Past participle of fate (verb): be destined to happen, turn out, or act in a particular way.

To begin with, is it normal that I find myself to be so entertaining?
I started reading old blog posts today; looking for inspiration towards my one hundredth post. Bearing in mind that I am the author, there is a good probability that I have a predisposition towards the content. But apart from that detail, I still believe that I am actually amusing.

Tuesday, February 5, 2013: Me + alcohol + intense eye contact + attractive Moroccan male = disaster waiting to happen.

Sunday, March 24, 2013: You have no choice but to make a move. Your leg is cramping and you need to rub the sleep from your eyes. You make a slight move, pretending to be sleeping. He stirs behind you. Moving his arm around your waist now; you feel like you can’t breathe. You lie there for what seems like forever.  You try to devise a plan to sneak out, but with your belongings strewn all over the floor you undeniably will not be able to make it out alive. By alive I mean without confrontation. Oh and through all of this, you have to pee.

Sunday, April 28, 2013: She doused my pelvic region with baby powder as if to extinguish the fire. The nice Indian lady reappeared and as she left me to dress, she politely and happily told me it was very nice to meet me. Yes, very nice to meet you too. Thank you for making my vagina cry.

Sunday, July 14, 2013: The torrential downside to being drunk and single is exactly that. You’re drunk and single. The result is often a feeling of extreme hate towards your cell phone for allowing last night’s messages to go through, mixed with a hangover.

In spite of the enjoyable trip down memory lane and being able to laugh at my absurdities of the past year (because in just a few weeks my blog will be celebrating its one year anniversary), the one which remains prominent in my mind is from Thursday, January 31, 2013. 

Today someone asked me ‘Will it bother you if you’re single forever?’ To me, this question was similar to asking me if I’d be saddened if peanut butter vanished off the face of the earth (note to those who do not know me, I love peanut butter way too much).

I was making reference to Kraft peanut butter. The kind that isn’t so healthy. The kind that I would eat by the (numerous) spoonfuls. The kind that I have given up for over the past three months. The kind that I don’t even enjoy anymore if I do happen to eat it on occasion.

An alarm instantly went off in my head. Could this be a correlation in regards to my relationship status??! Should I begin indulging in peanut butter again for the sake of my future?

Now in honor of my one hundredth post and Playboy’s 60th anniversary issue, let’s ogle Kate Moss.




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