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Back again?

Not Shady, that’s who.

Ayyy, it’s been a while! I have tons of work that I should be getting done, but who has two thumbs, (probably) mild clinical depression, and difficulty expressing her feelings to actual people?

Wow, you guessed it. How did you know.

Nah, but for reals, I’m back, mostly because I’m cranky, and I got feels that I would like to share but feel too weird about actually sharing.

So since my emotional maturity has regressed to high school stages, what better place to air this out than where my journey into shameful oversharing began? Besides, all the actually dumb shit has been locked so tight even I don’t remember how to open it, so I think we’re fine.

Welcome back 2009!Grace, the whining you loved, but with new and improved dank memes! #dicksout #sunsoutgunsout #whatguns

But for real reals, I’m currently trying to convince myself that this is an improvement over pouring everything out into a private Word document because:

  1. This saves my annoying thoughts in *the cloud*, which is probably better for posterity than my hard drive
  2. Publishing this for public access means I have to describe everything through a remove-personal-information filter, which might(?) help me emotionally detach from the situation to aide processing.

Aight, so here’s the deal. As I have mentioned before, Christmas is a special time for me and my homegirls (please don’t actually call us that). Not because Christmas itself is special to me at all, besides the potential for dope presents and mild-to-intense religious disagreements. No, Christmas is a time when nearly everyone goes home to see the fam, and by extension, each other (and also get days off).

Ever since university hit, naturally, the annual get-together has had increasingly poor attendance. And “Christmas sleepover” has slowly evolved from “silly high school sleepover” to “casual dinner get-together with maybe some wine but not too much because most people drive home to sleep in their own beds”. In a few years, I’m sure it will slowly become “dinner and then, ooh, sorry, we’d like to stay later but the babysitter is paid by the hour”. And somehow I missed the fun transition stage when it was “everyone gets wasted on mulled wine and hard cider and eggnog”…maybe we’re just not that type of group.

Anyway, this year is no different, what with me being halfway across the sea. But it’s mid-November, so the question in the group chat gets asked: “can you make it?”, and my answer is obviously: nope.

Fine, Grace can’t come. But Other-out-of-province friend might be able to make it, so let’s plan this get-together, trying to mesh together the schedules of 10-ish busy people, some of whom have an annoyingly high-paying job. And I mean annoyingly in that it pays well enough to support SOMEBODY’S annoying habit of LEAVING THE COUNTRY every chance she gets (you know who you are) (but for real, congrats on the job, please take me with you on your trips? Just pay for my airfare and accommodation, I won’t even make eye contact with you the whole time, you won’t even know I’m there).

So yeah, planning, planning, for an event I can’t attend, but it’s fine, I like lurking in group chats, even if I’m not contributing…makes me feel included, like a happy cat in a basket of plush toys. Included, yet creepy, like a happy cat hiding in a basket of plush toys, waiting to bust out and pounce on the human who feeds me.

But then Out-of-province friendo #3 chimes in, “heeyyy, sorry can’t come gonna stay out-of-province with that fam this year kthxhavefunbyeeeeee” (tone has been significantly altered in this transcription).

And what follows? “awwwww, we’ll miss you friendo!” “it won’t be the same without you friendo!” “i hate that you’re missing another Christmas with us friendo!” “hearts!”

I mean, I realize why my response didn’t get…a response, but what am I, chopped liver??

[warning…in an already pretty salty post, there is increased salt ahead]

Look, she’s missing out on Christmas willingly, to spend time with family. At least she gets to experience the warmth of familial social interaction to help thaw the frigid hell of winter. So of course, it’s “aww, such a shame!”.

And me? It’s not like I could have come home but chose not to. Could I have come? Let’s see…I’m stuck in a foreign country. Stuck in a foreign country that doesn’t even have the decency to have warmer winters. Stuck in a foreign country that doesn’t really celebrate Christmas. So yeah, not by choice.

And like I said, I don’t do Christmas. Christmas has no meaning to me, in and of itself, save for one very special reason (no, not the friendship gatherings, actually). But, it is the wonderful year of our lord, 2016. Do you know why 2016 is such a wonderful year? (Trump) Because BOTH Christmas AND New Year’s Day are on weekends. And, since I’m in a country that doesn’t really celebrate those days, do you know what that means for me? I GET NO FUCKING DAYS OFF!

YEAH! WHILE EVERYONE ELSE I KNOW WILL BE OFF, CLOSING UP THE OFFICE, GOING ON VACATION, SLEEPING IN, DO YOU KNOW WHAT I’LL BE DOING??? WORKING NORMAL MONDAY-TO-FRIDAY WORK WEEKS, THAT’S WHAT!

But no, Grace doesn’t celebrate Christmas, so we don’t have to acknowledge that Grace will be missing our Christmas this year. She’ll just be across the sea, working, suffering, while we’ll be happily enjoying each other’s company without her. (see, I told you it would get salty).

And believe me, I could write a whoooole other post’s worth, rationalizing why my feeling put out is dumb and irrational. I’ve done it before. But right now, all I wanna do is scream my petty and immature rage into the void. There is a time and a place for gaslighting myself into invalidating my own feelings, but that’s not as entertaining as the salt. So I’ll just post the salt.

So yeah, this entire post was because I got minorly ignored in a group chat thread.

But that’s me. I don’t like to impose my personal feelings, but I still want to impose, so I do in the most roundabout manipulative way possible. I post it publicly, but secretly, so if it ever gets read, my feeling have been imposed, but now it is entirely the fault of you, the reader, for choosing read this shit at all. HAH, CHECKMATE, I WIN!

You know what? I’m bringing it all back. No more password protection (except that one page that I feel like really should be locked away forever), no more secrecy, no more shame; I’m lettin’ it all hang out baby!

I know I said before that I was ashamed. And I still am…a little bit…kind of. But that was, what…at least 6 months ago? Definitely one and a half semesters plus one summer ago, by my count. Maybe I’ve grown up since then. Or maybe I’m just in a little bit of a better mood and I’ve simply changed my mind (because that’s what people do). Or maybe I’ve just found a bunch of 3-year-old blogs from friends and acquaintances that I think were clearly meant to be kept secret (the blogs, not my friends and acquaintances), and I had a good long laugh at how ridiculous they were; how ridiculous we all were.

Point is, I’m putting this blog back to public setting and leaving it here for a while. After all, I don’t think I ever posted anything too damaging, and plus, if I ever want to I can just shove the whole thing back on private mode again. (Knock on wood that I never end up eating those words when I’m permanently banned from employment because of a stupid post I made when I was in high school)

When I took everything down, it was shortly following a moment when something I posted online came to affect me IRL, and I had a bit of a freak out. It threw me into this big-ass existential-crisis-like deal, “oh my Gawd people are reading what I write”, “oh my Gawd people I know are reading what I write”, “oh my Gawd I’m sharing too much on the internet I’m so pathetic oh noes oh noes” (not in those works dear lord please slap me if you catch me talking like that unironically).

But really, was anything I ever posted really that bad? Maybe. Actually, no…yes, yes it was that bad. Definitely in terms of quality, depth, and, well…I’m definitely not going to win a Pulitzer for any of them, that’s for sure. I made a post last February explaining exactly why I was taking down my blog, and I made a few good point then. On the other hand, well, I think I’ve let that go (for now at least). This blog was silly and poorly written. It tried to make profound observations, present important social commentary, and make a statement worth being proud of; needless to say…it failed. But what it did exceptionally well was present an accurate impression of who I was when I wrote my posts: a socially awkward teen too wrapped up in her own head (who, in my defense, was also low on sleep)(also I haven’t changed that much throughout the years, maybe I’m just a little bit more self-aware now). It was a reflection of who I was, what my mindset was, even what my style was all those years ago. And while I don’t feel like that’s exactly something worth sharing, I think it’s at least something worth preserving (and it’s worth noting there’s a difference between sharing a cookie and just leaving said cookie out on a counter full of other similarly poorly-decorated cookies).

And, at the end of the day, what my posts are, above all else, is freaking funny! Even the ones where I was trying to be deliberately funny…although those ones are just sad in their own right. But they’re all funny in a nostalgic way, that way everyone loves to laugh about what massive idiots we were when we were younger, even though we thought we were so deep and intelligent and cool and funny and important. Looking back, we were fooling no one but ourselves, frankly. But I like being able to look back and groan. I like being able to pick through my posts and point out exactly when I thought I was being introspective and wise while ignoring my very shallow worldview; when I thought I was so unique and special even though I was spitting out literally what every other kid in my situation was thinking; when I thought I was being so subtle in my complaints even though now I could identify exactly who and what I was whining about from the Moon…without a telescope. And why should I be selfish and hoard all the embarrassment to myself? Everyone should be allowed the opportunity to point at me and laugh (plus it might make them more receptive to me pointing and laughing with them at their old blogs too so…bonus?), let’s all point and laugh at me together! It’ll be fun.

Plus, you know, it wasn’t all bad. I think 17-year-old me had some gems among the chaos. Not to mention, well, I like to think that I’ve matured to the point where I’ve realized that I’ve got a lot more growing to do, and that I’ll never stop changing (I know, took me long enough right?). In that spirit, I think I might like to start posting again someday (maybe soon), you know, take another snapshot as it were. And when I do, there are some points and arguments and posts here that I may want to revisit. Maybe take a look at them through my older 20-something lens and see how it stacks up against my teen self, or maybe even just take one of my old posts and completely decimate 16-year-old me; she (in a manner startlingly reminiscent of 21-year-old me, isn’t that interesting?) tends to make some strange assumptions and awkward logical fallacies. And if ten years down the road finds me thinking “damn, I should have written more on that blog”, well then, that’s my loss isn’t it.

Fin de la conte: It’s back baby, just as it was. I don’t want to be Madonna, refusing to sing her old hits at concerts; I’d rather be Billy Ray Cyrus, perfectly happy to whip out a mullet wig on his daughter’s television show. I mean, I respect Madonna a lot more if only because the screaming mess that is Hannah Montana didn’t spring from her loins, but I feel like Mr. Achy-Breaky-Heart might be marginally more fun at parties based on that fact alone.

So here it is. I invite you to bask in the awkward teenage angst. Although since this is the first post on the site, I feel it is my duty to warn you: moving forward is to delve into the mind of a self-important judgement teenager masquerading as an wise and open-minded intellectual. Tread carefully.

(Oh, and if you start hating me just a little bit, I beg of you to please take into consideration the date-and-timestamp on whatever post you happen to be reading and cut me a little slack? I assure you, I probably hate past!Grace infinitely more than you ever could…)

I’m done.

It’s gone. Well…hidden, technically.

For an overly long explanation of why, see here.

Oh, and brace yourself. The URL might be changing sometime in the near future.

Ok, so I’m posting this here, instead of writing it all down in my little Word document, because right now, in my little moment of rage, I want them to see it. I just want sooo effing badly to send them (both!) this in a bleeding Facebook message, because I just want them to see this, and read this, and understand this THAT badly.

But I won’t. I…well, I don’t really like confrontation, and I don’t think them reading this would change anything. Besides, I’d feel bad; like I was dumping all of my bad feelings on them. It’s why I don’t tend to share my feelings: they’re my feelings, my load to carry, and mine alone. Just because I feel bad, doesn’t mean I should make everyone around me feel just as horrible, right? Though, that might be why I’m in this situation to begin with, because, for all my friends know, I’m perfectly fine with what’s going down. I’m all smiles, and cheer, and “you do whatever makes you happy!” God, I’m such a pushover…but I really don’t want to stand in the way of them having fun and enjoying themselves.

Although, I suppose in the event that something does end up happening, I’m not in a very good situation. I’d be forced to repress my reaction, probably. Or, if I do end up reacting badly, they’d all be able to say stuff like “well you said it was okay to go”, or “you didn’t give me any indication that you were upset with it”, and it’d be all my fault. Oh dear…

So, I’m posting it. On my little side blog, in plain view of anyone who bothers to come across this. Here goes…

Okay, so here’s the situation: me and my ex broke up…about 1.5 years ago. Well, he broke up with me. It kinda sucked. And then he decided to go to a school in the same city as mine, you know, of all possible cities, right? But it’s a really popular city, and it was different schools (not like we’d see each other much if we were going to the same school anyway), so I was (eventually) totally fine with it. Every Christmas, I travel home, and me and my high school friends see each other, because that’s pretty much the one time of year we’re all in the same place. I guess you could say this year it’s extra important that we all spend time together, because one of the group is in friggin’ Germany doing an exchange this year, so…yikes! We usually do something extra special with everyone around Christmas, and then possibly something a little smaller for New Years as well. However, this year, two of the group (to be frank, this is out of a group of 3 that I consider to be my closest friends) are going to the city where I (and my ex) go to school, specifically to attend a party hosted by my ex for New Years. And they weren’t even that close of friends to begin with! At least, I don’t think… Anyway, this is to them:

The point is, I feel like you’re abandoning me for my ex. My closest friends are ditching me in favour of my ex-boyfriend, and…you don’t do that! People just don’t do that! In my mind, Christmas is that one, sunny time where I go home, and see all of my friends from home. Even though we might not be that close, and even though we don’t really talk to each other while I’m at school, it all doesn’t matter, come Christmas. And Christmas IS that much more special than summer, not because of the holiday itself, but because that’s pretty much the one time of year when everyone is finally together. During summer, everyone’s off at camps, doing internships, taking summer courses, travelling, and working, and I’m pretty sure nobody ends up seeing much of each other by the end anyway, least of all together. But Christmas, on the other hand…

So, to me, this feels like a travesty. This feels like a betrayal. It’s just a bitch move (Okay, that might be a little harsh…). During that one sacred time of year when we’re finally all in the same damn place, and I finally get to see everyone, and spend time with everyone all together, you do NOT go running off to the place where I pretty much live during the year, to go see my EFFING EX-BOYFRIEND. Isn’t there some sort of code? Like a bro code, but for girls? Or even just “guidelines not to piss off your friends and act like a little bitch” (Not that you’re acting bitchy in the slightest…but if such a set of guidelines do exist, I think that’d be a nice name for them, don’t you?); there should be one. And I mean, granted, this definitely isn’t as bad as hooking up with my ex. It doesn’t remotely come close; but I’m still not exactly doing cartwheels about it.

And even worse, you tell me (indirectly, of course) that you might be leaving on this precious New Year’s trip on the 29th. Really? You’re leaving, in the middle of our special time together, to go gallivanting off to see my ex, ON MY BIRTHDAY? I don’t know how, but that just makes it feel more personal. Not only are you leaving during our special time, but possibly on the ONE day in 365 that society deems as MINE? And now that I think about it, you’re not leaving on any ordinary birthday, No, you’re leaving on my TWENTIETH birthday. A milestone birthday. Because you’d prefer to spend time with my ex-boyfriend over me. Thank, you guys. Really, just, thanks. It makes me feel so effing WARM and CUDDLY on the inside. I mean, sure, I don’t tend to do much for, or even really acknowledge my birthday most years. But you know what? I come from a society that does. And you all come from families that do. So the fact that you might be pulling this on my birthday still smarts.

Furthermore…you might not know this, but I’ve got what you might call “esteem issues” for my breakup. And even though it was 2 years ago, I still haven’t gotten past them to the point where I can’t get triggered. Where I don’t get those hurt feelings rushing back at the slightest mention of certain things. Sure, I’m fine 99.996% of the time. I can talk vaguely about him when giving relationship advice. I can see his Facebook status updates and feel nothing but a vague annoyance, the same way you’d feel about any other attention-seeking Facebook friend. I feel nothing for or about him anymore.

But he broke up with me for another girl. So when the break up occurred, in the midst of all the normal break-up crap, a part of me kept feeling like there was something wrong with me. You know, like in Taylor Swift’s some You Belong With Me (a rather pathetic song example, I know, but it’s the one that hits the widest audience), would I be “the other girl”? The horrible girlfriend who’s all wrong for the boy and clearly deserves to suffer? Well, we were wrong for each other anyway, but that’s beside the point. He demonstrated that there was someone else that he’d rather spend his time with, which, at that time, implied that there was something wrong with me, that this other girl was, in all ways, better than me. And as much as I hate to admit it, especially among all of the other breakup feelings, that left a slight impression on me.

And now, after all that, you’ve chosen to spend New Years, during one of the only times in a year that we have the opportunity to see each other, to go see him. There it is: the trigger. It just brings back all those feelings and thoughts from the breakup. That you’d rather spend time with him, who you’re not even close friends with, than with me. That he’s better, more fun, more deserving of good things, than me. That there’s something so fundamentally wrong with me, that I deserve misery, that I deserve to be alone, even though I’m pretty sure that’s not true. And what makes it worse is that it’s coming from you: people who, from perhaps sheer force of nostalgia alone, I identify as my best friends. People who I believe to give me at least an inkling of though while making decisions; I would like to think that I at least crossed your mind. After all, it’s right there: Montreal…hey, that’s where she goes to school! December 29th…hey, that’s her birthday! I turned 20 this year…hey, she’s turning 20 as well! And I don’t know which presents the worst implications: that I didn’t cross your minds at all, or that I did, but you chose to ignore it.

It’s not like I expect anything from you or that I want anything from you; before, or after reading this (if you do at all). The more logical side of my brain keeps telling me that I really have no right to object at all, and I’m in agreement. It’s your lives, your New Years, you know? You have full reign to do whatever makes you happy, and I have no right to make you do anything but enjoy your trip. Besides, it’s not like this trip is all about my ex, and it definitely shouldn’t be all about me. You’ll be going to a great and exciting city, which may very well be the reason you’re leaving for the trip a day early (on my birthday) (sorry about that incidental guilt trip). And though I kind of want to go with you, because, come on, it’s a really fun city, it just doesn’t work out for me. I’d be going home, and then there, and the back home, and then back there, because New Years is just too far from when school starts, in the span of 2 weeks. It just…wouldn’t work out. But after spending 2.5 years there, I’ve kind of grown to thinking about it as my city, you know? And this whole thing just lines up a bit too well in my head…my friends, my city, my ex, my birthday…and all without me. I’m making no excuses here; I know I can be a bit (understatement!) possessive. If my roommate so much as leaves a ring on my bathroom shelf, so help me…

So yeah, that’s how I feel. If either of you end up reading this, first: dear lord, you read all that?! And also, please, please understand: I’m not asking you to not go, or to change your plans. The last thing I want is to interfere, or to make you resent me, or to make you feel guilty. It’s just…how I feel, and I thought it was a good idea to put it out there before it comes to bite me in the ass. Also, I feel a lot better just having written it out. I’m still really excited to see you in December! 😀 We’ll definitely hang out and have fun, just…not on New Year’s (again, sorry about that second incidental guilt trip).

I think you’re slipping…away… — Dr. Horrible

It’s times like these, when I am half asleep, yet still awake, that I am the most irritable. And it is times like now, when I am the most irritable, that I pick up on all the itty bitty flaws.

I tend to notice just exactly how much one person likes to talk about him/herself.

I tend to notice just how hard one person tries to take attention from the storyteller and bring it on her/himself.

I tend to idly observe those who need, those who crave, those who yearn, and how they differ from those who truly need nothing.

I tend to see those who laugh, those who join, and those who stand at the edges, grinning half-heartedly.

I tend to wonder about those who surround me, why they surround me, and how my life would be different if I was more like them.

Take the holidays, for example. Would I be a happier person if I had more of a connection with my extended family? If I had more people to surround myself with, to smile with me and out up with me because we share DNA and wedding rings, would I be more cheerful, more self-assured? If I was a person who was less afraid to speak up, and ask for what I wanted, would I be better off? Would I be more confident? Would I have more stories to tell? Would I be more apt to look upon someone like myself with pity? Would I be less apt to be thankful for my non-existent holidays, since they offer less opportunity for awkwardness and disappointment?

It’s times like these when I turn inward, no matter who I’m with. Even when I’m surrounded by dozens of friends, all laughing away, if I am tired, I will start to drift, and think, and wonder. I wonder if, somewhere along the line, I was damaged. I wonder if, given the right circumstances, I could be a better person than I am now. I wonder if life is ever going to be as good as it is now. I wonder if I will ever be more secure, more free, more relaxed than I am now. I wonder how serious the ramifications would be if it all ended now (and then I remember that the ramifications of “it all ending now” would be quite serious indeed, and in no way worth serious consideration). I wonder if there isn’t some part of me that I’m deliberately hiding from everyone else in the world, including myself, and if it would ever become possible or beneficial to reveal it.

It’s like…sometimes I feel like I’m wearing a mask (clichéd, I know…), but the thing is, I’m not even sure if I like that mask, or if I would like that mask but I’m just not wearing it right. But then, if I don’t really like the mask I’m wearing, then would it be a good thing to let it slide a little? How could letting it slide ever be a good thing if I’m not ever sure what’s underneath the damn mask?

It’s times like these when, honestly, I just want to go to sleep, if that’s alright with you.

It’s not really that hard for someone like me to disappear off the face of the earth.

“Someone like me” being an introvert who has a bad habit of not keeping up with correspondences.

I mean, if it happened at the right time, if I told the right people the right things, I could be gone for a rather long time before anyone started to ask questions.

Jeez, that’s a depressing thought…if I were abducted, my case would probably be “cold” before it even became a case…

Then again, if I were abducted, that’d be another story…since I live with people, they’d most likely notice after a bit…I think.

But if I wanted to disappear for a small age, I think it’d be perfectly possible. Living in two different cities tends to help with this. I’d have to plan for a while, of course. I am still rather dependent on my parental(s) for support, so I’d have to start off my withdrawing small amounts of money from my bank account for a long time. You know, $20-60 every week, something like that.

Then, I think the perfect time to leave would be summer. Right after exams end. All I’d have to do is tell the roommate and school friends that I’m going home for the summer, and tell the parental(s) and the home friends that I’m staying at school for…research or a job of summer school…some crap like that.

Then, with my accumulated cash, I suppose I’d be free to, I dunno, run off to Disneyland or something.

If I really didn’t want to be found, if I really didn’t want people to look for me, then in case people try to contact me, then I shouldn’t give them any reason to believe that I’m where I’m not… The parental(s), though they don’t contact me much, do tend to send me emails, and if a semi-urgent issue did come up and I didn’t reply at all to even that, then they’d probably get worried. And if the parentals get worried, then my friends will get called. And if the friends get called, then eventually, something’s gonna pop up on Facebook, or Twitter, or something. That’s when the manhunt (girlhunt?) would start, wouldn’t it…

So, maybe the occasional email to home, the nonfrequent Facebook status saying something like “suuuper busyy!! I thought summer was supposed to be relaxing! lol” would quell everyone’s suspicions.

Of course, does it really count as disappearing if I keep up minor contact?

Then again, is my goal here really to disappear, or just to hide?

Well, that’s to be decided by the disappear-er, isn’t it?

So, I suppose that plan would work…either until someone starts creating Facebook groups called “INTROVERTED UNIVERSITY STUDENT MISSING!!”, or until the summer term ended. Then shiz would really fall apart, and that would not be good. Not good at all…

Of course, with my current life, the disappearing act is impossible, long-term, anyway. Maybe it’d get easier once I graduate. Once I’m out in the real world. It’d require quitting any job I have, but still, hey, it’d be possible to pull off in terms of years by then.

Hmm? What? Me? Oh no, I’m not actually thinking of doing this. Well, maybe, replace “whole summer” with, like, a day, a weekend max, and replace “Disneyland” with…um…okay, so I don’t really have anywhere to disappear to, but still… Oh, and I’d probably have to come clean to my mom from the beginning and (try to) swear her to secrecy. If I so much as go on a solo bike ride for a few hours without leaving a note and bringing a cellphone, she starts dialing my friends. Definitely a hindrance. And if I was at school, I’d probably have to lie to my roommate…if I’m at a lab partner’s house working on a lab report past 1am, she freaks out and FBs me if I don’t leave a note (even though I did leave a not…she just didn’t see it somehow…).

Oh, right…so what’s the point of this? No point really. I just really need to study for an exam, and I’m procrastinating – the time when my thoughts flow the most freely, of course. :/

Okay, so today (while procrastinating on my homework…), I took a quick look at this blog, and I came to a conclusion: it’s a rather negative presentation of who I am, doesn’t it?

And of course it would…I tend to only blog when it’s three in the morning, I’m half-awake, yet unwilling to go to bed, deliriously airing out whatever dirty laundry happens to be hanging out in my brain at the moment. And while it may be good for my psyche, it sure as hell isn’t good for the impression I’m putting out there.

So, just to clear up: you must know that about 90% of the posts are created out of sleep-deprivation, and in no way paints a clear picture of who I am after a good night’s sleep (though I’m not to clear on what exactly that is anymore…stupid uni…).

There…all fixed?

Frakking guilt trips….

So, yes, I know we barely see/talk to each other. We go to school in different provinces, for god’s sake, and, well, I hate talking to people. Which is why I never do.

So, of course, if I never talk to people, then why should I keep MSN and Skype open? All they do is take up my precious RAM, anyway, and I need that for my torrents, and my TV, and my internet! Oh, and sometimes my homework…I guess…

I get that some people like talking to other people. I get that some people feel that, in order to stay friends, there must be consistent communication.

But I’m not like that.

Do you know why I avoid talking to people “back home” while I’m away?

It’s because I’m socially awkward and slow. When I talk to people one on one, there are usually many, and I mean many awkward silences. So, I avoid talking and sharing when I’m not face to face, so that when we are face to face, I have more stories to tell, less silences to deal with.

I mean, I get you…more or less. But I try to understand you, and why you tick. And, within my comfort zone, I try to accommodate that. After all, I accept your invites to go out whenever we’re in the same city, don’t I? If I had things my way, I might just stay home all the time…

So, in that view, could you please stop guilt tripping me? Every time I see you, every time we talk, you always, always put on your whining voice at least once, and complain that we never talk, that I’m never online, that you miss me, yada yada, and you look at me like a crying puppy.

Of course, you know that I don’t talk to anyone…at least, unless they start the convo. I’ve told you that. Many times. But you, with all your delusions of importance, don’t accept that like other people. Still, you whine and repeat that I never talk to you, emphasis on you; despite it all, you still act like I talk to everyone else in the world and ignore you on purpose.You force me to half-heartedly explain to you that I never have Skype open, I’m never signed into MSN…I don’t talk to anyone!

But nooo…isntead of giving me some leeway like normal people, you continue whining, and moping. Ugh.

You try to make me feel bad for being an introvert. You try to make me feel bad for for being a shut-in. Do you realize how…mean that is?! It’s like trying to make a Poodle feel bad for not being a Labrador Retriever. And you know the saddest part? You are slightly successful.

On the other hand, if I tell you all this, you will probably either get mad, or get even mopey-er…yeah, like I will ever let that happen. I shudder simply to think of it…

I’m stuck in this damn Catch-22, and it’s all your frakking fault.

I hate my friends sometimes…

Okay, so I’m sure this isn’t exactly a revelation, but, well, here goes:

Remember when (depending on your generation) you were about 11 to 15 years old, and all the girls started…”blooming”, some at different rates than the others? And remember how there were at least one or two flat-chested girls with low self-esteem who sought to “increase their bust” the artificial way?

No, sicko, not with plastic surgery…we’re talking about preteens here! I meant by “stuffing”.

By buying larger sized bras, and filling up the extra space between skin and fabric with toilet paper, those tiny little future attention whores were able to convincingly pretend to be more well-endowed than they actually were. Well, it was convincing until it came time to change for gym class, but that’s a different matter…

So anyway, I was thinking about bras today (no, not randomly…I went bra shopping with my roomie), and it occurred to me that the “push-up bras” that are so popular are basically Stuffing 2.0, is it not?

It’s basically a bra that is one or two (or several) cup sizes to large for the woman who will be buying it, with foam/gel/air cushions sewn in to make up the cup size difference!

Right, so like I said before, it’s not exactly a revelation…any idiot can see this.

What wows me, though, is that the existence of such bras implies the existence of some poor flat-chested dame (or perverted sucker) in history who managed to take the juvenile art of stuffing, something that many a girl has been ostracized for, and turn it into something that is widely accepted among grown women. Think  about it…if you saw a woman walking down the street with a stray sheet of TP hanging out of her shirt, you’d point and laugh, or at least scoff, wouldn’t you? But on the other hand, if a female friend of yours starts bragging about how fantastic her boobs are looking thanks to her new push-up bra, at most you’d probably be, depending on your previous relationship, a bit creeped that she was suddenly sharing so much about the state of her chest.

AND, on top of shifting the cultural view on semi-fake breasts, they’ve also turned Stuffing 2.0 into a runaway moneymaker! Seriously; push-up bras are now their own category of bra type, and they are usually much more expensive than their counterparts without the extra stuffing.

I mean, really, they’re charging women an extra 10-20 dollars per bra for something that basically amounts to getting a plain bra in a C cup instead of a A, and maybe picking up a few dozen rolls of Charmin on the way home from the mall! And no one even bats an eyelash!

It’s genius, I tell you! Sheer genius!

Okay, so it is 3:33am, and I have class tomorrow morning at 8:30am! Do you what that means?! That’s right! More half-truths and outrageous lies that only I will ever read! W00t.

  1. I will wake up perfectly refreshed and wide awake tomorrow morning! Honest!
  2. I am very, very excited for the season premiere of Glee. I am in no way worried that the awesome-ness of last year’s season will be tarnished by a less awesome second season that may contain no more Idina Menzel and Jonathan Groff (Oh Melchior…), and that may contain a lackluster attempt to get Kurt a boyfriend that either pisses off the Gay community or ruins Kurt’s awesomeness. Also not on my list of worries is that the new focus to be put on the silent Asian and Black Football Players will fall flat as they simply become annoying character with no real issues that distracts from more interesting drama, and that the revelation that Sue doesn’t hate the Glee club as much as she thought will deprive the show of a deliciously nasty “foe”. Yupp, totally stoked!
  3. I’ve noticed that my sense of humor has moved away from its old target of self deprecation…it is making me a lot more comfortable with presenting an image of myself to the public.
  4. I got asked for my number by a random dude at a Harvey’s today. I gave it to him (or, technically, his friend), but not because I was too shell-shocked to say no. I am, in no way, kind of creeped out and I totally know how to proceed from here.
  5. It is not totally late, and I will not be heading off to bed now.

Good day!

…I said GOOD DAY!

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