Tuesday, 27 August 2013

Debates about .. well, stuff on-line. One's an article about the cynicism of people who suggest the kidnapped survivor as a family murder is in fact the perpetrator. Well, as cynical as it may be, people have good reason to consider that possibility. How often do crimes in fact revolve around the lone survivor? And more over, how often the teenage girl is the one who inspired it in the first place? Teenage girls can be a dirty force. They can do gruesome, gruesome things to perfectly okay people. It is the easiest thing in the world for a little bitch like that to accuse her teacher or whoever of harassment and this will be super fun for her. She will be popular, she will have twitter feed for a month! She considers nothing of consequences for the accused and those stains really never go away. Yet alone, how much damage is done to kids with actual confrontations, that then nobody believes. Sorry, but when it comes to teenage girls, people have the right to be a little bit cynical.
The other is summertime romance. Speaker on the radio yesterday mention how probably right this minute there’s someone in the back of their parents’ car, weeping their heart out, driving away from their one true soul mate, the love of their lives, the one they will never love like ever again … Oh, how we all had these. Being mean and aloof towards someone for ten days, then on the twelfth you kinda get to talk to them and get to know them and get to admit they’re kind of cool and then on the thirteenth, you share a moment of total and utmost erotica and passion, kissing them and allowing them to touch your boob or you touching their boob… And then the cruel and bitter fate rips you away from them forever!
Ah, youth. I remember it now a lot more fondly than it actually way. And I certainly wish I did some things differently. Mostly appreciated certain things more. Given things. Things, taken for granted. Like, how is it completely forgivable for a fourteen year old to be driven to a nice, nice vacation, housed in a lovely apartment, fed great food, bought summer clothes and swimwear and entertained and protected – and all the while you get nothing back but consta bitchiness and ingratitude.
By the way, I enjoyed watching We’re The Millers. There’s a scene in which he’s describing the kind of a haircut he wants. That’s just precious.
Now I’m off to get my first haircut in, hm, twenty years? I mean professional. Not by a kitchen knife or paper scissors, the way I normally do it. I mean by actually someone who got schooled for this.
No idea what to expect.