I know I want a relationship but perhaps it’s the person who’s throwing me off…? It’s too easy to get caught up and excited when someone new comes around that I sometimes forget to take a step back and look at the bigger picture. The naivete in me. Maybe I still don’t know what/who I’m looking for. Afterall, I’ve had the worst luck with men. Sometimes I tend to get blinded by materialism, status, and power and end up being treated like shit. What about my current muse, you ask? All I know is that this person is filling a void for me right now. Hey, there’s nothing wrong with being a little bit selfish at times. Besides, I’m always cursing myself for being too nice, too generous to people. Maybe I’m wanting the relationship more than the actual person. How fucked is that?
I just wrote a better entry 20 minutes ago and WordPress failed to post it. Fucking fuck. Anyways. A short summary of it will now commence.
My blog is comprised of my thoughts, my opinions, my perspective.
I’ve kept a physical journal (well, journals) since I was a child and have been blogging since the age of 13. The content has obviously evolved and I continue to blog because it’s therapeutic to me and I really do enjoy writing. My blog reflects and documents my struggles, emotions, and daily happenings in the life of, well, me.
In the past week, I have produced some entries which have highlighted some of my current insecurities, vulnerability, and issues. I blog not only for myself, but to initiate and generate discussion and to provide new perspectives to whoever reads my blog. I really appreciate people that can contribute to the conversation in a respectful way. I actually encourage people to respond and disagree, as long as they have supportive and valid statements. It’s enriching. And as much fun as I had writing the entries, I can’t say the same for some reactions I’ve received from some people. Although I generally don’t care nor do I get offended easily by what other people say or think about me, I felt a little bit annoyed. Not by the comments that were made directly to the posts, just to clarify, but I felt attacked when a particular person used the content on my blog to purposely attack me. Yeah. When that happens, you’re fucking dead to me. I almost felt that I had to validate myself to him and why the fuck would I ever do that? I shouldn’t have to ever prove myself to anybody, anytime. I’m still waiting for an apology, thanks.
But on a happier note, I do encourage those who read my blog to contribute their thoughts and opinions to the conversation. I’m always willing to hear another angle of the story; it’s enriching. I love learning from others. I also underestimate the extent of people to which my blog reaches out to. It’s a weird, funny feeling when I get a message from an acquaintance or random saying that “Hey, that post made so much sense to me” or “I feel the same way!”. So, please, keep ’em coming!
I’m really happy. But not let-myself-go happy…almost there though.
In an ideal chivalrous world, the following should happen before/during/after a bootycall:
1) Guy picks up girl.
2) Supply alcoholic beverages, chase, and condoms.
4) Provide earplugs. Sleep. No snoring and/or spooning.
6) Drive girl home.
Irritate me. Why is there an inherent need to label things/people? People feel compelled to slap a label on practically everything. Girlfriend/boyfriend, single/taken, butch/femme, top/bottom, good/bad, legal/illegal. The dichotomous way in which society functions is utterly problematic as there are many individuals that do not fit the cookie cutter mould. For example, intersex individuals. What’s that? Lady Gaga. Google it. As a gender studies minor, I’m very familiar with the term. It’s a grey area which can be described as neither girl or boy. An inbetween. No, not a hermaphrodite (in some cases, yes). Quick to label, see? It’s an example of a grey area. And considering the amount of people that do not abide by conventional standards, I am constantly baffled by the fact that these “grey areas” are still considered to be socially unacceptable. I really don’t understand the importance of it. Labelling, which is most often do in a negative way, demonstrates poor education and ignorance, in my opinion.
And titles. Everyone has a fucking title nowadays. Foodie. Blogger. Business Administration Candidate. WTF? I have a good laugh whenever someone follows me on Twitter because they try to squeeze in every possible title in their tiny Bio section. Uh, I thought Twitter was supposed to be condensed and to the point? Right.
First of all, everybody is a “self-proclaimed” foodie nowadays. Do you have any culinary training? Did you study at AI? Do you even cook? Not saying that these three things are necessary accreditation to be considered a “foodie”, but it bugs me when people try so hard blogging about food when they have no idea how it was cooked, prepared, the ingredients used, etc. It just makes me cringe a little.
…which brings me to my next point. Blogger. I cringe when my friends refer to me as a “blogger”. I don’t know. I blog for myself. I blog because I enjoy writing. I blog because I enjoy sharing my stories with others. I don’t get paid to do it. When people say “blogger”, they kind of refer to it as some sort of profession, but it’s really not. (but hey, if you can professionally blog, kudos to you…jealous).
[Insert undergraduate program] Candidate. This is hilarious. I always see business kids using this in their signatures. I’ve ranted about this before. The professors in my program actually sent out an angry email via our academic advisor to correct and prevent undegraduate from adding “candidate” in their signatures. Why? Because “candidate” means you’re in graduate school…which many of us sadly are not. Annoying. Stop.
I sometimes feel that there is so much weird shit on my blog that I need to balance it out with some academic stimulation. I hope I was able to rack your brain for a split second.
Um, yep. If you’re friends with me on Facebook, you will know that I am applying to be on the Canadian version of The Bachelor. If you weren’t aware, well, now you know! Perhaps this could be the answer to all of my single girl problems? Maybe I will find true love on national television?! Or maybe, just maybe, I will become a celebrity. Yes.
And probably for all the wrong reasons.
1) Lack of options.
2) I don’t want to be alone anymore.
5) That warm fuzzy feeling.
…which may translate to desperation, stupidity, or temporary happiness. I don’t think these reasons are necessarily bad. A little selfish, yeah, but they’re not necessarily “wrong”. Society will tell you it’s wrong but I don’t give a shit.
I’ve still got my eye fixated on my current “matured” flavour of the
week month, much to the utter dismay of others. But hey, I learn from first-hand experience. And I’ve learned from the varied responses I’ve received from the handful of people I’ve told. Puts things into perspective. Makes me question a number of things like, why would this guy even be interested in me? It’s not because I’m special. It’s not because we have a ton in common. There are a number of assumptions that have been and can be made. Young. Easy. Naive. Sure. But I’m just seeing where this goes. Obviously not expecting any type of real commitment from this dude because at that age, you should have your shit together (or atleast in my mind you should). I’m enjoying the connection though. Don’t kill me for being curious. Who knows…?
Agree or disagree?
As you may know, I love older men. But sometimes, my choice in men seems to…hm, upset some people. Not only are they douchebags, not only are they immature, but they’re also apparently too old for me. How old is too old?! My limit, generally speaking, is 35. It’s always been like that, ever since highschool where I severely, and not to mention notoriously, crushed on my socials teacher (I was 14, he was 28). But now as I am getting older, it seems like the lines are getting a little blurry as well. Gym guy’s 41 and I freaked the fuck out when I found out last year. Yes, I admit that I freaked out cus he is like, 19 years older than me but the more creepy part was that he was 19 years older than me and still working at Safeway. Dealbreaker. But anyhow, I kind of met someone who’s a tad bit younger than gym guy but for some reason, I’m not really turned off. Maybe it’s because this guy actually has aspirations, an occupation, a career. 15 year age gap. It doesn’t seem too bad, does it? I’ve seen guys with the 10 year age gap thing going on and yes, it was obvious we were at two different life stages. I even had that chat with someone who was 7 years older. Honestly. The only thing we had in common was, well, you know. I’m sure the same thing applies in my current situation.
If anything, this should be good/last long enough to provide entertainment to my oh so glam post-grad life. Yay. I mean, it’s pretty naive to think that he’s actually interested in me, right?
Something Someone is making me smile profusely.
When was the last time you actually listened to someone? No, I mean seriously listened to them. Nowadays, I am finding that people are so concerned with thinking about what they are going to say next to a person or they feel compelled to give their opinion and end up interrupting the person whomever they are having a conversation with. Stop. Perhaps you might learn something from the person who is actually speaking. Perhaps you will take something away that is more valuable than your two cents.
I use my blog as an outlet for me to bitch, ramble, and express myself. I’m not asking for a response from anybody but the comments have begun to accumulate. I’m not asking for advice. If I were asking for some, I would phrase it in a question; I would’ve asked for your opinion. Most of the time I am bitching about something. I write for myself; it’s therapeutic for me. More and more people have begun to tell me how much they can relate to my entries and often thank me for the posts I write. I want to say thank you to whoever reads my blog because most importantly, you are listening. Someone is listening. It’s comforting knowing random people out there care (or don’t) when I feel too ashamed or unworthy to reach out to my friends or if I’m having a rough week. Thanks for giving a shit.