hUrt yOu iN tHe woRst wAy

UPDATE: (Fifteen-ish minutes later.) Sometimes, I annoy myself. Get a fucking grip, Sasha. Sorry about this. Haha. Stupid Christmas lights.

I am so sad. Ugh. I am feeling very much the typical seventeener. And I feel fat. When I look at the mirror, all I see are cheeks. Agh. And don't let me start on full-length mirrors. Thighs. Ass.

So far, a considerable number of people have told me that the reason I'm still single, or at least, pathetically lacking of prospects and recipients of, er, special affections, is really physical. (Ah, attacked by the virus of superficiality.)

I am tall.

So, it's either cut off parts of my legs, find a smart, non-Chinese basketball player with time for me or live as the butch part of a lesbian relationship.

That's it? Come on: I'm too perky, I sing too loud, I have a weird touchy-huggy personality, I laugh at jokes I don't even get and I can't make up my mind, really, if Stephen King is a hack or not. There must be something else.

I'm sorry. I don't want to complain about boys but this is all just too much. Or, rather, nothing. I'm just... feeling like the really fugly girl that no one asks to dance.

Shit, I'm gonna cry. It's the Christmas lights, really. Sniffle.

I am never gonna marry, never gonna have kids. I WILL DIE A VIRGIN! Oh my fucking gaaawd.

PS: Nikita, feel free to laugh at me right now. Buwaaaaaah.

PPS: And because I was biten last night, I might drink with my mother mamaya. (There's a family party thing here. I'm in Pque.) Oh, that's even more pathetic. Ahh.