Remember how I asked my subconscious to talk to me the other day? It did. I had a dream tonight, and FUUUUUUCK. Dear Subconscious, or can I call you Sub? Can we be friends? Because I appreciate all the work that you are doing with all the repressing, distorting, and other kinds of censorship being in your way.

So listen, here’s the thing. It’s not you, it’s me. I just can’t take it. SO LEAVE YOUR FUCKING THOUGHTS TO YOURSELF! You hear me, subconscious? DON’T YOU EVER TALK TO ME AGAIN.


How Pathetic I Am

Was just watching this Natalie Tran video in which she told the story of her meeting her idol, this Australian comedian I never heard of. She was embarrased of her behaviour.

She took a moment to recognize him, stared, and, when he already passed her, she shouted “Hey, Hamish!” to his back, and then some embarrassing stuff went down. Just kidding. She just shouted she loved him and that’s it. In a creepy, fan-hard way. Kidding. It was all pretty civil.

If you don’t count the gun she was holding, threatening to kill him if he wouldn’t marry her. Joke. Joking. Anyway, my point is, I have a similar story. I met this singer, very famous in Ukraine but you wouldn’t have heard of him – Fagot [yes, I know, I know, bring it on…]. And I told this story to all of my friends over and over again for a million times. And acquaintances. And people I met on the subway. And… well, you get the idea.

But that’s not the pathetic part. The pathetic part is that it was in a botanical garden, no one else around, and he even checked me out, but I freaked out so much I didn’t even think of asking him to pose for a picture with me or something. And have been regretting this ever since. And it was four years ago.

During that time he got married. Or just had a child with someone, I’m not sure. But the thing is, I kind of have this idea in the back of my mind that should I have said something then, we could be together. THIS is how pathetic I am. And I’m not even a fan of the guy or his band!!! I just have this thing for celebrities that I can’t help. I’m cheap, I know. Cheap and shallow.

Fagot, I love you, please come back! She’s a whore and I will love you forever!

[I’m just kidding.]

[No, I’m not.]

[I said you ARE.]

[No, I’m not!!]

[Okay, okay, I am, I love a different person, I don’t care for anybody else.]

[But once I’m done with that one, it’s ON, Fagot, it’s ON.]

I Didn’t Do It

I want to go to Resident Evil: Retribution so much I was part of the movie in my tonight’s dream. We were hiding from zombies in a dorm, where I supposedly lived during my university studies. There was this room, equipped with all the stuff for protection against zombies and a door that you should’ve seen – it had state of the art locks across its whole perimeter.

Lately, I’ve been having these quite literal dreams – a boy I like, a boy I like touching my hand, a boy I like kissing me, a boy I like hugging me, a boy I like hanging out with me, a boy I… well, you got the idea. Made me wonder – hey, subconscious, those are the things that I am actually aware of, why wouldn’t you send me a message about something I am repressing?

Like, I am pretty sure I wanna murder that girl with pretty smile and cute face that he put a like on couple weeks ago on Facebook, and I’d be the first one running towards that girl whom he stood way too close to in that one picture, should she decide to jump off a tall building. And – no, I am not gonna be rushing to councel her there.

Well, you get the drift. Subconscious, TALK TO ME.

[Kids, jealousy is a bad feeling, you should not hurt people out of jealousy. I know I do. I mean I don’t. I *don’t*. You hear me? I DON’T. I know what you are thinking right now – girl, don’t run to me when the police… I don’t. I dooon’t. Dooon’t. Not guilty. [Starts singing in Velma Kelly/Katherine Zeta-Jones voice:] They had it coming, they had it coming// They had it coming all along// I didn’t do it, inspite if I’d done it// How could you tell me that I was wrong?]

Give a Kiss

REJOICE, THOU THROUGH WHOM THE HOLY ANTIBIOTICS SHALL PASS! I’ve been sick for the most part of last week and, boring, boring, you don’t care anyways, boring, boring, DOCTOR SAID I SHOULD TAKE ANTIBIOTICS. HOORAY!

You see, antibiotics are my thing. They may be bad for everyone else, but me – I breathe antibiotics, I sweat antibiotics, I… Well, when I take antibiotics, I am full of life and energy, with antibiotics I snap right back in shape faster than you can say “recover”.

[Kids, don’t take me seriously, antibiotics are bad for everybody and they fuck up your health.]

And thanks to the antibiotics fix, my mood is much better now [Not because antibiotics affect mood, you idiot, because I am so relieved I will definitely get better now]. I was quite a bit of a nervous wreck these days. I’m not proud of the ways I’ve been talking to people. And I kept assuming they all: a) hated me, b) didn’t care about me in an intentionally cruel way, c) hated me.

This, until I read this gossip blog about how Keira Knightley managed to keep it together through the ten years of fame (which is a huge psychological burden, trust me on that as I’m a psychology professional). And I was like, WOW, Keira Knightley could keep it together FOR A DECADE and I can’t pull myself together NOW???!! YOU CAN DO THIS, GIRL. You can do this.

I mean – with antibiotics? [Starts singing in Ariana Grande voice:] I CAN DO ANYTHING: RESURRECT GANDHI, RESURRECT KING. You don’t have to be a billionare, you don’t have to have much too show how much care. Like, give a wink, Give a kiss. Like, give a little happiness!..

P.S. Wow, this blog sounds angry if you read it with the wrong intonation. Read it in a friendly, stand-up-comedian intonation, please. [I feel like I should include this disclaimer in my blog tagline. Totally. Will do. Later.]

Dream On

Woke up three hours earlier than I needed to as I had this multi-level dream where I start off at my friend’s house, end up on a roof-top concert of Adam Lambert, where I manage to take pictures with Adam and also have a short talk.

I mean, how awesome IS Adam Lambert? Even in my dream he was so sweet and nice to me. Like he meant it. Like he would’ve liked to know me as a person. Yeah, girl, because dreams portray people as they are in real life. Right. But it’s always so difficult to shake these experiences you have in your dreams.

For example, I had this dream how the hot guy, whom I talked about couple times here, took my hand like he meant it, and all day next day I was expecting that person to actually do that in real life! LOGIC. Or that time when I had a dream he kissed me. I was offended the person in real life didn’t.

With that attitude, now I’m supposed to go and demand my photos with Adam Lambert from the two people I know in real life who took them in my dream. Wonder how long will it be before they call a shrink on me. Imagine their faces when I say: “Hey, so when are you gonna send me the pictures you took of me and Adam Lambert on that roof-top concert that we were to this Sunday?” Um, GIRL… NEVER, that’s when.

Please Remember

[God, I hope by now you people figured this is all supposed to be read like a stand-up comedy joke, right? RIGHT?]

You know how there is this service followupthen that sends you reminders about stuff? You set it up and it will send you an email when you want it. Just received an email from them. Subject says “Please remember”. Body reads “Something”.

Wow, dude. Just wow. What a genius am I, right? To send myself a reminder like that? I am basically A JAMES BOND! It’s practically taken care of, past Mary! Yo! Now the present Mary only has to do as much as FIGURE OUT WHAT ON EARTH I WAS ON ABOUT.

No, seriously, what is THAT about? I got a clue though – I sent this reminder in on September 16th, 2011. One year ago. Oh, wait. Just got another one. Says “Please remember to remember”. Oh, that works. Yup. Good one. If not for that second one, I wouldn’t know what to do! You go, girl, consider it remembered!

Yeah, I know: SMART is not my thing. Which reminds me – once I was trying so hard to join a conversation with the hot guy I assumed his friends did not get the joke involving the word. So I was like “But no, I think she didn’t mean you were *smart*, she meant you *looked* smart”. And they were like: “GIRL, WE KNOW”. No wonder no one asks me out.

Meet the Creepo

I’ve been watching some really low-rate television all day and feel ashamed about it now (though I didn’t while I was watching it). But, you know, I hardly feel ashamed of watching porn, why would I be ashamed of watching some TV programming?

[Judgemental voice:] The show was FOR TEENAGERS. [Pleading:] But, come on, they have a storyline for parents too! [Judgemental voice back on again:] Which is only there TO MORALIZE AND PREACH TO TEENAGERS. [Awkward silence]

You know what else is awkward? The two friend requests I’ve sent to people on Facebook whom I met at job interviews. My messages to them where something along the lines of: “Hi, I’m that creepy person you didn’t hire a whi-i-i-ile ago, but I liked you so much during our short encounter that I stalked you all this time, until I discovered this Facebook account of yours where you don’t even use your real name or real photograph, and decided to refresh our relationship”.

I swear, the text was literally like that. I wonder if they’ll call the police on me. Which, now that I think about it, these poor girls sure should do. God, I am getting creepier by day.