A hobby of mine is trolling pervs online, so recently a friend and I started a couples account on NZDating to go swinging online.
We advertised ourselves as being two virgins, totally inexperienced, looking for help. Ohhh the pervs that found us. The photos, the vivid descriptions, the misspellings. The old, balding men who messaged us several times, wanting to travel down the country to meet with us.
It was disturbing. Yet, we quickly became quite desensitised, until it was no longer funny – being informed of another creepy message waiting for us is now a hassle. Regardless (or perhaps, because) of its ads for random sexual encounters, NZDating has been voted New Zealand’s best lifestyle website on netguide.co.nz. I like that little fact. Oh wow. I know this because as a member I was emailed a newsletter, and they were very excited.
Then there’s the squishy side to the internet. But before that, however, comes the sad, lonely side. The reason why I even came across NZDating at all was because I’d read that people on there are all ridiculously ugly. I looked (they were right). It was depressing. So many people hoping to be loved, to find The One.
(I once found The One. It was a year ago, and he was reading by himself in a Starbucks, wearing a knitted jersey. I should have kidnapped him when I had the chance.)
But a friend has found a someone online, so perhaps it should be said that I truly don’t think less of couples that meet online. She deserves all the happiness in the world, and is so overwhelmingly happy with him that the messages they send each other are quite nauseating. It makes me promise myself to always stay single, lest I too want to promise someone three months worth of eternity.
I sound so mature right now. But couples are annoying. I only like them when they’re not hanging off each other all the damn time, and remember that other people exist.
To summarise: Pervs are about as annoying as couples in love. And even more funny.
Anyone that’s known me long enough can attest that I’m frustratingly stubborn, and equally horrible at explaining things in person, especially about my ~feelings~. Earlier this week I was offered to come back to the darling hall of residence I currently stay at (it’s a long story…), and because I pity you all, here’s how I saw it.
Spoiler: it wasn’t tempting at all.
Although yes, coming back may well be more convenient than looking for a decent flat, which is quite mythical in Dunedin to begin with, I can only think, “NOOOO I DECIDED TO GO FLATTING AGES AGO AND I’M STICKING TO IT”. Saying that reminds me of my granddad, so it’s a genetic predisposition, you guyyys.
…breaking that down further, I get this:
The stigma
Coming back a third year? Is independence such a scary thing? I don’t know how other third years’ circumstances (of course, of course), but I’d be appalled at myself to turn 21 next year and still refuse to look after myself. I may have plenty of years left in my degree to do this, but I’m not afraid of doing it all now, so I don’t see the point in waiting.
I’d also be surrounded by wiener kids born in 1991 (oh god, ageism!). No thanks. And while I’d be staying in some house out the back, not the halls itself, and well isolated from these wiener kids, that’s contrary to my whole reasoning for coming back to St Margaret’s at all: being forced to talk to people.
That removes my reason to come back, and I hardly think avoiding cooking three times in a fortnight is worth $1000. It’s not a big deal.
Pathetic idealism
Paying electricity bills and fending off the cold in imaginative ways sound like the most exciting thing ever. I’m impatient to learn how to cook, and silly grown-uppy things like this, and I am aware that I’ll end up totally malnourished, but dammit, it looks like an adventure.
I shouldn’t come back anyway
I have this idea that a returner should be looking after the first years, not using them to advance their own mediocre social skills (I end up discussing this sort of thing way too much on here). Someone else will have applied to come back, someone who actually deserves to, and they’d miss out because of me. That doesn’t sit well.
And quietly, I do resent coming back only because the warden is desperate to keep a some other people in our flatting group. I find that offensive, somehow. Had I applied to come back by myself, I wouldn’t be accepted.
I also plan on staying in Dunedin over the summer, and that’d be simpler if I just went flatting as well. That’s it. Peace.
I would like to dedicate this to the people who have made today awesome. Because this past week? Very much not awesome. I think if I say “awesome” anymore I’ll sound like Chuck‘s Captain Awesome, who is very awesome. Unlike this past week (and now we are back on topic!):
- I’M GOING TO FAIL THE CONTRACT LAW TEST
- MY PLANT IS DYING
- I’M A COWARD AND FAIL AT INTERPERSONAL RELATIONSHIPS
- …AND NOW OUR FLATTING GROUP ISN’T EXACTLY SORTED
Which doesn’t actually sound like much, but suffering is relative, man.
Chris (is my hero)
He joined our flatting group on the condition that another guy would come with us. We got one. When that very guy suddenly thought he’d apply to come back to our darling hall of residence in 2010, the rest of us were anticipating Chris doing the same. We couldn’t blame him if he did.
But he didn’t. That he initially didn’t want to flat with only girls, only to want to stay with us even if that guy’s not there? This is a kind of loyalty I admire a lot in people. Mad props.
Property law lecture being cancelled
I do realise I should feel a little guilty being happy about this, since it’s because our lecturer’s sick – she’s a nice lady, hope she feels better soon. Nevertheless, getting a whole free hour feels a little like Christmas.
Brownies!
Coming back from a lecture, I heard a “DAMMIT!!!” from the top of the stairs. And behold, a gorgeous friend had been sneaking by to deliver a box of brownies outside my door, not expecting me to be back so early.
This is something that I adore about this girl, that from talking to her online she managed to notice that I wasn’t feeling particularly fantastic. She’s the only one who can realise that “I’m okay, I guess” really means “THE WORLD HATES ME BAWWWW”. As a bonus, she makes the best brownies of all time.
I’ve never heard of this band before until today. I’m not sure if they’re joking, but I really really hope they’re not. I especially love it from about 3.24 onwards. Epic. Dramatic. All for a pen.
This morning = awesome, even if I’m sounding a little sentimental, and this really belongs in my LJ. Bring on the afternoon.
(There were also wedges for lunch. Pretty sweet.)
Some people think decent writing means hitting up the thesaurus every second word. Stop. You sound fucking pretentious.
I’ve always found I’m picky about other people’s writing, which is rather dubious, since you can see my own writing for yourself. ;D But I can look at other people’s writing, and know what sounds awkward and why. I find this need to use the biggest words possible gets in the way of basic communication; like sounding intelligent means being difficult to understand. Especially with the never ending sentences that tend to accompany big words! Some get caught up inventing elegant phrases, but they’re in danger of losing their original point and ultimately saying nothing.
And by “big word”, I mean something ordinary people don’t tend to use in everyday conversation. By using it sparingly, you’d catch people off-guard, make them go, “AH THAT’S UNUSUAL – OH INTERESTING POINT SIR”. Or at least, that’s how I do this blog, since it’s just my train of thought, rearranged until it makes some sense, minus the off-topic ramblings about the latest person to wrong me (who’s usually the same person over and over again – what a douche). Then words are tweaked around, occasionally replaced by something I usually wouldn’t use that sounds better. OH HOOO. ALL THIS AND IT’S STILL SUB-PAR.
Writing so formally about the everyday creates the most deadening thing to read. You have no soul. Or passion. Or anything. At least, for myself, I noticed recently there’s a rise in those big words when I’m trying to cut off all feeling. It sounds so cold and detached.
The only one who can use flowery writing and get away with it is Oscar Wilde. You are not him. You n00bs. Although, he’d do the opposite. You know how he starts off “The Picture of Dorian Gray” with this gorgeous preface, ending with “All art is quite useless.“? I love him. Simplicity! It can be so effective!