My World (and other pointless observations)

I've gathered that chickens aren't very bright.

People expect you to lead awkward conversations.

Music instantly livens up long trips.

I want to drive endlessly, just listening to music from my favourite artists and never arriving at our chosen destination.

I want to travel. 

Around the world. 

With someone.

And we can drive around these small towns in South America, chatting up locals and listening to their strange tales about the country. 

Then we can try the local cuisine: deep-fried insects; marinaded bushmeat; assorted leaky, rubbery vegetables; meats adorned in spices of the world and of course: rice.

We'll explore the countryside. 

In a busted up little red truck with dust collected in every crevice of it's exterior.

And then the car breaks down but we hitchhike a ride from a passing vehicle driven by a local who doesn't speak a lick of English. 

It will all be so deliciously dangerously inviting.

And then we'll return to our dingy hotel room that we found on the Internet and I booked the tickets even though you advised me not to.

And then we'll make love or fuck, depending on our mood.

We fuck.

Then after that, we'll eat unhealthy junkfood: naked whilst watching Latin-American soap operas in Spanish, laughing at each other as we attempt to untangle the web of lies sewn by the attractive daughter.

We'll visit historic landmarks and take dozens of pictures of ourselves pulling faces and kissing in front of statues.

Most of these won't be posted online, as my insecurities cause us to have a fight and not talk to each other for the whole night. 

In the aftermath of our fight, I realize how stupid I was.

I turn to you and run my nails down your back.

I apologize. 

You promise to take new pictures, with us dressed in all black.

You turn to me and pull me close.

And this time, we make love.

                  -"XO".

What is love?

Yep, we all know that dreaded word: Love. Them feels. Butterflies. Whatever you want to call it. Well, I guess maybe I'm the only one who calls it that...

Is it weird that, I don't believe that I'll ever meet somebody. I mean, I take a look at my 27-year-old cousin and he seems mildly attractive, yet he isn't married yet. Okay, yes he does have a girlfriend but it's still a scary thought. I mean, I always envisioned myself by the age of 30 married, with maybe one kid or a baby on the way. I envision myself with a handsome, loving, caring and somewhat goofy husband with a respectable job who will love me unequivocally. Isn't that what all women want?

As women, we are constantly comparing ourselves. Whether it's to our gorgeous best friend, or to a random acquaintance or celebrity. I suppose I just take it to the extreme, what with my dwindling self-confidence that shrinks whenever I look in the mirror. Perhaps my awful looks, my below-average personality, terrible laugh that resembles the mating call of a walrus and general awkwardness scares many men off.

What is love?

Well, love is that mushy sentimental feeling you get when you see that special someone and you get those annoying butterflies in your tummy that make you want to throw up rainbows. 

Or maybe it's that feeling you get when you rip open the plastic cover on a brand new video game, taking in the fresh yet musty stench of the plastic box and running your fingers across the bumpy cover and staring lustily at the cover picture?

                            ***

Maybe love is that weird feeling you get when you wake up all dreary-eyed and dazed in bed next to the sleeping body of your lover whom you probably don't recall ever crawling into bed with or ever offering a drink last night at that New Year's party of your old college buddy who you never really liked but decided to pitch up anyway cos he said that there'd be booze and old chums whom you haven't seem in a while?

Love is when she turns to you and smiles and tells you that she had a great night yet she doesn't remember your name but you look at her, I mean really look at her, and you realize that she isn't as beautiful as the alcohol made her seem, her voice isn't as pleasant as it was in your dreams and her touch isn't as sensuous as the alcohol made you believe...

Then she gets up and takes a shower in your shower. She comes out, naked, hair soaking wet and the stench of alcohol wafts through the air. You stare at her. She stares at you. 

"So...can I like, have a towel?"

"Over there, on the couch."

"Thanks."

She sashays over to the brown armchair and grabs your towel. You look at her. And then it hits you.

Love is when you look at her and she looks at you and at that very moment you realize that she's not the one for you. You stare at all her imperfections and realize that she's not the way that you envisioned your first time to be. She's hardly the woman that mother would want to meet and she's hardly the type to introduce to your mates but still there's something about her that just holds you down. And now, at this moment when you stare at her and realize all this then you know what love is.

Love is when you don't care what the other person's faults are, whether their stinky or if they aren't the most attractive person on the planet. You'll look at them as if they could do no wrong and they're virtually perfect even though they really aren't but you keep on believing that they're perfect anyway because you stutter and can't find the words to say about how much they mean to you or how much their very existence affects your own. 

But for me...I guess...

Love is that weird, mushy yet nice and soft feeling I get when I hear your name. The mere thought of you sends me cheesing. Sometimes you make me angry as hell and then I feel like ripping your throat out or cutting off your circulation, then spending the rest of my life searching the world for oxygen for you. Then I think about it and I mean Really think, and I realize that I would not be able to find oxygen perfect enough for you to breathe. 

                    - "Crazy, yet emo."