(first draft)
1. Do not date
2. If you disregard the rule above and date anyway, at least do not admit it to anyone
3. Especially not to yourself or to any common acquaintances of yours that happen to stumble upon you two in the middle of your non-date (instead ask them to join you for a drink)
4. If at a bar or coffee shop, it is fine to sit around for six hours spending 0,5€ (in total for you two)
5. If at your place, do not offer food or any beverages beyond the coffee or tea that you used to lure them into your apartment
6. If after several hours of applying rule five your date seems hungry, make it clear that you do not have any food in the fridge, then serve a chunk of cheese - it's not growing hair of its own, they are just imagining it, your cheese is always fresh and fine, darling, so watch them closely until they have eaten it all (any other leftovers from your fridge work just as fine, the cheese is purely an example)
7. There is no limit whatsoever to the distance you may expect them to go in order to date you; this applies both literally (hundreds of kilometres is basic if you have just started, thousands if it's been weeks already) and metaphorically (hanging out in 25 degrees below zero celsius for hours is no biggie)
I myself, naturally, never dated. See rule one for further reference.
(Okay, okay, see rule two.)
If there are any dating-related questions that have made your little minds twist and twirl in bewilderment, please let me know and I will be happy to post additional rules!
8 May 2013
19 Mar 2013
Okay okay here it comes
If you have been reading between the lines you might know why I have been so silent.
It's not like I was a lamb (now this must be the most terribly lame reference to popular culture ever). And it's not like I was wearing a gag for BDSM or other purposes.
It's, like, because I don't know what to say.
I have a solid reason to being puzzled. This reason is approximately 2500 to 3000 kilometres away from me and currently supposedly asleep.
Why don't I just spit it out, well, it's kind of a, well, boyfriend-kind of a reason.
I KNOW
WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK
I DON'T EVEN
But this is an old maid desperation blog, you say.
Well exactly. That is kind of problematic. Try to take it as 'encouraging', though, right? Yeah I know, if I were you I'd just want to punch me in the face. I remember a little too well the feeling when someone else got involved with someone and I was completely unable to be happy for them due to being too busy dwelling in my own miserability and all the hatred I bore towards those goddamn-fucking-cock-sucking-priviledged sons-and-daughters-of-bitches who, indeed, were basically ordinary people finding each other.
Well I don't think I'm that ordinary. I'm still a fuck up, no matter what.
So I guess this blog will turn into something like, oldmaidness and beyond. I'm trying to figure out a catchy name. Relationships puzzle me and I continue to be awkward so why not write about it, right? Also, if there is something, anything that you would like me to write about, please do contact me! I would be delighted!
Will you guys still read me?
Please do not feel like I betrayed you?
I feel like I betrayed you, though. And myself. And I'm scared as hell. I think that's makes a good starting point.
Over the next few weeks I'm kind of busy travelling but I will get back to you sooner or later, I promise.
It's not like I was a lamb (now this must be the most terribly lame reference to popular culture ever). And it's not like I was wearing a gag for BDSM or other purposes.
It's, like, because I don't know what to say.
I have a solid reason to being puzzled. This reason is approximately 2500 to 3000 kilometres away from me and currently supposedly asleep.
Why don't I just spit it out, well, it's kind of a, well, boyfriend-kind of a reason.
I KNOW
WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK
I DON'T EVEN
But this is an old maid desperation blog, you say.
Well exactly. That is kind of problematic. Try to take it as 'encouraging', though, right? Yeah I know, if I were you I'd just want to punch me in the face. I remember a little too well the feeling when someone else got involved with someone and I was completely unable to be happy for them due to being too busy dwelling in my own miserability and all the hatred I bore towards those goddamn-fucking-cock-sucking-priviledged sons-and-daughters-of-bitches who, indeed, were basically ordinary people finding each other.
Well I don't think I'm that ordinary. I'm still a fuck up, no matter what.
So I guess this blog will turn into something like, oldmaidness and beyond. I'm trying to figure out a catchy name. Relationships puzzle me and I continue to be awkward so why not write about it, right? Also, if there is something, anything that you would like me to write about, please do contact me! I would be delighted!
Will you guys still read me?
Please do not feel like I betrayed you?
I feel like I betrayed you, though. And myself. And I'm scared as hell. I think that's makes a good starting point.
Over the next few weeks I'm kind of busy travelling but I will get back to you sooner or later, I promise.
13 Feb 2013
I found an unpublished draft
I realized there is a post I haven't published, or not even fully written. A post that needs to be written and published in a blog like this, though. And here it comes.
During the holidays, I read The Casual Vacancy by J.K. Rowling. In it, I did find this quote:
She had fancied Andrew Price once, before she realized that she was utterly unfit to fancy anyone; before she realized that she was laughable and strange.
This feeling is what I feel like I need to talk about.
It's most probably not something you feel occasionally, or something that comes and goes. It's something that you develop quite early on in your life and then carry around as an exhaustingly heavy piece of emotional baggage.
When I was a kid, I was no one's crush. I had crushes, and they laughed at me if they found out. This made me believe I was, well, 'unfit to fancy anyone -- laughable and strange'.
This is the most horrible thing one can believe: that you do not deserve love. God I wish I never got into this shit because I'll tell you, it's almost impossible to get out of that sea of despair after spending so many years on the edge of drowning, even if someone now throws a rope at you and screams, 'you're not laughable, and your strangeness is enchanting'.
I am a woman but I've never really thought that I could count as one in the eyes of others. Not only because I have these manly-kind-of-wide shoulders, hardly any bust and a Ridge Forrester typed chin. More like, I'm not a valid woman because I haven't been... validated by others' acceptance, I guess. Let's take an example. Every once in a while, my eyes come across articles that tell about studies of how often men think of sex or whether they imagine doing it with every woman they encounter. Each and every time I'm bound to think: yeah right, men think of having sex with every woman they meet, except me 'cause I don't count.
And not counting has always made it hard for me to for example tell my friends about my crushes. I just can't open up about a cute guy when I think everyone would (at least secretly in their minds but possibly even openly, laughing) be like, oh man, do you really think you are allowed to fancy that person; no you're not because no one fancies you, certainly not that guy anyway.
I know that the basis of this belief of mine - that might even be a false one! how should I know? - has been laid when I was so young that the boys rejecting me were children, and that also I have changed drastically since those days. But despite all this, I'm struggling with this issue. I have to work hard every day in order to possibly at some point in the future be able to believe without a doubt, I am allowed, I am not unfit, I am not to be judged, and someone spectacular actually fancies me.
I feel like I could go on with this topic endlessly. Instead I'm going to turn the set upside down and get you involved:
Do you recognize yourself in this post? Do you identify? What have you done or what are you doing to recover?
Please feel free to open up in the comment box. Clear your minds. For I sincerely believe that if you think you're 'unfit to fancy anyone', then your thoughts must be erraneous and that with a sufficient (possibly seemingly overwhelming) amount of work you will be able to sort it out. And I want to help you with that, if ever possible.
During the holidays, I read The Casual Vacancy by J.K. Rowling. In it, I did find this quote:
She had fancied Andrew Price once, before she realized that she was utterly unfit to fancy anyone; before she realized that she was laughable and strange.
This feeling is what I feel like I need to talk about.
It's most probably not something you feel occasionally, or something that comes and goes. It's something that you develop quite early on in your life and then carry around as an exhaustingly heavy piece of emotional baggage.
When I was a kid, I was no one's crush. I had crushes, and they laughed at me if they found out. This made me believe I was, well, 'unfit to fancy anyone -- laughable and strange'.
This is the most horrible thing one can believe: that you do not deserve love. God I wish I never got into this shit because I'll tell you, it's almost impossible to get out of that sea of despair after spending so many years on the edge of drowning, even if someone now throws a rope at you and screams, 'you're not laughable, and your strangeness is enchanting'.
I am a woman but I've never really thought that I could count as one in the eyes of others. Not only because I have these manly-kind-of-wide shoulders, hardly any bust and a Ridge Forrester typed chin. More like, I'm not a valid woman because I haven't been... validated by others' acceptance, I guess. Let's take an example. Every once in a while, my eyes come across articles that tell about studies of how often men think of sex or whether they imagine doing it with every woman they encounter. Each and every time I'm bound to think: yeah right, men think of having sex with every woman they meet, except me 'cause I don't count.
And not counting has always made it hard for me to for example tell my friends about my crushes. I just can't open up about a cute guy when I think everyone would (at least secretly in their minds but possibly even openly, laughing) be like, oh man, do you really think you are allowed to fancy that person; no you're not because no one fancies you, certainly not that guy anyway.
I know that the basis of this belief of mine - that might even be a false one! how should I know? - has been laid when I was so young that the boys rejecting me were children, and that also I have changed drastically since those days. But despite all this, I'm struggling with this issue. I have to work hard every day in order to possibly at some point in the future be able to believe without a doubt, I am allowed, I am not unfit, I am not to be judged, and someone spectacular actually fancies me.
I feel like I could go on with this topic endlessly. Instead I'm going to turn the set upside down and get you involved:
Do you recognize yourself in this post? Do you identify? What have you done or what are you doing to recover?
Please feel free to open up in the comment box. Clear your minds. For I sincerely believe that if you think you're 'unfit to fancy anyone', then your thoughts must be erraneous and that with a sufficient (possibly seemingly overwhelming) amount of work you will be able to sort it out. And I want to help you with that, if ever possible.
1 Feb 2013
10 Jan 2013
Situation update
I feel like I'm sitting on the box and claiming there is no cat, just because I'm too afraid to look into the box to see whether the cat is dead or alive.
I'm afraid of it being dead, and I'm even more afraid of that it might be alive.
How long can it be both, should I not open the box at all?
I'm afraid of it being dead, and I'm even more afraid of that it might be alive.
How long can it be both, should I not open the box at all?
29 Dec 2012
[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.
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.
26 Dec 2012
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.
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.
6 Dec 2012
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.
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.
26 Nov 2012
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:
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:
23 Nov 2012
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 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.)
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)