Empty Spaces In The Snow

I will dedicate this article to two things:

First, my friend Justine, who constantly cyberstalks me and deserves to know I love her.

Second: The fact that I don’t believe in the existence of such a thing.

First things first: My love.

About once a month, someone has the annoying erge to declare there immoderate and uncontrolable love for me. I, most of the time, try not to be too mean, but I am getting so use to it, it’s like washing dirt off my face… The day I’ll finally find someone that I actually wanna hear say that, if it EVER happens, he or she will probably not wanna say it. Ha.

Then: Why I’d never say ”I love you”

Swear words… remember what those are? They use to represent something, they use to chock, but now, having used them far too often, they are meaningless. That happens to everything you over do. A good example of how you can just take away all magic and meaning from a word: say ”I love you” to often or too early. If you say you love someone, you gotta really believe it and it’s gotta mean something to you, ‘cause I love cake, but I wouldn’t tell cake that, he’d get all excited…you get what I mean? Probably not. I also have a confidence problem that prevents me from trusting anyone… that could be a factor to take into consideration eventually.

Also: Why people NEED to think love exists

People are shallow and lonely and need a reason to live. Telling yourself you love and are loved is easy and comforting. Just like believing in god.

Why it’s ok to be a bitch about this:

Love is a bitch. An unexisting bitch with big tits and long blond hair. She’s a skank. Or is she?

Some would argue that loves beats all and saves lives and shit… So does cake. (No, it doesn’t).

OR MAYBE

What it really comes down to is: I’ve just never been IN LOVE.
Go tell a monkey that there’s a million dollars in the next tree, if he’s never been there, he’ll never believe you.

Moral of the story: Why are you wasting your time reading this, dumbass?

Oh me, oh my!

Is it just me or are people truly getting more boring with time? I’ll just have to agree with that article in Le Devoir that basically calls our generation apathetic and pathetic. Dependant on our cellphones, computers, microwave ovens, it’s as though we don’t remember how to live without them. Were we born with motherf***ing blackberries (an industry in absolute crisis right now) in our tiny hands? Did we have a Facebook page before we had a name? Why do most of us yawn when the subjects goes to anything but Fashion or relationships… And then again, when I try to talk about the workings of fashion and relationships, or the direct link between overpublicising and overconsumming, I get  strange look from everybody in the room. So what? Am I going to sit down and talk about how sad I am that I didn’t star in Katy Perry’s new video? Hell no. Go F**k yourselves people. This world is regressing. It’s like society has a self-esteem problem. Wake up doodlebops! No way we’re going anywhere but down if you forget how to make food that doesn’t come in a box or write without the abreviations! (I know, I use some nasty grammar to, I’m no saint). If I were part of the other 90% of dumbasses who don’t give a shit about this stuff, my text would probably look something like this:

O crap.

M bord. I like microwaves. Hw could we live wthout ‘em.  Yawn. M so ngry. I shld b in K.P.’s new vid. Goin on Fb. C ya.

As many of you may know, summer is waiting behind our entrance doors, probably holding a green corsage; he’s wearing a tuxedo. I am not one to mock (ok, yes I am), but someone should film this: I’m about to leave out the back door. Because, yes, of course, I’m not sure I want summer to be there. I’m very scared, as most of us are, of getting a summer job.

Well, life has a price and to pay it, you have to work…or so they say, but getting a a life was easy…getting a job should be…right?

You work all your life and one day you die, basically. So what’s the point, really? Kiddo, that’s for you to discover. I just think if were gonna live in such a shitty world, might as well have a little fun. So I’m raising money (with some chance a lot of money) to go to Amsterdam this summer. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll go to prom to… but that’s a whole other story.

So if any of you have a job offer, I don’t care. I don’t know you! Freaks.

Well people, it’s always a pleasure to wake up mid-afternoon and drink a juice box. You walk to the bathroom to brush your teeth and find those glamorous (cough cough) souvenirs from the night before, hangover excluded, you know you’ve gotta smile. There’s somewhat irony in the bruised skin on your neck. You don’t regret? You know what I mean, so go ahead and say it: Teeth marks. So I’ll dedicate this story to my friend, which I will not name because this is far from a private and secure site, who woke up this morning and giggled as she remembered last night. A great night, so she says. Long story short, she met a guy, she liked the guy. Your place or mine? Neither.

They left the party, walked a while and this morning, she found herself in a peculiar state of mind, asking herself that one question I hope to never have to ask myself: What was his name again? I know her pretty well so I can tell you one thing: she wasn’t that drunk, people. So why doesn’t she want me to know the guys name? Maybe this story is all made up and she burned herself with her curling iron, but I wouldn’t mind, she lies a lot. The point isn’t whether or not it happened. The point is: Girls, memorize the guys name.

People have stuff going on in their heads that make me think maybe there’s a special species of humans that actually are in touch with reality, but I haven’t met any member of that genre or something.

-Have you ever had one of those ”AHA! This is it!” moments?

-Haven’t you ever thought you were god?

-What do women pee with?

Are just very few of the MANY very very suspicious questions I’ve been asked, as if waiting for an answer. So I’ll answer them, just for fun, but please know that asking me this will probably result in a oh-how-rewarding what the f*** look on my face.

-No, I don’t tend to yell out ”AHA!” when I figure out something. Doesn’t seem so special to me when I understand things…I’m happy you know how to make every moment count.

-I don’t believe in god. At all. So how could I possibly think I am god? Unless I don’t believe I exist, which starts a whoooooole knew topic.

Now, if you have unanswered questions, perhaps you could find what your looking for on the I-N-T-E-R-N-E-T. People have lost the reflex to just look for the answer themselves. So here’s for all you lazy asses out there:

A women pees through her urethra. Men have that too, but it’s in their Johnson. It’s kind of like an invisible girly womenis. Look it up folks.

What is ridiculous? Ridiculous causes or is worthy or derision. It can be absurd, preposterous, laughable. Commonly used to describe people, acts, ways. In many cases, people under the influence are often prone to ridicule. That is where the fun begins.

There are different kinds of drunks, of course.

• The sad drunk: Cries, most of the time, for no reason. Some times, it’s because the world is ending in some way.
• The demented drunk: Rants, grunts, yells, elaborates conspiracy theories.
  
• The eternally laughing drunk: Sometimes fun, sometimes creapy, sometimes offensive, but always there to lighten up the night.
  
• The sick drunk: Ruins the night for one or more of her/his friends. Throws up and doesn’t understand that he/she shouldn’t be drinking more after starting to throw up (that includes drinking water)
• The overly calm drunk: Become either invisible, or the center of attraction. Girls dig the overly calm drunk, but most guys think the overly calm girls are on GHB. CAUTION.
  
• The slut: Usually a girl, whores around with basically no criteria and wakes up with guilt in her gut. Watch out, some of them show symptoms of sexually transmitted diseases. 

Note: Some of these people may start talking about what’s wrong or was wrong in their lives. If you don’t know them, walk away.

Now, about the ridiculous ones. They pretty much all are. The word drunk does not describe a state of full control of the mind, therefore all abilities are reduced. Weather it’s cause their bra ”came of on it’s own” or because they’re ranting about how times have changed, people, you look just…well…ridiculous.

If you’re good with that, have fun, but somehow, I’m tired of being the overly calm drunk helping the slut get dressed again or holding the sick one’s hair.

That’s all for today dearest,

I’m off to make cookies.