BELLE ET REBELLE

If you really love someone and they don't love you back, what you really don't want is for them to make you feel hopeful again. Y'know, like, calling you sometimes, sending you text messages asking you what you're doing, that sort of thing. So why can't he leave me alone then? I just want to clean up this messy life and start on something new, maybe meet a nice girl and get together with her, that kind of thing. What I DON'T want is some still very dear-to-me ex sneaking around.

Urgh.

Note to self; When you're angrier than you've ever been in your life, use this opportunity to clean out your room in order to move. Your anger will be pleased lifting, pulling, throwing out and tearing up every little bric-a-brac it can find.

DO try this at home, kids.

OK, you know what? Fuck this shit. I'm never falling in love ever again, you hear me?! If anyone gets close to me, I'll go Chuck Norris on his/her ass. Or more, I just kick and spit generally, seeing the very much upset state I am in.

Wow, jeez. The whole first season of Twin Peaks in one sitting in the middle of the night, perhaps a little too much for even a hardcore fan like me. I did fall asleep towards the end though, and before that I'd been selling cherry pie, coffee and doughnuts to visitors of the marathon. Nu it's one hour until the first train home comes along.

That I'm actually moving on my own is finally sinking in. It'll feel so strange to live somewhere where I can get anywhere by bike and where a friend can be found only minutes away. Here, my closest friend is one hour away if you go by train. I wonder if I'll discover that I'm really a hermit by nature, and that the closeness to other people will strangle me. Let's hope not.

Oh, hell. An abortion is certainly not something I'd wish upon any of my few (but carefully chosen) enemies. Shit. It's a special and scary moment in your life when you're in so much pain, you spontaneously throw up.

It's an even stranger sensation feeling something running out you, something that feels (and is) completely organic. At first, you panic and think "Did I push the pills in deep enough?". But after that, panic takes over completely and you go from "Is that a part of my ovary...?" to "FUCK IT'S THE WHOLE SHEBANG SLIPPING OUT HERE, ISN'T IT?!". Luckily enough, you soon find yourself with a small piece of bloody jelly on a piece of toilet paper, and then you take a deep breath, feel silly and think to yourself that you're lucky it wasn't the whole shebang after all.

Now, my body will flood out all of the period blood it's been missing out, and I myself will eat iron pills like crazy. Thank god I'm not pregnant anymore.

All of you hardcore super punks can just surrender your macho position, because I've moshed in a former Soviet state while being pregnant. Try to beat that.

The mosh pit itself was actually very nice, one of those where everyone takes care but still feel free to give you a shove or two. No girls though, which surprised me a bit. Everyone seemed surprised to see that I could pack a punch, and did so willingly. When I generously offered a mosh pit acquaintance a beer and he declined by saying "I'm driving", I convinced him by saying "Yeah? Well, I'm pregnant", and then he laughed and drank the whole thing. Go Estonian punks!

If, however, the personnel at the hospital should find my parasite embryo looking like a jigsaw puzzle, I wouldn't be surprised. But hey, I don't want the kid anyway.

Jeez. If you can agree on that feminists shouldn't complain over petty details like women being allowed to be topless at public baths, then why can't we just let women SHOW their breasts since it's such a bloody unimportant issue. Why can't we let people do what they want instead of complaining just as much over a petty detail, but with a different approach?

I'm going to be fucking topless the whole summer. If you're not considered naked wearing small pieces of tape over your nipples, then you can't be all that naked going without the tape. And I don't give a shit if my breasts loose their sexual attraction value, in fact that would be nice, I'm only sexual for my own sake and according to me, my boobs are pretty worthless in a bangbang situation. And I don't give a shit if my breasts are the symbol of my femininity, because I'd rather see people seeing me as a person than a sex and if a sex is required, then I'd rather see them look into my brain and my thoughts and opinions to find that womanliness. And I don't give a shit if people think it's inappropriate, becuase heck, my sense of HUMOUR is more offensive than a pair of tits. And I don't give a shit if my breasts aren't "pretty enough", because if I haven't made the brainsbeforebeaty-thing clear by now, we can always play the pie throwing game and I'd say that it's not veyr often you see a genuinely attractive man's torso either.

So stop it. Stop being silly.Sometimes you want a bikini top, sometimes you don't. No touching though, that should be fucking obvious, because I don't touch your knees when you're wearing shorts, do I?
Oh, Sweden, the disappointment. We're supposed to be the most gender liberated country in the world, and yet you're hung up with petty details.

There's one thing that really pisses me off about being pregnant. Well, besides the fact that you have a tiny parasite in your uterus, that you eat huge amounts of one or tow things (fish and fruit in my case), that you can't stand other foods (bread, chocolate, chicken), that you have to pee all the time and that you become "fat", meaning that you get a more "womanly" body than you usually have so that you suddenly find yourself without any bras that fit.

But the thing I can't stand are the mood swings. And if there's one thing I hate, it's hormonal mood swings, which are very much present when you're possessed by the embryo parasite, because when it's hormonal, what can you do? There's NO REASON WHATSOEVER for me to cry my eyes out or shout obscenities at whoever strikes my un-fancy, and if there was, I would still blame the hormones because I know they're at work. Not to mention the physical effects, morning sickness, headache, feeling faint, the whole package.

I hope you're happy, you little foetus douchebag. Have fun with your older brother in the sewage.

I can understand how a 14-year old falls for a lie like "Hi, I'm 14 too and I also like Fall Out Boy, wanna meet? :)" and then goes to meet old, disgusting paedophile who is more like 40 and doesn't like Fall Out Boy at all, and who rapes him/her.
But WHY does the 40-year old paedophile believe ME when I say "Hi, we're two 14-year olds who are super duper horny and we want to fuck you and maybe each other while you watch. Wanna meet? :)"

Why don't old perverts have the same sort of paranoia and internet suspicion as I do when I talk to someone I don't know in a chat room? They, if anyone, should be rather uptight with information on where they live and what their names are seeing that the Swedish government (and very many governments with it) aren't too keen on seeing them pursue their supple underage victims.

So why are they so...stupid= I can't understand it! I mean, I can't say I'm sad about it, but WHY?! Does your instinct of self-preservation go away after you've turned 30 or what?!

Dear Mr. Lynch,

After this presentation in school, I will not associate with your works ever again. Or, well, maybe Twin Peaks. And maybe The Elephant Man if we ever find it again. But apart from that, nothing more ever. Understood?
the reason to this is because it's come to my attention that you never include chapters on your DVDs. I'm completely aware of the reason, but do you realize the consequences? Now I'll have to stand in front of my whole class, rewinding and forwarding like a dork all through my presentation of your works. Thank you SO much.

So, I've broken up with my boyfriend, for the second and hopefully the last time. Did he understand? He didn't seem sad enough at all. On the other hand, maybe I'm not that fun anymore. But I'm handsome. VERY handsome for a girl.
So, well, I'm single now. I don't know what you do when you're single. Maybe you...do cross stitches or something else that old ladies do when they're widows. I think I'll start saying that I'm a widow, and that my husband died in the war and that I'm faithful to him until the day I die. That should keep slimy bastards off me for a while.

JOKE OF THE DAY:
Knock knock!
Who's there?

YOUR EX-GIRLFRIEND!

Yes, alcohol is very much allowed if you've been widowed.

If there's one thing I hate, it's writing a personal letter to a future employer. This is mostly because I have a hard time keeping serious when I'm selling out my soul. I'd much rather take it all down to a level of "I once got 4703 point in Tetris" or "I'm a ninja. It's true" and thus my future employed would realize my awesomeness and hire me just because I'm witty.

But no.

Last night I dreamt that I was a famous artist, and by some mysterious reason I therefore had to smoke all the time. I smoked and smoked and smoked and I (despite my distaste for smoking in real life) enjoyed myself veyr much indeed. Then I met my friend Lars, a real life smoking junkie, who was mighty impressed seeing me smoke these ridiculous amounts of cigarettes and offered to buy me a packet of Cloves. In an instant, I was pissed as hell and shouted at him that he was trying to ruin my name by making me into a bloody goth.

Strange thing was that when I woke up, I was dying for a smoke. Very strange, considering that I've never smoked ever in my whole life.

It's been a while since I was devoted to the anime/manga scene, mostly because I thought the general selection of anime/manga complete rubbish. I can't stand the stereotypical characters and the even stereotypical stories, and I hate the cuteness, the kawaii factor. When will the Japanese stop making characters and stories just for the sake of being cute? I don't like cute series, I don't like cute and innocent characters and I loathe cute sidekicks. I know all to many people who agree to watch a crap series just because it's JAPANESE. I for one judge anime just as harshly as I judge any other TV-series. I would never have watched Twin Peaks if it had been cute and in pastels.

My anime taste is somewhere around the 90's, which makes me a dinosaur among anime geeks. In a country where something stops being hip after a week, series are made like fast food, which makes the series I actually like retro and uncool. Nowadays, I'm mostly disappointed by what I see.
This week, being sick and all, I thought I'd give two new and very popular series a chance; Lucky Star and The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya. Both of them might be among the worst series I've ever watched. Both of them are set in a school where we follow "unique" characters (one eccentric, one quiet shy-guy and one innocent cutie) in their daily life sprinkled with slapstick and humorous situations. And I can understand if you like that. But I'm looking for something more, I want a questioning of identity, philosophy, cultural references to books and idea history, a mysterious mood and a hint of doomsday.

This made the third series I watched, Serial Experiment Lain, an instant favorite. Right now, I'm curled up in front of yet another monochrome episode, feeling all cosy and content. I might be the most conservative anime fan ever, but at least I know what I like

I promised I would write while drunk, so here I am. It's a bit funny actually. "Dreams", what a fucking name for a wine. "Dreams". BAH!
My brother and my friend Max are talking, that's very nice. They haven't seen each other for a while, and now they're talking about drugs and, well, wine. Perhaps my brother is a bit too decadent for his 17 years, but I think decadent is just fine. I think you should be decadent when you're his age, because I think I was even worse. I think.

Now they're talking about when Hoffman sat down on a colour-filled palette and ruined his pants, ho ho! We've read my old diary from when we were boyfriend and girlfriend and we've cried and been all "WAH WAH WE USED TO BE SO YOUNG AND NOW WE'RE ALL GROWN UP WAH WAH". Somewhat dorky, I daresay. If this was a movie, we'd be heard strings by now.

Max doesn't think that "Dreams" is a gay name for a wine. Max is therefore gay himself, and therefore blind to the obviously homosexual. That's what happens when you're a fag. My brother's friend has changed his telephone number. Now I'm going to have more wine, yum yum. Enough of this, good night everyone!

Once upon a time, I thought I was pregnant. Well, actually, it was last week. Since I find it incredibly selfish to pop out your own kid when there are millions of kids who need your parenting much more, the whole issue of SHIT ABORTION OR NOT WTF pretty latent.  Instead, I had a lot of fun with my friends talking about my doomed little foetus.

We started off by talking about the last time I had an abortion and when I thought it would be amusing for the little blob to make a sort of danse macabre, so when I was wiping it away with toilet paper, I shook it gently so that the little piece of human Jell-O was jiggling about in a happy fashion. Now we speculated whether you could save the embryo somehow, perhaps in a jar or something like that. Then we sat and laughed about how funny it would be if you lived completely ignorant of the fact that your child in fact was nothing more than some slime in a jar. Imagine this scenario:

"Hello doctor. Yes, why yes that's me. Anna? Well, she's three months old. How tall? Hm...With or without jar?"

At a later occasion, I got a magazine for pregnant women from a friend, where we indulged in a Daddy Horoscope, yoga for pregnancies and what you should eat to keep your health. We also thought about names for the baby (the result can be seen in the title), and the whole thing culminated when I thought that what if I got a treasure chest for my little darling. THAT, if anything would show my love for my little baby, a treasure chest for my little treasure.

Sometimes I think my uterus is wasted on me.

I admit it, I hate blogging. Blogging is overrated, blogging is rather pretentious and blogging is more than often a very non-constructive activity. Sure, everyone should be allowed to write and say anything they want because everyone's got something to say, yadda yadda. But come on. A blog. Just listen to the word. It says "Hello, I'm a hipster girl with too many friends on MySpace and too few friends in real life". It whispers "Hi, I'm a cool mom who's got something to say to the world because I've had a baby, so I know what I'm talking about". And it points out that "Hello there, my name is Bob and when I watched E! I heard that everyone blogs nowadays. By the way, what's HTML?!

OK, so it's not that bad. Right now MY blogging is mostly about me keeping up my fantastic English and me keeping up writing. I have to work the goods and keep on doing what I like and what I'm good at. From what I've heard, I'm supposed to be rather amusing. Besides, I can't stop. Perhaps I simply hope that my blogging will make me the King of Internet, a wish that at its best is naively cute.