The Problem: I'm American

Two days ago, I, more eloquently than ever, pinpointed my issue with Z. Are you ready?

"I'm American."

It was brilliant—a heated conversation regarding my contempt for the dreaded ex and instead of coming off as the jealous bitch, I was simply a product of my confused nation. A sheep, if you must.

My spin: As the US has done with Saddam Hussein and Bin Laden, I have taken all that is bad in my life and assigned it to a name, a face, an ex-girlfriend. And this is Z.

So when she calls to "do coffee" with Big, you can clearly understand my reaction (and if not understand it, at least understand where it's coming from).

"Blow her up!!"

Yes folks, this is how I justify my insanity and in doing it, my wit, charm, and brilliance lead to excellent, passionate sex with the man that I love.

Not bad, American. Not bad.

Today, I will not be bitching about boys OR going off on jealousy-fed tangents...

The past year has been a whirlwind. I started this blog exactly 11 months ago and I hardly recognize myself now.

Ok, that's such a load of shit. FUUUCK.

I'm exactly the same. I shop with the same grocery list, listen to the same playlists, and complain regularly about the same exact things. I'm perfectly fine with it. If I wasn't, I would have changed. I have the same bad hang-ups and get the same bad haircuts. I still blog completely inconsistently and I really have no plans to change.

The boys are all the same; as are the girls.

PIJ is dead, though. And my gram, too. And I've been to significantly more places. Change has occurred, but it's been subtle. Morphs. Like the bit about the playlists—lie. They've slowly added new songs or have been phased out. See, I change. In fact, 495 songs have been added to my iTunes collection since October '07. Impressive, right?

I live in a new country. I surf. I have a new desire to write a book. Judging by the amount of traffic on my blog, it'll surely flop, but in the past year, I've gotten better at accepting failure. I guess that's what happens when you graduate from university, sit on your ass doing nothing for a year, and fully accept what's become of you.

I still freak out when mercury is retrograde and during this time, I still contemplate murdering a significant number of females in Big's social network. I'm a Virgo.

I play significantly more scrabble and I drink significantly more wine. I read more. I still get lost in my head and often cannot escape; I sink into sad, dark places. I create scenarios that make me afraid to be alone. I'm more dependent.

And this all sounds like some sort of hokey chick flick conclusion, but it's really me just being bored on a Wednesday evening. This isn't an end or a new beginning. Just good ol' rambling. Hope you enjoyed...