Aren’t you happy that you’re not 18-20 anymore?? I surely am! I am happy that I am not 18 when we tend to torture ourselves for the sake of attention. At 18 our poor brain must really feel like if we don’t go out of our way to f(*&& ourselves up completely, life is over! I was never much focused on my appearance, because I was brought up to invest time and money and passion on what lasts, and clothes, makeup and accessories only last while the season is in, so I never wasted any time. But I was always fascinated by my peers… You know: when you’re 18 and you dye your hair this hideous color (purple? Pink? Blue? Whatever the hell strikes your fancy when you drink too much and you don’t see the daylight clearly), and pierce your eyebrows, and your lips and your nose (oh, especially your nose!), and your cheeks and God knows what else visible, because it has to be visible, and then you stand still and hope someone notices. And you walk slow. And you stare. And you hope that people see you. And all people can think of when they see you is “ well, yeah, you’re weird! And you’re hurting! And you look like an idiot! And your parents are failures! What’s your point?! What else you want me to see there? ’Cause it ain’t that deep!” – and you know that … but every day, you go out into the world with your tight jeans and piercings that don’t allow you to eat or kiss, or f(*^%, and you feel “noticed”… And being weird is “cool”. It’s better than being … nothing (in your shallow mind, because at 18 I swear kids’ minds are about half of an inch deep, hormones and too much “book learnin’ “ just clutters it altogether!). Oh, but all the ridiculousness is all worth it! … when you’re 18… sure it is!
I am glad I am past that! I am past being a monkey at the zoo!
People from MySpace, please, I beg of you: learn how to speak English (Romanian?!) BEFORE you email me! “ I like you/ your profile, so why don’t you hit me up” ain’t gonna do it, dude! Like I said before: I would hit you up … over the head, but I got no time to find your ass! So, stop spamming me!
And please: your MySpace default picture is … a PickUp truck??? Pray tell me what THAT is gonna do for me?! Ok, yeah, very attractive indeed! You haul dead or smelly, run down, pieces of junk. And my interest would lay where?! Not in THAT bed, I assure you! I hate any kind of car-show-off-ness as it is, but c’mon! PickUp trucks??? I know we live in the South, but you must have a clue that THAT is not a “pickup” … car! It is JUST a “pickup”! At least borrow your rich cousin’s Camaro, or something … Please, show a little “class” (I hurt myself laughing again…)…
I find lately that dating is as hard as hanging art on the walls: so rarely do you hit a stud! Yeah, you need a magnet … but without one, you’re lost!
You know who wore rings through their noses in my country? Pigs! We put rings in their nose, thick metal ones, so they would not dig the soil; it hurts their nose, you see, and they start bleeding and that way they don’t dig the yard all over the place! Oh, I am so glad I had my mom to remind me of that when I was 18!! So glad!
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