I hate couples. I hate how everyone's got a new love interest or is dating someone new. People are even getting married and having babies (note, I'm exaggerating). Meanwhile I'm sitting here feeling lonely and depressed because I haven't been in love for a little less than a year. Great, Sara. You're progressing from bitching to whining.

It went by fine when I had at least some girlfriends to share the sorrows with. But now everyone's happy except for me. I've become a cold and ugly person, cynism and sarcasm my mantra, every guy bored of my phrases and in fact, I'm bored of myself too. And we haven't even started talking about looks yet.

It's weird. Being single has had it's advantages for me, but now it seems to be gone, everything. The worst part of it all is even if I were in love, I'd probably not be ready to get it on with. I'm still uncomfortable about the thought of relationships, I'm still dealing with trust issues, my expecations have risen so high, they've reached Pluto. And Pluto's far fucking away.

Guess it's time to get myself a cat.

.. and also, I had my hair cut again. I thought Kate Moennig was getting a little old, you know. Except I still look like Kate Moennig. Ten years ago (nevermind the icky fringe, but it's really close to what it looks like).

I don't have a camera right now, but it's killing me so, so bad. This is the problem with people you let touch your hair: They just do whatever they fucking want. This is a perfect day to jump off the Very Bad Hair Bridge.

On a short note: Why the fuck have I been getting a million of hits from livejournal's friend's sites? Not only that, but I can not even find my link on these sites. What the hell is going on?

I heard a song today, it's called "London Bridge" and is from Fergie Ferg's debut solo (!) album. I'm happy they finally spared us the annoying primate look-a-likes from the rest of the Black Eyed Peas, but something told me just right then that I didn't want to live among such worthless beings anymore. I cite:

How come everytime you come around
My London London Bridge wanna go down
Like London London London

Deep stuff there, man. Deep stuff. And you're still wondering why people commit suicide?

Yesterday I saw a dead cat and it was the most horrible sight of my life and I'd rather split my ass in two and sell the parts on Nigerian black markets than see something like this ever again.

It wasn't just a dead fucking cat. It was a cute dead fucking cat. I've seen dead things before- ducks, rats, dogs, sometimes human people and occasionally even cats. No problemos. Fat cats, ugly cats, old cats, driven over cats.

But that one? Deaddest of 'em all.

Me, innocent little angel, walking down the street after my theory driving class, I see it's back. It looked like it was playing with something, except it wasn't moving. It was pretty tiny, maybe 5 months old, black with white spots and I totally fell in love. I hurried up because whenever I approach cats, they seem to sense and get the fuck up for the sake of their lives (not that I torture cats. I just like to scare them sometimes. Talk about instantaneous karma).

And then, when I passed and turned around- I swear I almost puked over it. Then I wanted to cry, but it looked so... Itchy & Scratchy, I kinda wanted to laugh, too, except I couldn't.

It was a normal cat, except it's eyes popped out and the skull was broken and the tounge was cut lying in front of her and it looked pretty awesome. I kept my coolness and went on, but then last night I had very sexy thoughts and suddenly, all I could think of was the image of that dead cat.

I even googled it because I wanted to find a picture of it, but in our shitty town I'm probably the only one who has a camera AND connection to the holy sacred Internet- like, simultaneously.

Fucking hell. Oh and I have a second blog now, but it's in German. You can check it out anyway because I'll post videos sometimes. Experience tells me one of the blogs is going to vanish sooner or later as always, because I can't just deal with a secret blog and one that is in German. I'll mesh it up again. Yee-ha. Oh and please if you decide to leave a comment for whatever reason, don't mention this blog here because my friends don't know about it and in the future, I'll keep wanting to write about them. Secrecy is the big word here.

Jesus, that cat...

I got my period today! Score! In addition, I've also gained the wisdom to why someone would invent something as unforgivable as "Happy Period Ecards"! It's for those rare occasions where you'd rather jab your eyes out with chopsticks than have a baby- who would've guessed, I had believed that the cutters among the girls considered their monthly bleeding a free bonus- you know, the "cut once bleed twice" offer.

You have no idea how much I love my ovaries right now. I feel joyous and overwhelmed and although I'll be as red as a communist for a week, I've never been so proud of myself for not panicking and doing hasty things (like drinking a bottle of detergent). Although that one time when I met my ex-boyfriend at the beach, I didn't pull my pants down to take a crap in his face right there. I'll give some credit for that, too.

I also got rid of Cucumber. It's a long and winding story but she's gone. I do think she figured me out though, for I was supposed to be in Cologne when someone called our home phone and hung up after I said my name. She's not exactly stupid. And I don't like hurting other people's feelings- I still feel horrible.

Ah hell who cares I've got my period (and saved myself ten bucks for a pregnancy test).

It's official now: I'm the worst friend on the entire face of the earth, in our galaxy and in this whole fucking universe. If I were to meet me on the street, I'd make a U-Turn on the spot, no matter what it cost me. No really. I might seem cute, but hell, there are no words for this.

While I was visiting Munich, I stayed at Cucumber's place. She'd offered me in return to my offer a couple of months ago. It's a three day trip, and although I feel repulsed by her parents and I'd rather be independent - especially playing it tourist - I accepted the generous offer. After all, I'm a cheap person, and I needed a cheap place to stay (no seriously. Twenty bucks in my pocket? I'm so going to rent a 6 star suite at the 4 Seasons).

Anyway, I'd have had better plans than spending my time with a single person, but she's nice, noble and plenty fun. I don't see her all that much and almost never talk to her on the phone, so I thought this could be a good opportunity to take a break from my current life and just, you know, let all chains hang loose. But she's also very loud. And childish. And naive. And annoying. And she tries too hard! That's that one thing you shouldn't do about me. Don't try to buy me. Don't compliment me. Don't-- nothing! The more you do it, the more you get on my nerves. It's a common rule. And after this, I'm going to print posters and put them up at every corner of this fucking town.

I returned home on Wednesday. Had a fun time, spent more money than I had & way too many hours without sleep, hey, can't possibly complain. Two hours after my arrival I get a phone call from her: Hey, I'm going to come over tomorrow so we can continue the party.

Uh. Okay. I'm broke, but no problem, we're going to find some way around that one. My parents? They really won't mind. Me? Well, I really like my bed, but okay. This could be fun.

People, it's not. It's Saturday and I'm going insane. When I asked her how long she was going to stay, she said "well, I don't know, two weeks or something?". Two weeks. TWO WEEKS. She's messy. She's clumsy. My friends are bored of her. I want my bed back. My parents wanted to go on a two day trip to Paris as a surprise, and now we can't go because she's here and I just couldn't tell her to stay somewhere else.

And then she- she just takes my things! Don't get me wrong- I don't mind if people use my shampoo or borrow my clothes, but she really digs out stuff from my drawers and from my hideouts. The first couple of times she showed up some stuff and used, I thought I had just uncautiously left them lying around- but then she asked if she could "open that bottle of Dior" that I am a hundred percent sure I had put in the last corner of my underwear drawer. What is she, trained by Intelligence, here for espionage? Looking for a love letter? Don't spread your fingers, man!

I got crazy this afternoon when a friend of hers visited her - at my place - while I was visiting another friend in the hospital, and they smoked cigarettes on our porch and left the stubs lying around. I really don't give a fuck about things like this, but my father saw it and thought I was the one who smoked, and I had to beg him to believe me I wouldn't (of course I smoke. But there's really no obligation for my parents to know of this. And there's a reason why I was able to hide it for 3 years now). I told her I'm going to visit my aunt in Cologne for a week on Monday, I just wanted her to leave. Know what she said?

"Well, think your parents would mind if I stayed while you were gone? I can wait for you. We can go partying when you're back. And meanwhile, I can go out with your friends."

I told her how I hated all this unorganized crap- she should've told me how long she was going to stay or at least checked with someone else if they had some space left- just in case. And this is case. Deep shit kind of case. Long story short, she ended up crying because there's nowhere to go while I'm in Cologne (which I'm not. I'm staying here. But I can't possibly tell her that anymore) so she has to go back home to Munich.

Way to go. I know I have reasons to be mad at her, but I just can't get over the fact that I disappointed her so much, after all she has done for me- offered me a place to stay, took me along to parties, bought me drinks (hey, I might be cheap but that time I really didn't ask for it!), she even fucking made me a lunch pack on my train ride. I just don't like her.

I haven't had my period in 2 months exactly. Two. Months. Every day I cross my fingers and pray to the pro-choice, great and almighty Turtle/Fertility God that I'm not pregnant- or at least pregnant with something cool, make it a baby with two heads or extraordinary big feet. You know, something worth the hassle.

Another fucked up thing, I'm really PMSing. I have ALL of the symptoms- mood swings (especially the mood swings), cramps, all the shitty parts plus two more.

Great. I'm having seven problems right now, and the lack of blood is five of them.

Let's recall all my sexual encounters: .. I don't remember. But it's a good thing I have a blog, isn't it. I know I had sex after I got my period the last time. Victim was The Company, but I'm a hundred percent positive that we used a condom. I must admit that by then, I hadn't been on the Pill anymore. I do remember that he didn't get off inside me, though, so whatever, he's not it (and now PLEASE don't ask me about guys and condoms and not getting off- "boo hoo, that condom is too thick, bo-hoo-hoo", girls, make sure the condoms are tight, unless you really really really like blow jobs).

Then there was the Perfect Guy whom I've had in my fantasies. He was the best lover I've ever had and I'm sure he pushed some life into me. He would have, anyway, but as a matter of fact, it was only mental sex, so let's go on.

Uh-Oh. Permanent Crush. The car quickie. It's coming back to me right now. I wish he was still there so I could call and ask him, but he's cruising through the bays of Australia right now. And I'd freak him out anyway. I am positive about the presence of a rubber during the incident, but I wouldn't be so sure about how long it lasted being healthy (it was really an awkward situation and I could imagine it being torn apart while we were trying to settle the position. A car isn't always the best place to fuck, since he's all rough. He makes sure I'm wearing the "Just Got Beaten Up" look).

Anyway. I am in dire need of a pregnancy test, and I have one more month left for an abortion. Yee-haa.

The time spent partying and the drinks containing caffeine exceeds the limits by far. I don't know how sleeping works anymore. I didn't know a day has so many hours. And how easily drunk you can become when you're off energy.

My new lifestyle was really refreshing and cool, but I think it's time to settle down with a nice guy who has a house and a pool. Let's raise some children and move to the suburbs. And please don't remind me of my crazy wild times, because I hate remembering I used to be a drunk stripper thankyouverymuch.

One thing's for sure: It feels like a hundred dollars to be far away, talking to strangers and thankfully, resisting the urge to get laid by a random so-so guy.

Edited: Oh, and here's one of the pictures we took at Club 4 last Saturday. We were all destroyed as you can see. I decided to put names to the people I hang out with most often so you can have faces to the names. The rest of the visuals are on my Flickr, so check them out if you really want to see my sexy hairdo, all messed up after the rain and sweat. Roar.