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Of all the redonkulous, filthy and maschoistic things I do on a regular basis…. (Even though I fucking know better, and I know you are going to tell me I should know better)… the worst thing I do for my mortal soul and self-esteem is this:

“Looking up the biographies of women I admire on the Internet.”

Staring at pictures of women who are clearly older then me and yet clearly look twenty years younger then me,Badass-Art-of-Super-Mario-by_joshuar-summana have far more education and success then me, and live in a fantastical world of delicious shoes, bought with a pot of gold and spicy sex with hot men (possibly also bought with a pot of gold? No?), never leads me to my “happy place”. This is because, like most women my age… I have learned to see other females successes and conquests as threatening… and because of their over achievements… I (as a result or an unfortunate coincidence) am prone to small fits of jealousy, ire and resentment. Emotions I am working very hard to keep in check and eradicate through therapy… medication… jogging (baahaah!) and booze. I am not sure what is going to be left of my mortal soul once all that bitter baggage is gone. I will probably just be another bland/mute brunette with no sense of humour who benignly congratulates people on disgusting happy moments like engagements and babies… or who leaves parties early before I can cause offense. This being said… I could also find myself happy!… motivated!… and engaging in spicy sex with hot men!… instead of sitting alone… in my parents house… with Cheetos stuck to my face… watching back to back episodes of 30 Rock and wondering why Liz Lemon has both a better career and a more exciting sex life then I do…. (Answer: because she is fictional).

This week, I have been trolling the Internet in search of Tina Fey everything and anything, and in general feeling quite sorry for myself because of it. I have decided I really want to be just like Tina Fey. From the sexy glasses… to the weight issues… to the scar on my face from a childhood trauma… (Holy balls! I have a scar on my face from a childhood trauma! (only involving birds not psychos with knives) Hey! I am half way there!) The only thing about magically transforming myself into Tina Fey that has me bothered (other then the fact that I am never likely to achieve her success or wealth in this life time or my next)… is her attitude towards men. She likes the “nice ones”. The ones that avoid confrontation… tell you the whole truth about where they spent the night… love you in an uncomplicated way… and walk around looking all yuppy-like and proper in polo shirts and khakis. Well… try as I might… I cannot get on board with this, and I am quite positive this, and this alone… will be my undoing.

As in every aspect of her seemingly perfectly pulled together life… Ms. Fey is, of course, right (what a bitch!). There is a lot to be said for falling for a kind man who will co-pilot your journey through life without ever resorting to callousness or egotistical and malicious acts of lust that will only cause confusion and heartbreak. It’s just… I cannot fall for nice men… I have tried… and I fail… every single damn time. If his congeniality meter registers too high… I just don’t find it appealing. At all. Niceness is not sexy. Unfortunately, I cannot say the same for nonchalance, suppressed rage and/or emotional ambiguity…

It is totally my fault. I can’t help finding an air of violence, instability and emotional unavailability… incredibly 18394gxlzn8gljpgsexy. Or that #badboys always have exactly the right mix of arrogance and low self esteem to never ever tell you what you actually mean to them… I mean … who doesn’t rise to that kind of a challenge?! I am trying to think of other redeeming qualities (smoldering good looks or that je ne sais quoi? that sends out its pheromones and draws your Britney right into their power!) however I am finding it very difficult. Attraction is a chemical thing. I honestly believe I am drawn to other peoples #darkside because I am overflowing with my own darkness and I need to put it somewhere it is likely to go unnoticed.

This has not worked out well… as I am sure the content of this blog thus far has made more than obvious. Thing have to change. I have known this for sometime now and researching the life of Ms. Tina Fey have certainly confirmed it.

Mind you… I forced myself to go on dates with a couple of nice guys before I gave up on romantic aspirations to concentrate on writing this blog and finishing my Masters degree (and if I am being honest… so that I could stay inside and be able to watch movies, control the remote, laugh at Jim Jefferies stand up and sit in judgment of every chick flick ever created… uninterrupted)… and that didn’t work out particularly well either.

Recently… I’ve been considering nunnery as a viable alternative to romance … because frankly… I find the ideabadass_mario_by_art1a3t-d67z67k of devoting my life to a God that I don’t believe in, 100% more sexy than the thought of shagging a dude in a polo shirt and khakis who goes for my morning Timmies without me begging and telling me I am beautiful without wanting something from me. A period of nunnery* would also liven up my biography to no end, and let’s face it I wouldn’t have to worry about #badboys because as I understand it, nuns don’t have sex. No matter how smolderingly handsome the deranged young men seeking their counsel may be…

What the fuck! I need to invest in a better psychologist!…

And quite possibly get out more…

I am contemplating Jedi Knight training to dechemicalize the #badboy pheromones from my mind and vajajay…. Highly recommend if you suffer from the same issues…

Cheers my loverlies!

Franki Figgs

*I’ve used nunnery as verb here… I don’t know if you can do that… legitimately… and I am not sure how much I care either… but I do care that you know that I did it …. Hence this elaborate footnote J

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