Readers, friends, readers who are friends, I would like to sincerely apologize for the lengthy delay. I had slightly less to complain about than usual, having taken a brief foray into "normalcy", maybe even “happiness” (getting laid on the reg by the same person and generally having more spring in my step), and normal, happy people lack the wherewithall to pound out bitter tirades against the unfairness of life and publish them to the Internets (which is probably why, according to a 2006 study conducted at my alma mater Indiana University, “Diary writing has traditionally been associated with females, and politics and external events, the mainstays of filter blogs, have traditionally been masculine topics. Furthermore, previous research shows that females write more diary blogs, and males write a disproportionate number of filter blogs”).
Why do guys insist on holding us to higher standards of sanity when we spend a nearly quarter of our lives BLEEDING OUT OF OUR VAGINAS? Please, please, PLEASE don’t misinterpret this as any sort of pro-feminist sentiment; most of the time I like being a girl, but we don’t get to pee standing up, or become President, and a pubic 5 o’clock shadow doesn’t have anywhere close to the sexy-scruffy allure that the one on your chin has. If boys spent ½ the amount of time we did holding in all outbound colonic movement, they’d go fucking insane, too.
That said, I know that the entire male species isn’t just going to shout “Eureka! This girl is SO right and pretty and smart!” and start making decisions with anyone in mind but themselves (which is just one of those frustrating turn-ons that gets me all hot and bothered, anyway), and actually become COMPASSIONATE and SENSITIVE (which would also make them a bunch of sissypants ‘nice guys’ - and nice guys finish dead last), and throw us a goddamn bone for once, and stop seductively inducing the maniacal antics out of us whenever they possibly can (thereby absolving themselves of any culpability for what went wrong). It would be nice, though. A utopian paradise where men are kind and it is an accepted truth that bitches be cray cray.
Because it is an empirical fact that all girls are crazy. Even you. And you. And you, over there, shaking your head judgmentally and thinking smugly that you're sooo above drama. You're not. However, many of you are at least less masochistic enough to extricate yourselves from an histrionic-episode-inducing situation before you lob a cinder block through dude's windshield ("It was sitting right next to your parking space, begging me to throw it, and you're the one who had some skank answer your phone and tell me you were too busy with 'Jessica' to answer my call.").
Anyhow, enough sharing. Besides, that was YEARS ago; I've come a long way since then and restraining orders don't last forever. When the crazy bug bites, pull out the laminated print-out of this multi-part post that you always keep handy and consult and send me a signed blank check for graciously bestowing my considerable knowledge upon all you damsels in dementia out there:
P.S. I am offering a $1gazillion reward to anyone who can teach me to follow my own advice.
Aaand scene! Come back on Monday or I will call/text/e-mail you inexorably AND break into your apartment.
Why do guys insist on holding us to higher standards of sanity when we spend a nearly quarter of our lives BLEEDING OUT OF OUR VAGINAS? Please, please, PLEASE don’t misinterpret this as any sort of pro-feminist sentiment; most of the time I like being a girl, but we don’t get to pee standing up, or become President, and a pubic 5 o’clock shadow doesn’t have anywhere close to the sexy-scruffy allure that the one on your chin has. If boys spent ½ the amount of time we did holding in all outbound colonic movement, they’d go fucking insane, too.
That said, I know that the entire male species isn’t just going to shout “Eureka! This girl is SO right and pretty and smart!” and start making decisions with anyone in mind but themselves (which is just one of those frustrating turn-ons that gets me all hot and bothered, anyway), and actually become COMPASSIONATE and SENSITIVE (which would also make them a bunch of sissypants ‘nice guys’ - and nice guys finish dead last), and throw us a goddamn bone for once, and stop seductively inducing the maniacal antics out of us whenever they possibly can (thereby absolving themselves of any culpability for what went wrong). It would be nice, though. A utopian paradise where men are kind and it is an accepted truth that bitches be cray cray.
Because it is an empirical fact that all girls are crazy. Even you. And you. And you, over there, shaking your head judgmentally and thinking smugly that you're sooo above drama. You're not. However, many of you are at least less masochistic enough to extricate yourselves from an histrionic-episode-inducing situation before you lob a cinder block through dude's windshield ("It was sitting right next to your parking space, begging me to throw it, and you're the one who had some skank answer your phone and tell me you were too busy with 'Jessica' to answer my call.").
Anyhow, enough sharing. Besides, that was YEARS ago; I've come a long way since then and restraining orders don't last forever. When the crazy bug bites, pull out the laminated print-out of this multi-part post that you always keep handy and consult and send me a signed blank check for graciously bestowing my considerable knowledge upon all you damsels in dementia out there:
P.S. I am offering a $1gazillion reward to anyone who can teach me to follow my own advice.
Aaand scene! Come back on Monday or I will call/text/e-mail you inexorably AND break into your apartment.
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