Grown Ups and Fuck Ups

The thing about a crush.

Digital Crushing

The last time I had such an enduring crush was an age ago. I was in high school, fat and super insecure about how I looked. He was gorgeous. Like absolutely beautiful. Blue eyes, light brown skin and just the most stunning English accent that made me combust into a ball of teenaged lust and angst. We became friends, really great friends in fact, while acting together in a Shakespeare's The Taming of the Shrew. I played Katherine and he played Katherine's father. I still remember how nervous I was when I asked him to come to my 5th form formal with me. He agreed. He brought a rose and the Victor Victoria musical dvd as a gift. Much much excitement. We kind of danced around each other and then when it could not get any worse he kissed a family friend. Fun times. I still see him on my Facebook, gorgeous as ever but my preferences changed, I grew up, lost the weight and the desire to be poor forever with an aspiring actor. 

Youths. Urgh.

The thing is that actually interacting with a flesh and blood person allowed me to get over the crush. Seeing him drunkenly kiss my cousin at Matric Vac in a sweaty, stinky beachside club gave me the impetus to just get over him. Not so today. The thing about me is that more likely than not, I fall for a brain. Yes, looks are all good and well, but what gets me going is a smart man who is equal parts culture, smarts, business acumen and a sprinkling of sex. And a beard. And my GOD does twitter not have an abundance of those. Meeting a few of them in real life cured me of that quick fast. From a braying laugh, to some good old misogyny, they were able to disabuse me of the notion of ever shagging them. Thanks guys. 

Thanks for the commentary on the appropriate amount of women's pubic hair

But what of the unmet twitter crush? What of the exquisite agony of crushing on an avatar? Do you have any idea how annoying it is to have a crush on someone who for all intents and purposes may not exist? 

Fuck you Internet

 I found myself clicking on a twitter account more often than usual. Laughing out loud. Smiling as if those tweets were addressed to me. Giggling when I got likes on Instagram. It's like trying to get water out of your ear after swimming for the whole day. You jump around like an idiot and all you hear is WOMP WOMP WOMP. You can't click off twitter or Instagram because LIFE'S BLOOD but they are there ALL THE TIME. BEING SMART AND CUTE. AND BEARDY.  

Stop this thing.

Literally unable to can

You're in a permanent state of butterflies but over the digital iteration of someone's personality. To be clear, no one on twitter is their true self. I think honesty stopped being a thing on twitter around 2010 when people realised that they could make money off of catfishing a bunch of brands. I digress. 

So I  had to ask myself what will it take to get over a crush that has held me in its sweaty little fist for a month?

 I decided to webstalk.

NINJA POWERS ENGAGE!

Yes, I trawled Facebook to find pictures from three years ago of the person in blackface, a Borat thong or even a bunch of Super Bru's at one of those paint throwing dub step concerts white people go to while high on methamphetamine. Nope. Nothing. He was basically perfect. Fuck. I texted my friends. I asked my sister for help. I watched some Oprah in the hopes that she would lay her hands upon me and pray away the crush. Two weeks later, I was a little luckier. I found a retweet that my ass crack told me was his girlfriend. Read through her timeline. 

BINGO. Drinks required. Luckily, Saturday decided to play ball and I found myself neck deep in straight up margherita's. Eventually I dispensed with the lime, simple syrup and salt. Tequila. It's good.

Much better now.

Now I am semi-cured. I am actively ignoring his twitter and hoping to stumble on to a regular person that I can actually pretend to talk to while we watch Star Wars, drink beer and eat grilled cheese sandwiches which is the natural order of the world.

Damaged Goods and the Feminine Psyche

This year, is the year of getting in too fucking deep. It's the year of "OMG I can't believe I did that, was I drunk?" I am turning 21 and if i don't act out soon, I'm not going to have youth as an excuse for ridiculous behaviour. Therefore, I shall have a "Bucket List" of sorts. "Things I will do by age 25" and as I do them, I will blog. There will be blood. And photography. And so with no further explainations:

Things I will do by age 25

1. Have a cigarette in front of my mother
2. Have an alcoholic beverage in a non-social setting in front of my mother
3. Give good face, like Robert Pattinson.
4. Eat something disgusting and not comment immediately on how FRIKKIN gross it was
5. Drink myself unconscious. With cheap vodka.
6. Drink Peach Mampoer
7. Eat that Spanish Maggot Cheese
8. Eat Testicles(cooked)
9. Dance on a bar top (see point 5 above)
10. Convince someone to have a menage a trois, but then bitch out like Gossip Girl (GAH!)
11. Dance the Paso Doble
12. Write a novel
13. Get on Oprah (this is really pressing, shit!)
14. Go to a premiere that I'm invited to and be drunk and disorderly (see points 9 and 5)
15. Get strip searched at the airport.
16. Dance the Single Ladies dance all the way through without stopping or fucking up the 2nd verse.
17. Smoke DBN poison and not have my eyes roll back in my head (long story, suffice to say FUCK YOU TEGAN!)
18. Contiki with a good friend
19. Do unspeakable things to others on Contiki (things of which we do not speak)
20. Have a Sugar Daddy and TOTES NOT DELIVER THE GOODS *insertevillaughhere*

Speaking of Sugar Daddies, Jacob Zuma had his 20th child. You know a man's a pimp when he has more kids that Jacob. The Biblical one, not Jacobwolf. I say MAZEL TOV!

Also also: Grammy's this weekend, I don't know if I have it in me to watch. Suffice to say, GO TAYLOR SWIFT, GO BEYONCE!!! All the rest of you, I download your music, and I really don't give two hoots if you win.

My mother took my sister and I shopping, and I bought "I am a sexy bitch heels" and bridal underwear. I promise I didnt know it was bridal, I just thought "ooooohhhh pretty!" and it makes my puppies look like I got a really, really good boob job, like they don't look cock-eyed at all (ha ha, I said "cock"), je promise. My sister went ahead and got the most gorgeous clothes, to which I say "I POO POO THE TATTOO", because I am fat and am not desirous of shopping for clothes.

JOB SEARCH AHOY!! I am looking for gainful employment because my mother feels that my taking 6 months of and doing nothing is not good for me. I beg to differ. A LOT. I think that 6 months spent getting thin and writing creatively everyday is AWESOME. I would feel exactly like a "Struggling Artist", I need to prepare for my post-graduate life by indulging in inordinate amounts of self-pity with just a splish splash of self- aggrandisement. Oh, I shall damn it all! I SHALL. Enough with the CAPSLOCK. I am off, to write the next Twilight, and make obscene amounts of cash. You know, so that I can sexually harrass the male lead of the movie of my book. Oh HUSH you KNOW Stephanie Meyer does.