And They Called it Puppy Love

There is something strange that can happen when you get in the habit of meeting people online. Something so odd, and often wonderful, that you will feel like a crazy person for even mentioning it. But then, how could you not?

A few weeks ago, a friend of mine suggested, in a rather forcible tone, that I sign up for an account on OkCupid. (And yes, I can literally hear your groans, laughter and sarcastic comments from here – because they are quite possibly the exact same ones I made when he brought it up!) At first, it really wasn’t much of a diversion. I would visit peoples’ profiles, be mildly amused, maybe send a short message, etc. It seemed that all the cute ones lived in the next city over, and that most of the guys interested in talking to me were just a little bit off.  Every once in a while, I would get someone wanting to instant-message and a little message box would pop up in the bottom-left corner of the screen, usually with a pretty lame attempt at conversation. Usually from someone I wasn’t really into.

One such lame attempt appeared as follows:

“Awesome look in that last photo of yours :P”

However, as I’d remembered seeing his profile and not being particularly creeped out by it, I decided to respond. And then, seconds later, he called himself out on the lame attempt and started an actual conversation.

We talked for four hours.

The next day, we talked for five.

The shortest length of time we’ve talked so far has been an hour. And that is only because I told him he was being cut off so I could get some sleep!

The point is, we’re pretty much in love. I kid! But honestly, it’s been a nice week. We talk about whatever we want, laugh about the stupidest things, and flirt uncontrollably. It’s fun, it’s sweet, and it’s absolutely no work whatsoever. It’s not love, but it is infatuation!

But like with all things, when one area of your life is going really well, another part will turn supremely crappy. Unfortunately, both these parts are contained within the same specific area. Because he lives… in another State. and while he likes to say that the distance is the clincher, I’m more of the mind that the distance is the reason it’s even possible in the first place. Because the fact that we can’t meet anytime soon also means that we have nothing to lose. Which means we can be completely honest. Which means we can fall for each other much faster and more readily than we would in real life. And also, none of our flaws are very apparent. Because, you know, there is so much distance.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m completely happy that I met him, even though we would in all likelihood never work out. But doesn’t it just suck that the one person who can make me this happy by a) joking around with me non-stop, b) keeping up with and sometimes even outsmarting my sarcastic/combative side, and c) saying sweet things for no particular reason, has to be so fucking far away?! It’s completely unfair. And yet, it’s perfect. Because it really isn’t real.



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Spring cleaning

Sometimes you just have too many things lying around.

Things you don’t need anymore.

Things you should really just get rid of.

So, even though it is clearly not quite spring, I am ridding myself (and this blog) of the excess. This is not meant to be a petty or dramatic move. It is not meant to symbolize anything. In fact, it is incredibly boring and probably doesn’t serve much of a purpose at all. My time would, in all honesty, be much better spent going through my piles of clothes and deciding which of them to get rid of! But, such is life. And also I am very tired. So… goodnight!

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Ha! Someone found this blog by typing in “Slutty Confessions”… just had to share that!


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Took a bath and cleared my head. Feel much better now. Thank God.

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Here Comes Your Man

I have had this song stuck in my head for about 7 days now. I don’t mind really, because it just happens to be one of my favorites. But it can be a bit depressing.  Released by the Pixies in 1989 (And later covered by Meaghan Smith, which coincidentally is the version that’s stuck in my head), the song sounds like a feel-good love song about the return of a lover. However, as a rather unfortunate viewing of a comment made on has taught me to believe, the song is actually about devastation. Or, more specifically, about the 1945 atomic bombing of Nagasaki.

Combine this knowledge with the fact that my nervous/digestive system has been off since last week, the weather outside is dismal and gray,  I am not completely satisfied with the state of my life, and I have just been watching Skins – and you get my current internal psyche. Sad, confused, with a propensity for staying in bed much longer than is strictly necessary. Oh, and I’m trying to convince myself that I don’t like someone whom I so clearly do. But you knew that already.

Honestly, I feel like there are about ten dementors at my door. And I keep opening it. Why?

Next week, there will be school. Which means something new to focus on. It also means hanging out with people who are not quite so moody as I am. Which is good. Because at the moment, nothing makes sense. Clearly, I need to stop thinking about things that are beyond my control. Clearly, I need to stop thinking about this song.

But I can’t help it, it’s stuck. And I honestly don’t mind it.

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Tell me… what would you like me to do?

OK, So… after long and careful consideration (who am I kidding?) I have decided to ask you all for a little favor. Which you absolutely do not have to grant. But if you don’t that means no more sluttiness.

I think I may have gotten ahead of myself.

The favor is simply this, if you are among the somewhat ambiguous group who actually enjoy Slutty Sundays, you must at this time get just a little bit involved. I am not asking for pictures (please god, no pictures!) or guest posts (although…), what I want is for you to contribute options.

In the comment box, you must give me one of three things:

1. A celebrity to put into the scenario

2. An interesting location (Or any location really. On second thought- No! I demand that you be interesting! Or not.)

3. A scenario (Pour example: I have just woken up after a night of drunken debauchery to find that I am in the same bed as Adrien Brody. Only you can’t use that one. Because I have already done it.)

Or, you can simply tell me to, for God’s sake, stop the madness! And I will discontinue Slutty Sundays for good. Possibly.

Go ahead… tell me. I promise not to laugh.


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Do it.


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