had had more than slight ones before, though.) This simultaneously feels freeing and depressing.


Now I'm off to watch some more Glee. Will Schuester could show me some New Directions anytime, if you know what I mean...

On inner beauty

So I just thought, why not spit this out already as I don't seem to bother going to any of my weekly Tuesday activities today.

I've been wanting to discuss some 'motivational', 'encouraging' clichés that we old maids meet all the time. And this time I've chosen the following:

"Oh, dear, of course you'll find someone. After all, it's the inner beauty that matters!"

If you're anything like me, you've heard this. Several times. And it contains so much material to be upset about I can hardly even decide which part to handle first.

Does the sayer see the implicit statement that they think my physical appearance is unpleasant? Because it is there and I see it. Otherwise they wouldn't tell me to count on inner beauty.

Also, whoever says this actually says they don't even recognize the possibility that the reason I'm upset and the reason I think is why I'm alone could be dealing with anything else than, again, physical appearance. So they admit thinking I'm very shallow.

Guess what. I don't think I'm alone because I looked like Quasimodo or something. I'm not good-looking, yeah, but on most days I'm not ridiculously ugly, either. And I know for sure there's less pleasant-looking people than me in happy relationships. So that is just a minor part of my problem.

The real problem is:

I. DO. NOT. HAVE. THAT. GODDAMN. INNER. BEAUTY.

If you really knew me you'd know I'm:
- complicated
- bitter
- negative
- chronically anxious and stressed out
- non-vigilant
- non-moderate
- the writer of some really weird fanfiction (siriusly, you have no idea)
- full of jealousy
- uncapable of many ordinary social feelings or situations
- et cetera

In conclusion, I am as ugly inside as possible.

Let's take a rerun of that encouraging comment.

"Oh, dear, of course you'll find someone. After all, it's the inner beauty that matters!"

By this far, you will notice that this comments works pretty much as well as if you told Pocahontas: "Oh, dear, of course John Smith will fall in love with you. After all, all that matters is being naturally blonde and speaking fluent English!"

I have another metaphor in mind, too. I really attempt to make my point.

Imagine you're baking a cake. Then the cake gets a bit stuck in the cake mold, and parts of it get ripped of, and the cake ends up looking slightly uglier than it should've been but in your opinion still totally eatable. Then your friend comes along, thinking you're disappointed because you've ruined the cake, and tells, "Oh, dear, don't be disappointed - it's the taste that matters!" And you, well, you know that you'd run out of sugar so you've added in two desilitres of salt instead. The cake is doomed to taste horrid.

So, I don't want or need your friendly pats on my shoulder. All I want is to grow old enough to make everyone say, "Oh, dear, I must admit, you were right after all. You will be forever alone. I think I owe you shitloads of stuff because I was so wrong I bet on this several times."

Because I, as always, am right.

No point in making up a title

So pretty. Just like my thoughts.

Except... I think there's something I've forgotten...

Got it! It's not my thoughts! There's no one there to me! Like there's never been! I'm just as alone as I've always been!

Right. That's it. Back to desperation, then, I guess.

Btw. I've been thinking of inner beauty lately. There's something that pisses me off. If you stay tuned, you'll be hearing some whining quite soon.

Tired wobbling 'n stuff

I've realized I pretty much suck at giving relationship advice.

I thought I was good at it. I was planning on writing a fucking manual about relationships. But nowadays I've found out I just don't see when something's not meant to be or even when a friend clearly hides a new relation.

Maybe it's because I've never experienced all that stuff myself. And never will. Sigh. So I will skip that writing project, then, and move on to maybe finally someday writing an actual book about something real. Or more like, something irreal. I don't like real things any more. They don't appeal to me. I like to live in a fantasy, or several. I like to live in random fandoms.

And as I also said to a friend, I'm somehow lucky not to have anybody special, because for my friends I make creative gifts and surprises, but if I had a partner, an increasing amount of my so-called surprises would include me naked and nothing else. That's not too creative, I'll tell you. So, in order to become a writer and a better friend, I guess I just need to be an old maid. That's God's plan, folks. That's how it's meant to be.

But it's not like it didn't hurt any more, though. It sure as hell does.

I guess this post was slightly messy and difficult to figure out but I won't care because hey, who even reads this anyway... :D

Luv, Miia

PS. I passed my derby time trials. Dudes, my thighs are made of steel. Top that.

Envy

Wikipedia, in its article on "envy", states:

Envy (also called invidiousness) is best defined as a resentful emotion that "occurs when a person lacks another's (perceived) superior quality, achievement, or possession and -- desires it --."

If I used categories in this blogs, this would be a great example of what the posts under the category "envy" would contain.



I know it's lovely. I know it's cute.

And it breaks my heart. You know why, dudes.

Relationship news...

... that's a thing that everyone else seems to have but I never do.

I'd like to be happy to see a facebook friend being "in a relationship with Someone Perfect" or getting married or whatever, but really, it just annoys the shit out of me to see that stuff. I swear, I get sad for the rest of the day or even several days when I get this kind of a reminder of the fact that people will keep pairing up until I'm the only one left.

This hamster is here to distract me from my own desperation.

Btw, I guess I've gained some extra weight again. Was thinking, if I stop caring about what I look like, then there is no one left to care. So plump it is.

Food tastes nice.

And I'm still convinced my studying motivation problems last spring were due to the complete dazzlement about for the first time in my life actually having boobs (thanks to all the overeating).

This pug is here because I love pugs
and also because it reflects well my feelings.

NEBbing around

I distinctly remember promising to talk more about numb envy & bitterness.

The thing is, I don't feel it all that much any more. But I can explain. Because it will come back. It's just a matter of time.

Numb envy & bitterness, or NEB as I like to call it, is the feeling you get when your jealousy is just beyond any limits and you're not even having the power to feel it.

It usually happens when you keep seeing a cute couple that you first just envy, thinking like, "damn why cannot it ever be me finding true love instead of all these other people". The point is to keep seeing. So basically this is a couple that you know. One of them might be your best friend or your sister, for example.

And as I already told, first you go through envy. Then you become bitter. To me, this happens rather quickly, because I already happen to be bitter enough to hate even the slightest sight of a happy couple.

But then the weirdest thing happens over time: numbness.

You're no Duracell bunny. You run out of power.

This is when NEB comes in. You know you still have the envy and bitterness inside you, but you don't even bother express it, because somewhere deep inside you know it's not going to help anyway. So you just go numb. You might not even cry any more, pointless as it would be.

And the best part is, given nice circumstances (say, the sun is shining and you get a great summerjob and things seem all so splendid), you might even begin to actually feel happy for someone.

More than just saying, "oh my dear friend/sister, I'm so happy you found true love and now live happily ever after". More than that: as much as even being honest while saying that.

For the first time in years, I've almost felt some sparks of what someday hopefully will be a fire of pure happiness for the happiness of others. Maybe it won't burn my heart - or hopefully it will so that I wouldn't need to feel the desperation EVER AGAIN - who knows? Right now I just feel like it's a great blessing that some people that are important to me have found their other halves. I'm happy for them, I really really am. Do you hear me? Because if you do, well, it's you I'm talking about (supposing that you are important to me and have found love, otherwise this isn't the case and I'm not addressing you when I ask if you hear me).

So now I'm balancing between NEB and happiness, and I've even gone so far I've decided I'd rather my co-blogger would start dating than I.

You heard me.

And now, let us treat ourselves to a nice little song that so well reflects my feelings:

Inspirational story

Hello! Tonight I'm feeling pathetic. 

Depressed.

Extremely desperate. 

Just to avoid talking about the sad fact that I'm pissed off because someone doesn't seem to have any difficulties with going to sleep without having a conversation with me first or wishing good night, I'm telling you one more reason why we would make perfect wives:

We had pizza for late breakfast. Self-made! How about that!

I have actually another reason to be upset tonight. You see, I have learned that at least here where I live it's a rule that the cheapest fruits are the tastiest as well.
You can probably imagine the disappointment when I came back home with those amazingly cheap grapes and found out that the taste was. Awful. So bad that I had to throw them away.
Sigh. 

 I'm totally going to be childish and pity myself all night long.

  

Ps. Dear co-blogger, check this:

  Dammit.

Almost as lame as I am

It's not like anyone ever tried to hit on me... But anyhow, I liked this pic on 9gag so I thought I could post it here just to give you a nice laugh while I myself slowly bore myself to death, whilst staring at a textbook I should read for the uni and not concentrating because of dreaming of guys I don't even want (as in, want to be my boyfriend(s)).

The Tale of Three Purchases

Bought a pair of stay-up stockings today.

I bet I'll look stunning in them.

It's hard to decide whether to be sorry no one will ever be there to see. The other option is thinking "in your face, dorks, haha", but I don't think my self-confidence would measure that high right yet.


Also bought the movie Grease. So there's going to be at least one lonely evening of watching it. Seeing Sandy have that horrifying makeover and still finding true love... (That does not count as a spoiler because hey, if you haven't seen Grease, the shame is on you.)


My third purchase then was a Josiah Leming t-shirt. Because they are on sale and have free shipping worldwide. This means I will be having Josiah, the man of my life, all over me, probably every day after receiving the package (not to be read as some kind of a kinky metaphor because we're talking online shopping of decent daywear here).


So, honeys, just imagine me wearing a nice grey t-shirt and those stockings, lying on whatever furniture my apartment has to lay on (and I do not have a sofa), watching Grease.
If this does not scream out loud, "perfect girlfriend", I don't know what does (besides my co-blogger, of course).
Thus, I will ask the same question I will keep asking 'til the end of time: why the heck am I alone??

The Infamous Once-in-a-week Self-Hate Tuesday

I very recently caught myself doing my hair, and then - prepare for worse - found myself out in the freezing world without a proper hat just to keep said hair in better form.

Just shoot me already.

.. because I don't think there's any cure to this mental cancer.

At this moment my self-loath has gone so far I won't even search for a proper picture of anything related to this post. I will just choose (pardon my french) une bande dessinée that breaks. my. heart. every single time I watch it.

Hope it kills you inside, too. Ha!

"I'll go to your room, but you'll have to seduce me"

Dear readers (I know there's at least one), if yesterday wasn't the 29th of February it would have been a very succesful day indeed. As you may know, leap day is the day when women are officially allowed to propose to their loved ones.

Did you propose to someone? We did not. How surprising.

We decided to express our sorrow instead. We made a cake.

And what a cake! 

Isn't it just fabulous?

And so did we eat the cake. Alone, as we had no one to share it with.
If you long for some dirty details, it was wet and delicious. All the glory to the banana slices and strawberry jam inside.
See? We would make perfect wives.

We also watched the movie Vicky Cristina Barcelona, which was very. Inspiring, to say.
Besides, we learned an important fact. It's not fun at all to watch miserable movies when your own life is miserable. From now on we will only watch movies that make our hearts break for we envy all those romantic and endlessly happy endings we will never get. How excruciating, how enjoyable.

It all ended with Miia lying desperately on my floor, crying depressed about her life and future.

I can't stand this even myself anymore...

The Inception Vibe

Dear God,

as nice as it feels to see dreams where I am allowed to lean on the shoulder of that cute guy I've seen and who keeps being too fucking charming with that damn smirk and all (and in the dream he smelled very, very nice),

as far as I need to wake up from those dreams, please do not make me see them.

They make me sad.

On the other hand, thank you for putting that dream into another dream in which I was utterly horrified and embarrassed because I had admitted my one-sided interest, not realizing the first part had only been a dream before it was too late - that one was reliefing to wake up from.

But with other, non-depressing themes, dreams inside dreams are funnily scifi and I like the Inception vibe. It's like I could eventually wake up from my current life to hang out with Joseph Gordon-Levitt and Ellen Page.

With love,
your daughter who should be applying for summerjobs right now instead of blogging


PS. I have got the impression you're in good terms with that guy. Could you, maybe, make me seem even slightly less ridiculous to him so that maybe someday he'd talk to me?

PPS. Readers of this blog, you filthy stalkers (I love you all), please do not think I'm having a crush (I hate that word I really do) because I certainly am not.

Duele tanto el amor

I was searching for my lost inspiration one day. Guess what I found instead? Hooray! A bunch of these!

        

Very, very touching indeed, but I just need to ask this. Are you actually...serious? Because

HOW WOULD I KNOW.

And oh how I love it how half of the songs published are about broken hearts and unfortunate love. They describe so well what I...what I believe I actually never felt in my heart ! 
I feel hopelessly emotionless and insensitive when I can't identify with any of those. 

What does that above have to do with anything? Yeah, right. Nothing. It just shows how sad my sense of humour is. Please forgive me.

Day of Destroyed Dreams

There's a person on the internet making "Images created using law enforcement composite sketch software and descriptions of literary characters." Here.

The question that remains is:

CANNOT AN OLD MAID EVEN HAVE HER DREAMS OF MR. ROCHESTER?

WHO IS THIS SADISTIC PERSON WHO TOTALLY RAPES MY IMAGE OF THE PERFECT MAN?

I mean, look at that picture. Look at it. Not quite what I fancied.

PS. I also have experienced a weird feeling that I like to call numb envy & bitterness. More of that later, I think.

PPS. I hope Ling posts soon. I don't want this ugly picture to be the first thing you guys see when you come to read our blog.

"It will taste better if you glaze the onion first"

Today's checklist:

[x] get rid of all the dust that has mysteriously gathered around here

[x] wash dishes

[x] give cooking tips

[] find employment

[] prepare your exchange application*


I think if I lived in the 50's someone would already have realized I'd make such a perfect wife.



*Oh how I would like to think, "honey I will miss you so much during my exchange student period but you know I just need to go before we start our family".

However, what I have to think is, "well, I'll just go then, I guess... who cares?"

... although, considering my level of laziness, I'd actually rather go for "oh my, the application period is over, I guess I won't go then... who cares?"

Every breath you take...

My younger brother had his last day of high school today. The tradition here is that it's basically a huge costume party for those who leave the school.
He and his girlfriend were wearing matching Angry Birds outfits.
So cute my heart melts.

But that's not what I wanted to talk about.

I'm talking about post-stalking depression.

You know the feeling when you see someone walking down the street and you think to yourself, oh man that's the hottest person ever? Well that's been happening to me. Continuously. And the hot person has been the same.

Then I did some stalking business and, as always, it changed the whole thing.

The moment I saw his name and face on facebook, I started thinking, basically:


And the problem is, nothing is wrong with what I found. Like, well, yeah, slightly ridiculous taste of music and a bit suspicious activities, but nothing I couldn't put up with.

I just don't like him anymore. I still think he's hot, but he's lost some of that magical appeal he had when he was a stranger and not some basic student with whom I have three facebook friends in common. I really miss the feeling of being excited of dreaming about that person but nothing can be done because it's all gone for good. Now, if I ever see this person again, my possible drooling will not be cute dreaming. It will feel like hardcore stalking.


This also works in the way that if I want to get to know someone who I somehow know but not personally, like in a saying hello way, well, when the situation starts to seem like they would like to get to know me too, I back off, totally turned off. OFF. (Although I need to underline that in general, men are not interested in me. Not. I think it's already said in this blog rather many times.)

Off. Odd...

Why the hell does this keep happening to me? Why can I only be interested in people that are not available? What are these symptoms?

People, I think this is one of the major problems in me not finding a significant other. (Beside the fact that I'm not someone to fall in love with, that is.)

A Startling Start

Okay kiddos, here's how this is going to work out:

there are two of us and we are going to introduce our cases. We pretty much promise you will have fun with us - if not bursting into spontaneous laughters due to our natural hilariousness, at least you can always laugh at our ridiculous unsuccessful lives. And guess what? We will use differing colours in co-made posts so that you can tell us apart! Talk about some fun!

We are what most people call "single" but what we call "old maids". Single sounds like a choice and having fun. Old maid is a state of mind with certain desperation and the inner knowledge of eventually having one's maiden name carved into the tombstone that will mockingly rest a couple of meters (feet, if you like) above one's corpse.

Here we go.

My name is Miia. You will see it below my texts anyway so there's no point hiding it. I don't need that much privacy anyway. I'm rather going to make this blog so damned great that it would almost qualify as part of my CV one day. At least if I'm ever going to be either a stand up comedienne or a professional whiner (and trust me, if anyone paid me for that stuff, I already would have given up studying).

I just turned 20. I have never had a boyfriend and I will never have one. There is a significant problem out there and it is that I have too high criteria:
1) I want someone I'm interested in
2) I want someone who is interested in me

Those things never seem to coincide. I've admitted it and I hope someday I will learn how to be happy by myself because that is the only way I'm ever going to live my life. For half a year, I tried not dreaming and not admitting to myself that what I wanted was a lovable man to marry and have kids with, but that didn't quite work out, so now I just say to myself, 'hey, i'd like to find my true love and start a family', although I am perfectly aware this will never happen. Delusions of grandeur. Full-time hallucinations. Fine by me.

I live with a roommate I basically never talk to, have a bunch of awesome friends I hardly ever meet, play the altosax out of tune, write fanfiction about absurd things you're happier not to hear of, stay up too late every night, believe in God, study communication, knit loads of woollen socks, hang around my apartment half naked all the time, sing awkwardly loudly, eat unhealthily, look like a Dove model with all my beloved cellulite and unwanted curves, plan to interrail in Romania next summer and every once in a while cry myself to sleep whilst thinking of my miserable and lonely life.

I tell you a secret: I sincerely believe my co-blogger will not be blogging about this subject for too long. She is too awesome to stay single. But I, my dearest - and probably imaginary - readers, will be here with you until the end of time or at least until Blogger will be closed or I die, whichever comes first. Because I'm doomed to be an old maid. And you are to read various post about why this is so and how it feels like.

Now let me just pass the writing turn to DOM's other half. I'm sure she'll write charmingly.

Hullo! This is the mysterious co-blogger writing. Mysterious, because I still want to do my everyday grocery shopping the way I have always done it (you know what it's like to be famous). You can actually call me whatever you like. My co-blogger, for instance, just named me Ling for some incomprehensible reason. So be it... Ling.

Frankly, there's not that much to tell about me. I'm an almost 20-year-old female working around 30 hours weekly and feeling guilty for not having future plans. Roughly said I spent the last 6 months not enjoying life due to a wrong decision I made. It taught me a lot, though. So, dear readers, here is my message for you today: make wrong choices! They make you much better people!

Today I'm enjoying my perfect loneliness and a broken lamp in the fridge because I have no one to fix it for me. Pathetic.

Anyway, if this wasn't a blog about despair, loneliness and sorrow, I would tell you I love people, music, nature, art, travelling, food, good movies, clichés, long conversations and spontaneity, just to mention few. But this IS a blog about despair, loneliness and sorrow. That is, optimism will no longer be seen here unless it's a very special occasion, such as me getting married (not gonna happen) or my precious co-blogger getting married (hopefully not gonna happen, don't you dare leave me alone here). 

I do agree that I'm too awesome to stay single and I do think I would make an outstanding wife (you have no idea what you are losing, lads). Let me tell you more about that later. And yes, all the time I wish I had a reason to leave this blog one day very soon. Blessed be that day of joy and laughter! ( as you can see, dealing with the fact that it will never happen remains problematic...) 

If you didn't notice it yet, today is St Valentine's day - indeed, what a day for creating a blog like this! If you happen to spend it all alone at home weeping, emptiness in your heart only, don't worry. You are not alone. 

Happy fucking Valentine's Day!!!