You’re Going to Die Alone! Part Two
Happy Vawentine’s Day, fwends. I hope you’ve all got plans to go eat an overpriced dinner at an overhyped restaurant and then have disappointing sex with someone you plan on breaking up with soon anyways. As for me, this has been a period of reflection (and chocolate), and it has made me think of one thing in particular.
When I was in eighth grade, I went through a period of darkness. I wore a lot of black eyeliner, and oversized black shirts supporting Taking Back Sunday and Brand New. I liked wearing unnecessary safety pins on the shoulders of my basically brand new clothes, as I did not truly understand the punk aesthetic. I was a tortured soul, and no one understood me or my dandruff.
But, at home, I still watched Disney movies. I would come home, write in my journal, and watch The Little Mermaid over and over again until I could recite every line of dialogue and imitate every sound effect. I would wear my jelly bracelets and scowl at the pRePpIeS in school, and then come home and ache for someone to crash his boat into me.
What’s your point, Lisa? That you have no friends?
Well, I don’t, but no. That’s not my point. My point is this: I am ruined forever. Dark soul listening to Nine Inch Nails or little dork listening to Britney Spears, I don’t understand what is normal when it comes to love. (As I made very clear in my post earlier in the week.) What is acceptable? What should make me run the other way?
I cannot date without breaking into a cold sweat over whether this guy is a serial killer or a creepy-but-sweet dating prospect. As it is Valentine’s Day, I will celebrate by chewing on dry, chalky hearts and giving you a run-down of my dating expectations and how they’ve evolved over the last ten years.
See, the thing about being ~dArK~ when you’re thirteen is that the world is still full of possibilities. I just knew that my punxrawker prince was out there, writing a Harry Potter fanfiction piece where I was the Mary Sue. And now? A lady is lucky to find a guy with all of his teeth. HAPPY FEBRUARY FOURTEENTH, FUCKERS!