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.