I think that maybe I should just turn my okcupid profile into a big joke. like, photos of my untoned abs, me drooling or sitting on the toilet.
I’d only exist to make pizza or give blowjobs, or I could expound on bullshit conspiracy theories, talk about how I’m saving all my toenail clippings to…
because sometimes you move into a collective with your two best friends and think that every night is going to be like a sleepover party.
untill you find out that they never wash their dishes, or snore really loud, or eat with the smack smack smacking equivalent to a large woman’s feet schlopping on the tile floor of your local indoor pool. or sometimes they cuddle with boys on the couch when you REALLY wanted to just sit around in your pajamas watching skins all day. sometimes you’re watching your figure and they decide that that is the moment when they’re going to bread and deep fry everything in the kitchen and serve it with a side of ice cream. and sometimes hearing their incessant sexy time through the walls makes you want to curl up with your mom and pretend that “oh baby” still was a term of endearment for a tiny child. and sometimes you actually do run home to your mom and pretend like you still live with her.
despite that, i have learned several different things:
1. vegan food. holy crap. so good.
2. 90’s music videos, CAN get old.
3. label your food, it doesn’t mean your a prick, it just means you like your jar of pickles in your own goddamn mouth.
4. headphones are awesome.
5. sleeping next to someone else is always better than alone.
6. even the threat of cyanide will not make anyone do the dishes untill their ready.
7. people, including myself, are particular. they’re chock full of opinions about everything from how to raise a cat to wether or not to flush pee. its your job to decide which of these is actually valid.
8. if you’d like to start a blog about collective living, you should do it.
9. if you’re going to invite your parents over, hide the weed.
10. dance parties are awesome, just don’t plan an end time because no one is going to listen to you when you say its time to go home.
so you’re “just trying to help” you have some grand master plot to save the world. however my friendships are between myself and that person. not. you.
i really don’t care what impression you have or what you think you have all figured out because you haven’t been around for the past year and a half watching all the shit thats happened and the person that has held me up for that time. or how i’ve held him up.
so you can’t even begin to understant whats going on in my head and my heart and with other people because thats my time. and my shit. and honestly it really sucks because every time i’ve tried to be okay you’ve stepped in and talked about how i’m such a fucking life ruiner. how you know everything you do because evidently you know everything.
it makes me feel like a stupid, young, piece of shit. like everything i try, no matter what is worthless and that you and all of the people i’m trying desprately hard to impress feel that way. because every time i try to talk about it, or move forward in my actions i get shut down for my mistakes and my stupidity.
for evidently being so horribly wrong.
i dont like myself, darling feminist bitch friend,
I dont like that i don’t know how to mingle or make friends
I don’t like that everyone lets my age define my capabilities in a relationship or otherwise.
I don’t like that people like you and my housemates and everyone else are just sitting waiting, legs crossed for me to fuck it all up.
because in reality, darling feminist bitch friend,
you want to know what i feel like at the end of the show?
when i go home and crawl into bed (alone or otherwise) ?
i sit and think of how i am a failure. about how all i have going for me is my voice and some shitty lyrics about a highschool exboyfriend.
about how i’m passionate about special education but not about college which i need to get me into the classroom
about how i used to be one of the pretty ones but now i’m just “curvy.” “rounder” no longer beautiful.
about how my friends know exactly what they want in life and i don’t even know what i want for breakfast.
about how in reality i am a lost and lonely little girl who doesn’t even know enough about herself to have the confidence to mingle.
who is afraid.
who is intimidated by all the grown ups around her.
who is continually questioning everything.
but i think you already knew that, darling, feminst, bitch, friend,
because about 7 years ago you were me.
you were just as lonely, self-loathing, scared, and starry eyed as i am now.
my only hope is that i don’t end up like you.
because as disgusting and hateful as i feel about myself,
i know i can do a helluva lot better than that.
-magee
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y’know. just my band. nbd
nikkidotz:
When I was very young (about 6 or 7 until 10), my grandfather molested me. Countless times. Finally I was old enough to understand it was wrong, and I told my mom. I sometimes regret that because I know it broke her heart. He has since passed on, but I feel no resentment towards him….
she was angry. at. everything.
maybe it had something to do with the fact that her uterus had slowly been leaking for about 3 weeks now, making her emotions fly off the handle everytime even the vaguest thing went awry.
or the fact that her band mate and companion had decided that filling her nostrils with as much white powder as possible was more important than even acknowledging her existence.
or because she had let herself go in many ways. health and otherwise and it was frustrating to sit there and try to recover from her own mistakes when the whole fiasco could have been completely avoided if she had just been smarter.
or the fact that her partner seemed so uninterested. as if everything she tried was just not exciting whatsoever. and it seemed that he wanted nothing else than to do his own thing and encourage her to do her own. she felt him leaving. but she felt everyone leaving. or perhaps she was leaving herself. who knew. who gave a fuck really?
no one.
she had a pretty affirmative loathing for hearing people’s answering machines.
particularly when she craved to hear their voice.
she read books by the writers she dreamed to be, people she admired though their life styles were really nothing notable. unless continuous intoxication was a category for the pulitzer. the actions of the characters disturbed her yet intrigued her. perhaps it was the glamour. perhaps it was their intense lack of concern for the effects of their actions on anyone else. where as she took the intricate time to ensure that no one was hurt, though it was ultimately inevitable. she envied their blase way of life.
yet not particularly so. she loved people. all people. and while the brash, brazen, and offensive attracted her it was more to understand than anything else. she had no desire to hate, no desire to destroy, but yet destruction romanced her with its sultry walk and mysterious eyes. she longed for it the way a fiancee longed for that one last glimmer of strange before his life completely changed. and she felt the conflict of those desires battling with her sense of purpose. it was a vicious duel, and no one was particularly getting anywhere.
times they are a changin
sometimes, i just can’t help myself
im different.
