Thursday, May 6, 2010

That Sad Sucker left-over from her Gorgeous Friends' cliche Fairytales (which are, without a doubt, not including the Happily Ever After.)

Dear Diary, ((Ending the post at 9:24 PM, still gotta take a good 'ol fashioned shower. Okay, maybe not old fashioned. What IS an old-fashioned shower anyway? A hose?))

In my brown eyes, the worst thing a guy can do to a girl
-besides inappropriately dumping her (i.e. whipping out his privates and spraying "U suck, go away fag...I'm dumping your fat ass! Suck my-" out on the concrete school grounds, or something similar)-
is lead her on. It's horrible. Especially since I have to listen to my friends' (yes, plural friends'!) sob stories usually revolving around the subject of "Ohemgee, I'm in love with him! I don't know if he likes ME though..." wherein the guy almost always asks my gorgeous friend out and she becomes taken back with the automatic pretty-girl-syndrome-response of, "I don't know! I'll think about it." And she ends up not liking him anymore, or whatever the hell the individual story line is for them.
It's like reading a friggin' fairy-princess-story with the same problem and different characters each time. And while all the princesses obsess over whatever "near-tragedy" they're going through, their close friend (AKA: That Girl to her fellow blog readers and writers) waits on the bylines getting hit on by nerdy kids with flooded jeans as a pack of stalkers flood her hallways with texting phones at the ready to bother the hell out of their stalkiies; including the whole-heartedly unimpressed That Girl.
Some fairy tale, huh? After all, if Cinderella had had any close friends-of the human variety, what would happened to THEM once she fled her old-life of self deprivation to a new fantastical-land of magical Princes and carefully dodged pricks, poison, and so-called love? By that I mean; pricking fingers on needles to achieve the equivalent of swallowing the whole jar of gummy-bear-shaped vitamins you've been keeping in the back of your pantie drawer since the age of 9 and 2 quarters, poison apples chocked-full of window cleaning liquid or road building tar, and what might seem like love but most likely a bad case of lust, desperation, and an aching to be wanted by another. But that's just on the literal level. On the figurative level: pricks who try to tap that ass and leave it, secretly poisoned social acceptance, and a bad case of Gold Digger.

So, anyway. I wanted to type some more tonight, but I'll hafta continue tomorrow since I still need to get my Loofahmaniac on in my shower, if you know what I mean.
No, do you know what I mean? Cuz I sure don't. Too tired for deep thoughts.

-That Girl, dancing embarrassingly and lamely to Fun., Weezer, Down with Webster, Jimmy Eat World, and The Script with a little bit of Realize by Colbie C. added in.
"If you could see me, whoever I am, it's not like the movies, it's not all skin and come on love...nah na na nah na na nah...I will not let you go..." -Fun.

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