deviant
08-27-2007, 11:35 AM
random rants of a 30-year-old single woman:) i sooo love it:)
by faye ilogon
I always like to say that I am the product of a semi-puritanical upbringing and a very liberal education.
This means that though I know a great deal of cuss words, I still cannot bring myself to utter them when my mother is within hearing distance. This also means that while I dream of having a series of one-night stands with strangers whom I’d bring home simply because they look good, I am still conflicted about French kissing on the first date. And while I may not go to church regularly, I still believe that I have to do good deeds or else God would take away my G-spot. (The fact that I still haven’t come across the exact location of my G-spot is immaterial.)
I like to think that I am both naughty and nice. But, really, I am more of the latter than the former. And, for some reason, that kills me. What I would give to be as careless and brazen as Paris Hilton. Then again, my mother would kill me.
I just turned 32 last week and I like myself now more than I ever did before. Ten years ago, I was so scared of making mistakes. Now, I know that even if I make mistakes, I can clean up any mess that I make all by myself.
Falling off the so-called kalendaryo is a very good thing. It means my father might probably consider not sending me text messages to ask about where I am and what I’m doing in the wee hours of the morning. (Sometimes, I’m really just looking for my 20-year-old green comb, Dad.) You see, I was such a quiet and obedient little girl who thought he was Superman. I’m afraid he still thinks that I’m a little girl who continues to see him that way.
Then again, I guess some things about me will always be the same.
I am addicted to potato chips. I only cry at dog movies. I want to learn how to swim. I detest riding the Metro Rail Transit. I don’t think I will ever watch The Passion of the Christ because I think the actor playing Jesus is hot. I take pride in being a southpaw with very good handwriting. I bear more than a passing resemblance to Dora the Explorer and I don’t know if that’s a good thing at my age. The image you see of me on this site isn’t really me…it’s the handiwork of very talented stylists. I did not even pick my own clothes to wear for the glam shot. If it were up to me, I’d just be in jeans and a T-shirt. Believe me, in real life, I never ever look like an adult—especially when I trudge over to the neighborhood grocery store to buy yet another pack of Ruffles.
I believe that expressing rage is healthy…but not when you’re in a restaurant. I hate politics and umbrellas with equal passion. I am a low maintenance gal who hoards salt packets from fastfood joints. I love books, dirty ones best of all.
I’ve been dating since I was 15 and I have kissed a lot of frogs since then. Up until a few months ago, I thought one adorable bullfrog would turn out to be The One. Sadly, he got cold feet and hopped away before I could beat him up for stringing me along for two years and seven months. Nevertheless, I still believe that there’s a special frog for me out there. I hope I run into him before my childbearing years are over because, to be honest, I don’t want to disappoint my mother. The woman is so hot for a grandchild that she recently bought me a Cabbage Patch Doll to bring out my maternal instinct.
Mind you, I am not looking to trap the frog into marriage. (Unless, of course, he expresses the desire to be stuck for life with a woman who becomes loopy after two glasses of iced tea.) At the very least, he should just help me get my mother off my back by getting it on with me. Meanwhile, while I wait for this momentous occasion, I shall continue to make a living with words.
by faye ilogon
I always like to say that I am the product of a semi-puritanical upbringing and a very liberal education.
This means that though I know a great deal of cuss words, I still cannot bring myself to utter them when my mother is within hearing distance. This also means that while I dream of having a series of one-night stands with strangers whom I’d bring home simply because they look good, I am still conflicted about French kissing on the first date. And while I may not go to church regularly, I still believe that I have to do good deeds or else God would take away my G-spot. (The fact that I still haven’t come across the exact location of my G-spot is immaterial.)
I like to think that I am both naughty and nice. But, really, I am more of the latter than the former. And, for some reason, that kills me. What I would give to be as careless and brazen as Paris Hilton. Then again, my mother would kill me.
I just turned 32 last week and I like myself now more than I ever did before. Ten years ago, I was so scared of making mistakes. Now, I know that even if I make mistakes, I can clean up any mess that I make all by myself.
Falling off the so-called kalendaryo is a very good thing. It means my father might probably consider not sending me text messages to ask about where I am and what I’m doing in the wee hours of the morning. (Sometimes, I’m really just looking for my 20-year-old green comb, Dad.) You see, I was such a quiet and obedient little girl who thought he was Superman. I’m afraid he still thinks that I’m a little girl who continues to see him that way.
Then again, I guess some things about me will always be the same.
I am addicted to potato chips. I only cry at dog movies. I want to learn how to swim. I detest riding the Metro Rail Transit. I don’t think I will ever watch The Passion of the Christ because I think the actor playing Jesus is hot. I take pride in being a southpaw with very good handwriting. I bear more than a passing resemblance to Dora the Explorer and I don’t know if that’s a good thing at my age. The image you see of me on this site isn’t really me…it’s the handiwork of very talented stylists. I did not even pick my own clothes to wear for the glam shot. If it were up to me, I’d just be in jeans and a T-shirt. Believe me, in real life, I never ever look like an adult—especially when I trudge over to the neighborhood grocery store to buy yet another pack of Ruffles.
I believe that expressing rage is healthy…but not when you’re in a restaurant. I hate politics and umbrellas with equal passion. I am a low maintenance gal who hoards salt packets from fastfood joints. I love books, dirty ones best of all.
I’ve been dating since I was 15 and I have kissed a lot of frogs since then. Up until a few months ago, I thought one adorable bullfrog would turn out to be The One. Sadly, he got cold feet and hopped away before I could beat him up for stringing me along for two years and seven months. Nevertheless, I still believe that there’s a special frog for me out there. I hope I run into him before my childbearing years are over because, to be honest, I don’t want to disappoint my mother. The woman is so hot for a grandchild that she recently bought me a Cabbage Patch Doll to bring out my maternal instinct.
Mind you, I am not looking to trap the frog into marriage. (Unless, of course, he expresses the desire to be stuck for life with a woman who becomes loopy after two glasses of iced tea.) At the very least, he should just help me get my mother off my back by getting it on with me. Meanwhile, while I wait for this momentous occasion, I shall continue to make a living with words.