The UCI day went well. It was uneventful, but it went well. I didn't meet anyone else though. Everyone else just kind of stuck to their parents.
I feel so lonely. And boring. Like I've forgotten how to have fun. When I go out--on the rare occasions that I do go out--I feel so pressured to HAVE fun that I end up feeling so forced and even more bored and boring. Like, other people just have fun all the time. Why can't I do it too? I'm not spontaneous, maybe that's why. And not confident. I wonder if I am insecure because I'm so judgmental and critical of others.
People think I'm nice, and I appear to be nice, but I actually think really mean things. Like, this girl in my class, Mlle. Murphy, would be so sad if she knew all of the things I think about her. Why is she doing that? Why can't she just talk normally like everybody else? She's so weird. Why is she wearing that kind of make up to school? Does she know that that shirt and those jeans highlight her muffin top? Why is she talking to me now? God, I wish she would shut up and let me do my work. Maybe if I answer in monosyllabic answers, she'll go away. God, why is she still talking to me? Stop it. Stop waddling toward me. Leave me alone, God dang it. Why is she still trying to talk to me? Can she see I'm talking to [Mlle. Jang] and we're obviously try to ignore her. Good she's going away. Dang it, she's coming back again. That kind of mean things.
And then I got lonely and went to Chatroulette for the first time, on Monday. I only got next-ed whenever there were girls, which was kind of a flattering. Most the guys are like, "you're beautiful" or "you're lovely" or stuff like that. Well, on the first night, I was, like, really happy because those people thought I was attractive. Oh, and I only got flashed once.
Then the next day, I went on again (is it pathetic that I get ego boosts from strangers like this?). This time, I got flashed, like more than ten times. And the guys almost always asked me to strip for them. And the little kids? "Let's see your tits." Sure, show me yours, I'll show you mine. They next-ed me, but some of the other guys weren't too smart. They showed me (very nice, of course. God, I feel like such a pervert right now) and I clicked next after getting a nice show. Oops! I got several guys who serenaded to me. That was quite nice. And I would talk to British guys all day long because I will never get over their adorable accent. One told me I was sexy in his adorable accent. God, my smile is so big right now, you have no idea. Anyways, then I kind of reached the conclusion that people only tell me I'm beautiful or pretty or sexy or lovely just to see more of me, and people will continue to do that to try and get an easy lay. It's just really sad. And then this naked girl (I only stayed because I was curious about her gender. I couldn't tell if she was a dude or a girl. I swear) asked me if I wanted to see her "vjj". No, I don't want to see your Goddamn "vjj". Get of the internet, sicko. And, yeah, I finally know what a penis looks like. It's ugly. I was hoping that the ugly one was just an exception, but it's actually a rule. I don't know if I want to have that thing inside me. What will my husband think if I say I don't want to look when we have sex. Thatshit thing is nasty.
And I know it's kind of conceited--and unjustly so--but I can't help but feel that I will never know if I'm ugly or plain or pretty or beautiful for real. Somebody told me that boys don't talk to pretty girls because they're intimidated, so that's why none of them talk to me. That's such BS. That's what I'm talking about. If somebody tells me I'm pretty, I just dismiss it because I just assume that they're trying to be nice and have nothing else to say. So, will I ever know? And then when someone does talk to me, I just assume they're talking to me because a pretty girl would be more likely to reject them, and that I am the next best thing and that's why they're talking to me. I don't know. I wish I could just know if I was pretty or not. No, actually, I don't want to know because if I was ugly, then I would have to deal with that. I don't want to know. I don't want to know. I don't want to know.
And then today, I was talking to this really cute college guy, and his friends flashed their abs at me. Then they asked me to strip. I said the same thing I told the other people. You do it first and I'll follow. They next-ed me. I got bored, and started nexting a bunch of people. I feel so bad when I next an ugly person, though, because it's like I'm rejecting them because of their appearance, which is exactly what I'm doing, but it just feels really bad. Anyways, I was talking to this really cute guy from Holland with the coolest painting of New York behind him. So I talked to him and we were having a really good conversation when he next-ed me! I was like, what? And then he Facebook-ed (he gave me his, and I added him) and apologized for the connection loss. And then I kept nexting random people.
And then this guy with a mask was on. I was kind of laughing from something before and I covered the bottom portion of my face and my forehead so it would look like his mask. And then we started talking. He told me I was beautiful (at this point, I just waiting for him to say, "I want to see more of you" or something like that.) I told him that he looked like he would be cute underneath the mask. We talked for a bit more and he took of his mask. I was right (like I usually am, of course--I wish). He was really cute. Like a model. Except masculine looking. We talked for about an hour without him asking me to take off anything once. I kind of liked that. And then we just talked and me just smiling stupidly the whole time (I wish I was more graceful and charming). He smiled really nice. Close-lipped, just a hint of happiness. I talked about my future plan, and he said that he wanted to marry me if I was without prospect when the deadline approached (I HAVE to get married before I turn 30 and have a baby before I turn 31). He was so cute and charming and sweet and he knew all the right things to say and it was approaching 5 o'clock (when I said I was going to stop because I have a math test tomorrow and an essay to finish), and I wanted to ask for his Facebook or Skype or anything just so we could stay in contact, but I didn't want to do the asking myself because I kind of felt like I was just another one he was (possibly, but hopefully not) stringing along. I was so happy when he asked for my Facebook instead. Me, and he, and the Holland guy, and the two Italian kids are friends now on Facebook. God, those kids were hilarious. They told me they were 18 (and they looked 18) and asked me to add them. I did, and they were not 18. They were 17. They apologized profusely. And the best thing about it all was that they used a translator to talk to me because their English wasn't good enough. It was just all really fun.
Mlle. Jang thinks I am in love with M. Ward. Are you kidding me? I've liked him when we were in 8th grade, but now we're older, you think I'm going to make the same mistake twice? Not that there's anything wrong with him, it's just, yeah, he's cute and attractive and has a nice personality, he's not my type. I bet it's because I asked him why he didn't have a girlfriend when he was so cute and had a nice personality. I bet that's why. So much for the female intuition.
I wonder if I'm beginning to like this guy. I wonder if that's possible. It shouldn't be possible because no chemicals, no hormones, no pheromones were exchanged when we talked. It was over the Internet. It's just not possible for me to fall in love with him. Ever. Because it's just impossible. There's no way. If I, in the future, ever to think that I am in love him, then let me read this blog and be reminded that if I were to fall in love with him, then I would be sadly mistaken and delusional. The person that I were to fall in love with would not be him, but with the boy that my mind had created and projected desirable qualities into and the guy with the mask had added on to the imaginary boy and made him a bit more real by merely existing. I would only be in love with my own imagined boy and not the real one. I'm still logical now. Please let my brain continue to be in control when my heart wants a turn.
I feel so lonely. And boring. Like I've forgotten how to have fun. When I go out--on the rare occasions that I do go out--I feel so pressured to HAVE fun that I end up feeling so forced and even more bored and boring. Like, other people just have fun all the time. Why can't I do it too? I'm not spontaneous, maybe that's why. And not confident. I wonder if I am insecure because I'm so judgmental and critical of others.
People think I'm nice, and I appear to be nice, but I actually think really mean things. Like, this girl in my class, Mlle. Murphy, would be so sad if she knew all of the things I think about her. Why is she doing that? Why can't she just talk normally like everybody else? She's so weird. Why is she wearing that kind of make up to school? Does she know that that shirt and those jeans highlight her muffin top? Why is she talking to me now? God, I wish she would shut up and let me do my work. Maybe if I answer in monosyllabic answers, she'll go away. God, why is she still talking to me? Stop it. Stop waddling toward me. Leave me alone, God dang it. Why is she still trying to talk to me? Can she see I'm talking to [Mlle. Jang] and we're obviously try to ignore her. Good she's going away. Dang it, she's coming back again. That kind of mean things.
And then I got lonely and went to Chatroulette for the first time, on Monday. I only got next-ed whenever there were girls, which was kind of a flattering. Most the guys are like, "you're beautiful" or "you're lovely" or stuff like that. Well, on the first night, I was, like, really happy because those people thought I was attractive. Oh, and I only got flashed once.
Then the next day, I went on again (is it pathetic that I get ego boosts from strangers like this?). This time, I got flashed, like more than ten times. And the guys almost always asked me to strip for them. And the little kids? "Let's see your tits." Sure, show me yours, I'll show you mine. They next-ed me, but some of the other guys weren't too smart. They showed me (very nice, of course. God, I feel like such a pervert right now) and I clicked next after getting a nice show. Oops! I got several guys who serenaded to me. That was quite nice. And I would talk to British guys all day long because I will never get over their adorable accent. One told me I was sexy in his adorable accent. God, my smile is so big right now, you have no idea. Anyways, then I kind of reached the conclusion that people only tell me I'm beautiful or pretty or sexy or lovely just to see more of me, and people will continue to do that to try and get an easy lay. It's just really sad. And then this naked girl (I only stayed because I was curious about her gender. I couldn't tell if she was a dude or a girl. I swear) asked me if I wanted to see her "vjj". No, I don't want to see your Goddamn "vjj". Get of the internet, sicko. And, yeah, I finally know what a penis looks like. It's ugly. I was hoping that the ugly one was just an exception, but it's actually a rule. I don't know if I want to have that thing inside me. What will my husband think if I say I don't want to look when we have sex. That
And I know it's kind of conceited--and unjustly so--but I can't help but feel that I will never know if I'm ugly or plain or pretty or beautiful for real. Somebody told me that boys don't talk to pretty girls because they're intimidated, so that's why none of them talk to me. That's such BS. That's what I'm talking about. If somebody tells me I'm pretty, I just dismiss it because I just assume that they're trying to be nice and have nothing else to say. So, will I ever know? And then when someone does talk to me, I just assume they're talking to me because a pretty girl would be more likely to reject them, and that I am the next best thing and that's why they're talking to me. I don't know. I wish I could just know if I was pretty or not. No, actually, I don't want to know because if I was ugly, then I would have to deal with that. I don't want to know. I don't want to know. I don't want to know.
And then today, I was talking to this really cute college guy, and his friends flashed their abs at me. Then they asked me to strip. I said the same thing I told the other people. You do it first and I'll follow. They next-ed me. I got bored, and started nexting a bunch of people. I feel so bad when I next an ugly person, though, because it's like I'm rejecting them because of their appearance, which is exactly what I'm doing, but it just feels really bad. Anyways, I was talking to this really cute guy from Holland with the coolest painting of New York behind him. So I talked to him and we were having a really good conversation when he next-ed me! I was like, what? And then he Facebook-ed (he gave me his, and I added him) and apologized for the connection loss. And then I kept nexting random people.
And then this guy with a mask was on. I was kind of laughing from something before and I covered the bottom portion of my face and my forehead so it would look like his mask. And then we started talking. He told me I was beautiful (at this point, I just waiting for him to say, "I want to see more of you" or something like that.) I told him that he looked like he would be cute underneath the mask. We talked for a bit more and he took of his mask. I was right (like I usually am, of course--I wish). He was really cute. Like a model. Except masculine looking. We talked for about an hour without him asking me to take off anything once. I kind of liked that. And then we just talked and me just smiling stupidly the whole time (I wish I was more graceful and charming). He smiled really nice. Close-lipped, just a hint of happiness. I talked about my future plan, and he said that he wanted to marry me if I was without prospect when the deadline approached (I HAVE to get married before I turn 30 and have a baby before I turn 31). He was so cute and charming and sweet and he knew all the right things to say and it was approaching 5 o'clock (when I said I was going to stop because I have a math test tomorrow and an essay to finish), and I wanted to ask for his Facebook or Skype or anything just so we could stay in contact, but I didn't want to do the asking myself because I kind of felt like I was just another one he was (possibly, but hopefully not) stringing along. I was so happy when he asked for my Facebook instead. Me, and he, and the Holland guy, and the two Italian kids are friends now on Facebook. God, those kids were hilarious. They told me they were 18 (and they looked 18) and asked me to add them. I did, and they were not 18. They were 17. They apologized profusely. And the best thing about it all was that they used a translator to talk to me because their English wasn't good enough. It was just all really fun.
Mlle. Jang thinks I am in love with M. Ward. Are you kidding me? I've liked him when we were in 8th grade, but now we're older, you think I'm going to make the same mistake twice? Not that there's anything wrong with him, it's just, yeah, he's cute and attractive and has a nice personality, he's not my type. I bet it's because I asked him why he didn't have a girlfriend when he was so cute and had a nice personality. I bet that's why. So much for the female intuition.
I wonder if I'm beginning to like this guy. I wonder if that's possible. It shouldn't be possible because no chemicals, no hormones, no pheromones were exchanged when we talked. It was over the Internet. It's just not possible for me to fall in love with him. Ever. Because it's just impossible. There's no way. If I, in the future, ever to think that I am in love him, then let me read this blog and be reminded that if I were to fall in love with him, then I would be sadly mistaken and delusional. The person that I were to fall in love with would not be him, but with the boy that my mind had created and projected desirable qualities into and the guy with the mask had added on to the imaginary boy and made him a bit more real by merely existing. I would only be in love with my own imagined boy and not the real one. I'm still logical now. Please let my brain continue to be in control when my heart wants a turn.
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