matrixrefugee (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
matrixrefugee) wrote2005-05-21 11:24 pm
matrixrefugee) wrote2005-05-21 11:24 pm
Entry tags:
The Movie review is coming... but first, more of the usual angst
My friend Mark got a bunch of his friends together last night to see "Star Wars III". I'll be posting the review of it in another post in a bit... after I get more of the usual weeping and grinding of teeth off my chest.
My supervisor, the young Lambert Wilson clone, is getting married. I honestly want to track down his fiance, disembowel her, and make it look like a pack of coyotes did it. I am sick of being ignored by men. I want to be loved and accepted exactly the way I look, short hair, eyeglasses, flat chest, and all. Does a girl have to look like Paris Hilton or Jessica Simpson to get any action from the men these days?! I'm a brunette and I wear a size 32A bra (though even those fall off me), fellas. Nothing is going to change that.
Marry flat-chested women. They're less likely to get hit on by other guys and therefore are less likely to get tempted to cheat on you. Marry a flat-chested woman and you'll be the luckiest man alive because your wife will be eternally grateful you noticed her for more than her lack of a cup size.
I'm tempted to ditch the heterosexual 85% of myself and just be a non-functional lesbian to piss off the hormonal bastards who treat me like part of the wallpaper, just because I don't look like Jessica Simpson.
I almost suicided at work. I almost threw myself down the cardboard compactor in an effort to end this hell that life has handed me (but then, wierdly enough, one of the scenes in hell, from "Constantine" started playing in my head. Thanks a lot, John, I could deck you for that.). Why does everyone else have to be paired off and get married, but I can't even find a guy to give me the fucking time of the day??!! And the only guys who *do* show half an interest in me only want my body, either to screw it or to knock it up. I'm not your fuck-toy, and I'm not a baby-making machine, either. I'm a woman and I have a *mind*, an intellect, a brain that exists as an information storage and processing device, not just as a battery to power everything south of my waist.
I don't know why I'm this messed-up. I was fine yesterday. I was back on an even keel emotionally. I thought I had it all together. I thought I was over this. I guess I was wrong.
"Beneath our poised appearance, the truth is we are completely out of control."
--The Merovingian, "The Matrix: Reloaded"
My supervisor, the young Lambert Wilson clone, is getting married. I honestly want to track down his fiance, disembowel her, and make it look like a pack of coyotes did it. I am sick of being ignored by men. I want to be loved and accepted exactly the way I look, short hair, eyeglasses, flat chest, and all. Does a girl have to look like Paris Hilton or Jessica Simpson to get any action from the men these days?! I'm a brunette and I wear a size 32A bra (though even those fall off me), fellas. Nothing is going to change that.
Marry flat-chested women. They're less likely to get hit on by other guys and therefore are less likely to get tempted to cheat on you. Marry a flat-chested woman and you'll be the luckiest man alive because your wife will be eternally grateful you noticed her for more than her lack of a cup size.
I'm tempted to ditch the heterosexual 85% of myself and just be a non-functional lesbian to piss off the hormonal bastards who treat me like part of the wallpaper, just because I don't look like Jessica Simpson.
I almost suicided at work. I almost threw myself down the cardboard compactor in an effort to end this hell that life has handed me (but then, wierdly enough, one of the scenes in hell, from "Constantine" started playing in my head. Thanks a lot, John, I could deck you for that.). Why does everyone else have to be paired off and get married, but I can't even find a guy to give me the fucking time of the day??!! And the only guys who *do* show half an interest in me only want my body, either to screw it or to knock it up. I'm not your fuck-toy, and I'm not a baby-making machine, either. I'm a woman and I have a *mind*, an intellect, a brain that exists as an information storage and processing device, not just as a battery to power everything south of my waist.
I don't know why I'm this messed-up. I was fine yesterday. I was back on an even keel emotionally. I thought I had it all together. I thought I was over this. I guess I was wrong.
"Beneath our poised appearance, the truth is we are completely out of control."
--The Merovingian, "The Matrix: Reloaded"