Practicing celibacy isn't hard when you bounce between being completely happy and terribly sad every couple of weeks/several days. It's not hard when you're being slightly anti-social as well.

Dear depressed boys with substance abuse issues,

Stop being the only ones interested in me.

Thanks.

In my biology class, I started making a list.

Things That Are Terrible According to Me:
+ My bio class
+ Bananas
+ Bananas IN my bio class
+ My bio professor smacking his teeth after EVERY sentence...
+ Paper cuts
+ Snow with no snow day
+ Pretending my celibacy is voluntary
+ Watching this boy in the front row chew on and then sniff his fingers
+ Realizing that I probably look just as terrible as I feel
+ Having the professor describe a petri dish to you as a "little plate," assuming you don't know what a petri dish is...
+ Morning breath after an afternoon nap


That's all for now.
This list will continue to grow.
The class is terrible times three.

I'm starting to think that the Universe is out to get me.
The unfortunate coincidences (U.C.'s) continue and I still can't do anything but laugh.

The other night, I explained some of my life and the U.C.'s that just seem to "happen" to me over and over again to a new friend.
She had no response other than, "I've heard some coincidental stories from people, but you have the worst... 'luck' if that's what you want to call it."

I could probably write a novella based on the past four years alone, connecting all of the main characters and even ending with an arch nemesis that unfortunately slept with two out of the three boys I have selectively fell in love with. (Yes, I say "selectively" because when I fall in love it's like a Broadway production.)

Hmmm... my love as a Broadway production seems pretty accurate; along with a description of my life in the form of choking on (and almost dying) Cheetos and water as I watched the most recent episode of Grey's Anatomy.

I think Broadway and Cheetos go hand in hand. Don't you?

Apologies that come years after the fact are self-fulfilling.
No exceptions.
They never make anything better.

Green Triceratops into a Pink Tiger

Good thing the new episode of "United States of Tara" was already uploaded to the internet tonight.
It's working as a satisfying distraction.

She's not aware of one of her alter identities.
Watching this Showtime original television series makes me long for amnesia after I turn into the routine drunk.
I also become a different person that I wish had more self control. And overall control over her droopy, drunk eyes. Pictures of her are not flattering.
Although she is confident and aggressive, she isn't very tactful and falls all over her wobbly legs and slurring lips.

If only I could have amnesia every time she came around. If only.

Some of us aren't meant to be alone. Some of us aren't meant for this dating game.
I'm not meant for any of this. Any of the games, the looks, the rules... I want no part of it.
When I date, I am ruthless and I watch others be just as unforgiving or worse.
I play the games, use the looks and bend the rules to fit my liking.
I've hurt people before. I've been hurt.
Dating around gives a black eye to the people that trust and believe in true love and the swelling will never go down, the frozen peas won't work their magic. It'll forever be black and blue and pulsing uncomfortably.


Happy belated Valentine's Day.

What is it about being lonely that desperation finds it so easy to follow closely behind?

I personally hate myself when I reach out to people that I've closed doors with and I usually do this when I am too wasted for dignity.

Dignity seems to hide when I am this drunk.

Look at me typing in a blog while I'm drunk. How fun.
I'm sorry, Pierce. I called you and woke you up. That was ridiculous.




I need to sleep off these feelings of desperation and heart burn.
It's just making me want to call him up and confess my love for him.
And according to my past patterns of unrequited love, I know how that will turn out. . .