What’s This? I’m Surrounded By Poo!

Warning: This is a bitchfit, so I’m guessing most of it won’t flow well and wil be borderline incomprehensible. If you stick around to the end, I applaud you.

On many occasions I have called girls crazy, but today I’m going to tackle the topic of how full of shit guys are.

From the time I hit puberty, I’ve heard countless guys talk about the girls they want, the sort of girls who annoy them and the girls they have. Here’s the gist of 14 years’ worth of stories:

Guys Want Girls:

1. who are confident with who they are

2. who can understand the necessity for guys to just hang out and do their guy things

3. who don’t nag them or keep picking on stuff they do

4. who can appreciate their silly jokes

5. who don’t play games with cryptic words and actions.

Guys Do Not Fancy:

1. clingy girls

2. bossy girls

3. girls who don’t know how to carry themselves in public

4. argumentative girls

5. girls who insist on watching Bridget Jones’s Diary for the 47th time while the (insert sport here) is on the telly.

Do you boys know who you ALWAYS end up dating? Every girl that fits the second fucking category.

I’m am perpetually baffled by this. Could someone please explain to me how the girls who make it into the first category end up being “one of the guys” and the girls in the second group are glefully stringing guys along by the balls?

I’m beginning to think that men just like sitting around with a round of beers (or teh tarik), bitching about how unreasonable their girlfriends/wives are. Sure, where’s the fun in saying, ” Oh, my girlfriend’s awesome; she bought me Skyrim Hearthfire AND Diablo III just for the heck of it”?

It’s either that, or all the girls who irritate guys are fucking amazing in the sack.

I:the person who is speaking or writing —used as the subject of a verb

I KNOW I’m going to regret posting this. I can feel it. Strange thoughts tend to show up late at night, and it IS late.

I’m amazed by how a few choice sentences can remind me of certain things about certain people. I haven’t decided whether these reminders make me less of a fool or simply a more bitter person.

Satan in an ill-fitting dress. I came up with that one, and I’m pretty proud of myself for it.

I’ve never portrayed myself as person who is genuinely violent ( a few fellas in 14-05 may beg to differ, I know) but there are people I encounter that I just want to beat up. I want it enough to consider taking up some martial arts class. Why? Because coming up with witty comebacks would be a waste of time and nerve impulses.

I know I sound childish and immature. I don’t care. *sticks out tongue*

Too many “I”s in this post.

P.S: Normalcy will resume shortly.

Take Your Pick

I’ve done something like this before on my old blog. Seems to me that it’s time for a Round #2.

1. I am neither your maid, your chef nor your errand girl.

2. Stop sabotaging your own chances. It makes you look pathetic and it irritates me.

3. Stop calling out other people’s mistakes without fixing yours. At least TRY not to be a hypocrite.

4. It’s normal to feel bad for yourself once in a while. Do it all the time, and you’re mocking a whole lot of destitute people without food, shelter and/or loved ones.

5. Is there anything you don’t complain about? It’s either too far, too long, too hard or a waste of time. Get over yourself.

6. You don’t get to decide the motive behind every person’s actions. And you certainly don’t get to decide whether the actions are right or not.

7. For every class or lecture you miss, you are wasting someone’s hard-earned money. Yes, even if you’re on scholarship.

8. You’re not good just because you don’t behave sexually suggestive, and that girl with the short skirt and stiletto boots isn’t necessarily bad for having Jell-O shots with five other guys.

Words of a Naive Schoolgirl

1. ” God made sex something enjoyable so that people will want to procreate.” Clearly He did not foresee the invention of condoms, the Pill, IUD and spermicide. He may have overdone the pleasure factor.

2. “Guys don’t only take looks into consideration. Personality matters, too.” Sure. Kim Kardashian’s butt is NOTHING compared to her ability to hold an intellectual conversation.

3. “People will be less shallow when they get older.” Yes, that’s why there’s a landfill of shows that judge clothes, physical attributes and social status.

4. “When you study your specialty in Uni, you’ll probably meet more people you can relate with.” Ever heard of parents forcing kids to do what they don’t want to?

5. “Things always turn out fine.” No, you dumbfuck, they don’t.

Wanted: Makeover

Inexcusable, I know. I promised a proper entry in July and I’ve still not gotten around to it. I promise, if it’s not up by this weekend, I WILL pluck each and every leg hair of mine with tweezers. Gross much?

A lot and nothing have happened at the same time. By a lot, I mean the usual things like sunrise, sunset and the chores in between. And nothing…well, it speaks for itself.

I’m pretty sure I’ve ranted to a few people on separate occasions about my mini quarter-life crisis. I fear it’s not one of those things that sound silly once it has been said out loud. I don’t even know exactly when it came about, it’s not like I woke up one morning/afternoon and decided that my life has nothing much in it.

I’ve been feeling like I could have done a lot more with all my years that have passed. I doubt I’m alone when it comes to this gnawing. Even though misery loves company, this battle must be fought alone. The problem is, I don’t know HOW.

Everything bores me, save my education. That’s most likely because the thought of being a crap doctor scares the hell out of me like Lucifer wouldn’t believe. Everything feels recycled. Everyone seems to be just going through the motions. I need something to remind me that I’m alive, young and capable of anything. I need excitement, adventure and fun.

Or maybe I just need to get the fuck out of here.

I Don’t Believe In “FML”

Today is a real bitchfit. It’s sad, really. I was drafting out an entry about the joys of being a woman. Pinky swear. Today was supposed to be a good day, almost joyous. Then a raven decided to take a crap on it. I’m not talking a normal, routine poop. I’m talking a huge-explosive-after-a-Mexican-all-you-can-eat kinda poop.

  1. My practicals are supposed to end today. Six weeks ago, that’s what my curator said. It’s not turning out the way I expected. Apparently, doing what one is supposed to do pales in comparison to blatant lying and sloth.
  2. Today is my late uncle’s birthday, making today one of those days I wish I had a crappy memory.
  3. I tried going to church today (imagine how lousy I must be feeling) and it was closed. How about that?!!
  4. I attempted at pursuing my favourite distraction, but it eluded me. On the bright side, I have a new high score for Bubble Spinner.
  5. Moscow is hot and now, there’s haze. I want to fling myself off the 14th floor just so I can feel breeze on the way down.

It really could be worse, so I’m hoping the clock strikes midnight soon.

I’d Like A Serving of Serenity, Please.

I’ve never really been one of those writers who only put up good pieces on their blog, but I normally DO try to keep the nonsense minimal. In light of how I’ve been feeling, I’m not going to try tonight. Let the monkey poop fly!

For reasons undisclosed, I am convinced that I am out of my damn mind. There is some crazy-ass battle going on between my principles, my faith, logic and the rest of the world. Needless to say, this is a quick and easy recipe for an emotional massacre.

Miraculously enough, with all that has been going on, there is no eczema to be seen. You have no idea how much wood I’ve just touched after writing that. If I make it through everything eczema-free, it will prove the hypothesis I’ve been toying with for the past three years. Fingers crossed, people!

At the moment, I’m probably not even in the proper state to write. I know this much: I tried to force a horse to drink water, even though it didn’t want to. Now it’s dead and I’ve been beating it senseless. And to top it all off, I’m not Roman.

I suppose all of this could be subject to interpretation. Keep in mind that this is me, so feel free to set the bar really low.

May I Have February Back, Please?

Today is probably not the best day to blog, seeing that not much has turned out the way I wanted it to. I’d like to dismiss it as April being a crappy month, but compared to what December usually has to offer, I’m doing great.

Therapy is over. To be perfectly honest, although I bitch about it a lot, I have a lot of fun during that cycle. It has a top-of-a-rollercoaster sort of feel to it. There’s always that tiny corner in yourself that knows that you could get screwed.

Currently, OZIZ is going on. So far, it’s been Add.Math statistics and one lecture about the Russian population. Thankfully, classes are on campus, which is a 15 minute walk so I don’t mind the cycle feeling pointless. Unfortunately,the lecture was not relate-able and my lecture notes ended up being this:

As for the statistics, I’ve never been disciplined when there’s any form of math involved, so most of my work looks like a cat barfed up numbers on to a page. My teacher did mention something about a test to get the cycle credit, which translates to, “Must decipher cat barf”. Hoorah.

It’s kinda sad that nothing much is happening besides classes, groceries and laundry. It’s even sadder still that I have no groceries and my laundry is taking up 80% of the space under my bed. The saddest of all: I think it’s perfectly fine to blog about it.

Logic dictates that I delete this post and forget that I ever typed it. But I tend to believe that stuff I write is pure gold, so logic can go suck it.

That last sentence may or may not be a joke. Such is how lousy today has been.

An Open Letter To My Cold

Dear Cold,

Every year, you visit me for a week. Although you have never been welcome, you’ve always known that by the 6th day, your bags ought to be packed so that on the 7th, you can go make someone else’s life miserable.

This year, your timing has been awful and you’ve been the most unpleasant guest. It’s Day 7, what the FUCK are you still doing here?!!

You come waltzing in just when I have plans. Everything was going well. Classes had begun and I was being somewhat disciplined. I had my strategy all out for my mission: to be able to pull this look off

Laugh all you want, Cold. It was working out great, then you came along. Thanks to you, I’ve consumed more food in one meal than I normally do in a whole day. After eating that much, you’re probably pleased to know that I can’t reach my toes anymore, much less exercise.Feed the cold, starve the fever. MY ASS.

I tried being nice. I thought I’d ease you out gently with lots of fluids, hot showers and rest. I even laid off meds. But NOOOOOO…. you just have to be the purulent nightmare that you are. You’ve made my hair fall, my skin dry and my voice hoarse (not in that sexy Sophia Bush way, either).

You know what? SCREW YOU. Screw you and the mucus you bring. Try overstaying your welcome. I dare you.

I will flush you out with my arsenal of weapons. Don’t think for one moment that just because it’s Lent and I can’t have chicken soup or sambal that you are spared from my wrath. Sure, my immune system appears to still be on a break but I have money and access to nasal sprays. Plus I have a fresh batch of Vaporub.

You’ll be sorry, Cold.


Sasha “Tonsil-free” Zuleika

Don’t Let The Sun Fool You

-26 Degrees

For the past week, Moscow has seen nothing above -18 degrees Celcius. Students have been huddled around heaters like the homeless, but in better winter wear. On the bright side, there has been no wind to take our breaths away, which is a great blessing.

Chief Heater Hugger

Chief Heater Hugger

It’s December, my least favourite month. Many unpleasant anniversaries are coming up, and I do not care to enumerate them. All I know is, my ability to remember dates and useless events seems to be my biggest thorn.

I wanted to post about something that has bothered me for many years. I wanted to lash out and say everything. I knew what the consequences would be, and I didn’t care. I even had my words all figured out. My desire to write was so great that for once, I did not think about Seungri in the shower.

I don’t think my desire was great enough, though. If it were, I wouldn’t have waited till today to post, and I wouldn’t have let myself be persuaded by another blog and a set of memories to keep my words to myself.

I’ll compromise.

I used to reply, “no problem!” when people thanked me for anything. There’s a reason I say, “okay” nowadays.

Longer post later.