Match.com

At this exact second, I am holding back every impulse of bursting into some cynic ranting about the frills of romance. Since I can remember I have always been the type to get swept off  by the next random guy that comes along. It is that easy for me to lose myself when I lose it to someone. I blame my father's overly emotional genetic disposition for that. Lately though as I crawl my way into older adulthood, I have come to realize that love is not all pink hearts and pop music that has a certain song for every situation, as I find it. 

Love is difficult. Real love that is. It is patient and kind, true to that overly used Bible verse. Falling in love is rather an easy task for me and I have no problem getting my feet wet because I probably jumped into the ocean long before I could say infatuation. It's the getting out of it that completely blows for me. I have had my share of inevitable heartbreak and amour devastation but I will almost always never learn and continuously do it over and over again. A song about getting hit by buses is etching its way into my subconscious and I am about to break into the chorus as we speak but again, holding firmly to the tiniest concept of reality that a wee old girl like me can clasp on to. 

I have gotten around my share of idiots and assholes and have glorified the ground they walked on as I saw through all their imperfections and intolerable cruelty altogether with constant nudges by family and friends and crystal clear high definition evidences of douchiness. I am doomed as I sometimes ask myself what I've ever done in my past life to deserve such demise. 

I am complete with all my hormones, eccentricities and drama queen air about me and deep down I am looking for the one who can see past that, the way I have with all these jerks. I still fantasize about finding the one who can stay in on a beautiful day and just not to do anything outdoors and be fine with it. I am still hoping to meet someone who can make me feel beautiful and not only during the times when he was dying to make me mine but even at my trashiest, he would never look at another woman the way he looked at me for the first time. I am still waiting for a real man, with real problems but who is really finding a way to make things better so he can be a better person for me. 

It is not a pretty sight when I am at the brink of self pity and depression, although my facial expression seems to be pretty much the same no matter what I feel but I need someone who gets THAT. Someone who knows what I feel without me having to jump up and down when I say I am elated but who knows that deep down I am happy, complete and content. 

With all this said, the best person I have to wait for is me. It all comes down to the unconditional self love that my body has longed for probably since I was 13. Screw the movies, books and love songs. Things like those have never existed and now as I distinctly listen to what my heart and mind is saying in chorus, it's to fall madly in love with ME.

All these dating services with all their specifications of Christian, Pan-Asian, single parent subcategories to suit every (desperate) person's needs has got nothing on self love. Now that I think of it, why hasn't anybody created a site that allows you to date YOU. Hmm. Now, now, why didn't I come up with that?

Yet Another Post On Posts

It's funny how you see so many people without the slightest idea of the repercussions of their "posts" on these social media sites. They just have no idea at all. Sometimes, it makes me think that through the advancement of the Internet, everyone has developed an alter identity that exudes qualities that enable people to like them better. Between posting something random and unpopular, they tend to go for the more likable versions to get more, well, "likes". It can be as senseless as tweeting "Bacon." or as pretentious as showing support for a current political issue which was preceded by a link instructing how-to eye make up instructions for the people with well endowed foreheads. Anything can be used against you these days and everyone gets the idea that they know you a little better based on what you put up.


Some give off the impression that they're godlier (and better than everyone) while they annoy you with quotes from the Bible that have no significant meaning or worse, ripped off from some subscribed application providing you with random verses created by some Jesus freak or fanatic. While some men, on the other hand, treat their personal pages or group pages like porn sites. I mean seriously, why would you share the images that you spend time masturbating about to other men. Isn't that just... gay? Would it help you get off faster if Jun Jun also jacked off to the same picture of some bimbo bending over?


As much as it entertains me to see all different personalities coming to life on the world wide web, I quite deem it sad that during the few hours in front of your own computer, you find the need to be someone else just to be accepted and swallowed in a bit more easily. Call me a hypocrite, but I too have had my weak calls of judgement especially with posting personal photos and as to who gets to see it. That's my own personal privacy issue which I learned the hard way, isn't really a privilege once you've gotten it out there. Heck, I can share your shit faced, coma inducing albums to your grandma and we'd not even have to be friends.


All I'm saying is that you choose the shit you post and choose it wisely because once it's out, honey, it's out. Depressing as it sounds but that's how the "world" will choose to know you. Like I've probably said before, you can't stop people from talking about you but you can give them something less than your last shoutout about getting plastered and waking up with strange men followed by a ThinkExist quote on regret, usually edited to one's own understanding of proper grammar and spelling to make it look original.


If only I could restart and re-do my personal accounts by adding and accepting people I actually like but then I'd only probably have 60 friends and well in society, that would put me on the lower percentile of belonging but now that I think of it, that won't really bother me as much so it's actually not such a bad idea. Now now... Why didn't I come up with that?

We think you're a joke.

Before I go on, let me start by stating that I was indeed born pessimistic. In my head, I have always pictured my birth being lightning stricken. As if for some reason, God was giving out high fives for having succeeded in getting this stubborn, hairy little critter out of heaven. Along with my excellent command in negative thinking, I was also bestowed with the gift of effectively spreading it. And so without much ado, here I am once again, annoyed and determined to pass it on to anyone willing to read on. If you were having a crappy day, well then let's do "What up?" Barney Stinson style but if otherwise, then I suggest you go back to discretely stalking people on Facebook.  

Over time I have managed to master the art of tasteful bashing and what gets on my Twinkie, this time, is the impeccable openness and pretension that a third of the population are quick to publicize. It's bad enough to overhear tall tales coming from the aged on occasions and/or under the influence of alcohol (for Charlie Sheen, narcotics) but to see it oh so readily available for the masses to witness, is worthy of a Nobel Prize for Intolerability.

Putting it blatantly, no one really cares. With the exception of sincere (I cringe because even that, I doubt.) family and friends, majority of those checking you out are just curious and your ready display makes you an all too easy target for ridicule and the laughing stock of weekly drinking sessions. Yes, we know you are well traveled, well fed and well dressed. You made your point the first time and again and again and again. 

I write to inform and to make the concerned public aware of the extent of life (if you have one) sharing with the world. A photo kissing your average looking girl is fine but to be in extra large collage form. Please. We know what tongues look like. Speaking for a good number, we also respect the fact that you are probably cuckoo in love and what not, but we don't really need to read the exchange of messages that are borderline text sex. And the snide bitchy comments being broadcast when you find yourself faced with an adversary equally bored (Come on now, seriously?), a word of advice: if the red line under the word you managed to cough out is still there, you aren't smarter than a fifth grader.

I don't like being mean if I can help it, contrary to belief upon reading the above paragraphs, but do everyone a favor, yourself included and keep some things on the down low. Then again if you do enjoy the attention, let me do a slow clap while standing up. I admire your bravery and evident facial thickness. Continue on, for you provide Jerry Springer-esque entertainment to your 2000 something followers. 

As for me, I am thankful for the brilliant advent of the "Unsubscribe from..." button. Kudos, social media! Now, that makes me think... Why didn't I come up with that?

Here's to my first rant.

Dogs.

That was the first thing I wanted to type after setting up this excuse-for-a blog. After a good 30-45 minutes of making sure that it looked as minimal as it possibly could, I finally decided to start with post number one and all I could think of was the word 'Dogs'. As I try to make some sense of this canine fixation, I am stuck listening to the broken exhaust of my Toshiba clicking away and my 8 month old making funny noises... (pause) Okay, She's still breathing. 

Back to dogs, I was at a friend's house earlier today and we were watching his brother, a dog trainer of some sort, and I couldn't help but feel envious. Yup, that's me. While everyone else was busy whipping out their cameras, taking videos, oohing and ahhing, I was bummed out with the reality that at 24, I was doing nothing- literally and figuratively while this guy was pursuing something he liked and being really good at it was just a plus. I just knew as soon as he'd positively reinforced his dog bud, that I had to find my 'thing' and SOON.

I've never been good at anything, just mediocre and honestly, that bites. Out of a billion things I can discover in order to probably excel in or at least be within 80 percentile of, here I am, whining about how sucky my day was and how I ruined the dog watching experience for myself. Thinking of it, I may be probably good at something- bitching. (No pun intended for the dogs.) 

With in halfway of this post you were probably asking yourself what's this blog for anyway and to this I reply that this blog's main intention is to serve as written proof of my attempt in finding bliss, whether it's a 10 year long career in telemarketing (say what?) or simply enjoying an ice cold diet 7-up (Yes, I'm also trying to lose a few, I've got too many things going on for me, don't I?) all I'm looking for is an inkling, an idea, and hopefully, the peace of mind of no longer having to ask myself, "Why didn't I come up with that?".