The Untold Stories of the Flatchested Wonder.

Moving On.

Marissa — Wed, 14 Sep 2011 15:02:37 +0000

So, seeing as I always want to write a post on here and never actually do, I decided to redirect my readers (if their are any) to my new blog. We All Look Like Assholes is my new baby. (I hardly find time to blog on here, so look there!)

http://wealllooklikeassholes.wordpress.com/

You’ll like it, I swear.

I’m Hot, and I’ll Be Damned if You Tell Me Otherwise.

Marissa — Thu, 11 Nov 2010 17:30:13 +0000

I’ve been reviewing my stress journals from my Stress and Coping Class, and I’ve realized one constant theme in these journals is my unending struggle with weight. The scale, as well as my diet, has been yo-yoing since I was about fourteen years old. I have never, even at my lowest weight, seen myself as beautiful or sexy, or any of those adjectives that you read in the magazines. I have always been me; the awkward, sometimes gawky, sometimes chubby, tall girl with a flat chest and a pronounced butt. I’m now going through a chubby phase, after hitting my second year in college. Yesterday, though, I realized that I’m exhausted from beating myself up all of these years to “lose weight” or “get in shape”. I’m tired of receiving so many negative comments from myself, and despite compliments I hear from others, only hearing my own negative input. I needed positive inspiration, I needed someone else’s input for a change, or at least to find someone who I thought was beautiful and was around the same size as I am. That is when I came upon Miss Christina Hendricks (the redhead from Mad Men).

I mean, c’mon now. I like men and all, but she is one sexy lady! So, I decided to do my research, where I found that her measurements are larger than mine are! To think that a woman so stunning is actually a normal size, and is considered one of the sexiest women on television! Its shallow, but this ideal certainly made me feel better. I’m not sure how I want to conclude this blog, but I know for sure that Christina Hedricks has made me feel much better about my own body, especially since she seems to be so content with hers. And, lets be honest, who wouldn’t want to look like her over some supermodel? I certainly would!

Stimulation! Stimulation! Stimulation!

Marissa — Sun, 17 Oct 2010 17:17:48 +0000

I’m at home on my fall break. I’m currently sitting on my computer chair, alone in my house, biting my nails out of unnerved boredom. I’m craving terrible things that aren’t good for me and are far too carnal for being at home on a Sunday. The terrible habits that I formed over this past summer are rapidly floating through my mind, a sense of joy along with them. I hate being at home. I hate being at home especially for a short period of time, and seeing all of my old friends, knowing that I’ll eventually have to leave. I hate having to deal with the stress that my family is constantly putting out. And, I’ve realized that the only way I can deal with this stress has been through a system of..er.. lets say mal-adaptive coping mechanisms. I don’t use these mechanisms at school, because I’m quite content with my life there. And this has made me come to the conclusion that I, obviously, have developed very bad skills to deal with my stress at home. I seek out constant, albeit unhealthy (both physically and emotionally) stimulation. At the moment I want nothing more to go out and do terrible things. I mean, I am only a teenager and all, but the fact that I want to do such terrible things in the middle of the day, as well as late at night, isn’t really saying anything about my moral standards. But I need some sort of mental and/or physical stimulation! My life is becoming so dull and monotonous. What is happening to me????

Fuck you. Thats My New Philosophy.

Marissa — Wed, 13 Oct 2010 14:11:43 +0000

I’ve come to a realization. People have told me similar things before, but it is something that I had to realize on my own. It just so happens that I realized this about five minutes ago…on the toilet. I’m not here to impress anyone. I’m not here in this world to make anyone else feel better about themselves by compromising my own esteem. I have nothing to prove to anyone that I don’t want to prove. I do not need to be in a relationship to be happy. In fact, I flourish on my own. For so long I have felt so lonely without a boy to hold or kiss or whatever. But, to be perfectly honest, right now there are far more important things to do in life. I’m nineteen years old, and embarking on a journey of adulthood that I can only see as being extremely successful. I have grades to worry about and internships to get. I feel this sudden need to soak up all types of literature and art, and to create my own masterpieces. I want to make a beautiful impact on the world, and I don’t need anyone else to assist me in that action.

What I’m trying to say is, I don’t need a man’s approval to make me happy. I am happy on my own, and it has taken me two unsuccessful and relationships to realize this (as well as a few random boys in between.) So, I’m sending this out to all boys in the world. I don’t need you. I am perfect on my own. If you’d like to join me on my journey, then I more then certainly invite you to come along. However, it will be a crazy ride. Hold on.

Two Blogs, One Girl.

Marissa — Sat, 09 Oct 2010 00:34:50 +0000

Lately, a number of strange and unusual events have made my life become something more, or at least it seems this way to me, than the obvious going-ons of a normal person. There have been strange formations of new relationships among my family and friends. I have also been subjected to a few new feelings regarding the male species that I just seem far too comical to keep to myself. Thus, I believe that I am witty enough, and somewhat adept enough in the field of writing, to start a new, semi-fictional blog, loosely based on my own life from the eyes of my own, cynical self. ”We All Look Like Assholes” will be this blog’s name, and I’m hoping that it is not a complete dud. In fact, I’m truly taking into consideration that this new process will open me up to new area’s of writing, and make me a more well rounded individual. It will also, I’m hoping, help me to see my life from different angles; especially from a more comedic, light-hearted standpoint (Although, I am aiming to make this series a dark-humored comedy). I hope that some of my loyal readers on this blog (which I will now refer to as my personal blog) will read my new attempt at fiction. I would just love it if you did!

http://wealllooklikeassholes.wordpress.com/

Check that shit out.

Taking the Taste Out of Peanut Butter.

Marissa — Mon, 04 Oct 2010 17:13:31 +0000

I am in utter shambles. My stomach is in knots. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I’m also particularly enjoying the poetry of Isabella Whitney. My brain is moving slower than usual, my focus has disappeared. I’m actually taking quite long pauses in between typing this, as you can tell by my horribly fragmented sentences. I’m in a dreadful state of unrequited..like, and I can’t do anything about it. The only thing that I could think of doing to soothe my current state is to write a blog about it.

Why is this the most torturous thing a human can experience? I don’t even like romanticism! Why am I reveling in it now? I’m being extremely irrational and letting my passions get the best of me. This isn’t even something I do. I’m an extremely rational person. What’s wrong with me? Why am I relishing poems and particular stanzas from the 16th Century. Why am I wallowing in self-pity and the hope of things that might never occur? Why do I still have hope? I’m stuck in this muddy pit of disaster that is, what I assume to be, my heart. I am not a poet, I find no glory in unrequited love. I find it to be a tragedy, especially unrequited love with a seedling of hope. Pathetic is the only word the regular me would use to describe this situation. Maybe I am pathetic, but for once in my life, I can’t have something that I so desperately want and it kills me.

The Revenge of the Flatchested Wonder: Part 4 (Really Angry, Violent Edition)

Marissa — Thu, 30 Sep 2010 17:18:22 +0000

Moron,

Being back at school reminds me what a loser you were and still are. You really don’t mean anything to me at all, but I’ve felt so disgusted with myself for dating you, so I thought I would metaphorically let you know what a useless object you are in society.

First of all, remember that thing that I told you I didn’t do? Well, I did it, twice, and I loved every goddamn minute of it. For the last month of our two month relationship, I tried multiple times to break up with you. I told people we weren’t together all the time. You are disgusting and repulsive. You smell, you’re dirty, and you have no ambition. You are a loser who is still a momma’s boy. She is the only woman who will ever love you. Personally, I would have no regret if you read this. I would actually love if you read this. All of your girlfriends hated you. All of your girlfriends found the companionship of other guys, trust me. I have no regret what I did that made our relationship end. I had been trying to end it for weeks before that. No one will ever love you. You are a useless member of humanity. You have no talent, no intelligence; nothing. I would feel no remorse if something terrible happened to you.

Stay far away from me, for this will be the last time I ever think about your hideous self again.
Marissa

Stress is Assinine.

Marissa — Wed, 22 Sep 2010 17:14:31 +0000

Here’s the deal. My younger brother almost died this weekend from severe head trauma. I’d type the story out, but I’m so goddamn sick of talking about it. It’s angering me beyond believe, in fact, this whole ordeal is causing me so much stress that I’m starting to develop migraines again, and this weird new stomache that boils up every time I get far too wigged out. I’m so tired of the world. I’m sick of being around people, yet I don’t want to be alone. I want to go home and see my younger brother, but I don’t want to see my parents, especially my mom. I have a math test today, that I’m obviously going to fail. I have way too much reading for psychology to do. Yet, I can’t seem to concetrate on anything long enough to accomplish, well, anything at all. I feel lonely, yet I need to be strong. I want to cry, but I also want to beat someone’s ass. My life is becoming a whirlwind of conundrums and I can’t make it stop. It has to stop obviously. I’m making myself sick over all this stress. I just want to spend all day in my bed, high up on my top bunk and shut out the world. And, in another ridiculous conundrum, I would just like someone to lay with me as I shut out the world.

Wearing a Skirt and Its Effects On My Femininity.

Marissa — Wed, 15 Sep 2010 16:28:23 +0000

As is very apparent to people who know me, I am not completely feminine and girly. I have many masculine characteristics that I don’t technically believe are “masculine” per say, but that of a very strong personality. I like to consider myself independent and capable of all things. I hate it when people look down on me for any reason whatsoever, but most especially because I am a woman. However, as I learned in my Modern British Women Writer’s class last night. It is of great luck that women can be capable of being both strong and masculine, as well as loveable and feminine. (There are lots of things that I don’t like about that statement, but I’ll continue on.)
This became wholly apparent to me yesterday, when I decided to wear a skirt around campus.
It was my roommate’s skirt, a simple navy one from American Eagle. I paired it with a tanktop and cardigan. I wore spandex underneath the skirt, clearly, but as I checked myself in the mirror, I suddenly felt a very strange feeling associated with my choice of clothing: vulnerability. I also felt that I looked (a way I never choose to describe myself as looking) adorable. As I walked (pranced, really) around campus, everyone seemed to respond the same way; telling me how “Cute” I looked. I was actually ridiculously flattered.

Maybe its just my mind playing tricks on me, but I also felt so much happier and more joyful. I was smiling at everyone. I helped a girl in the library print her papers for no apparent reason, and giggled with the boy next to me about how ridiculous the printing system was at our school. I wasn’t flirting with him, I was just…giggling. I also took the bus to visit a friend of mine for tea in center city Scranton. We had a marvelous, seemingly whimsical time that went too fast, and I was back on the bus, listening to a variety of different songs on my ipod.

At the end of the day, I didn’t want to take the skirt off. I wanted the happy, joyful feeling to last forever. Yet, it has me wondering if maybe it wasn’t the way I felt in the skirt, but if I have felt this way all along and the skirt just brought it out in me? I’m even cheerful writing about this. What could possibly be wrong with me?

P.S. I should also update that I broke up with Darth Vadar. Tadaaahh!

The Revenge of the Flatchested Wonder (…Sort of.) Part 3

Marissa — Tue, 07 Sep 2010 01:26:32 +0000

Disclaimer: This isn’t actually to a person at all.

Dear food,

Why has our relationship been so unhealthy lately. After seeing pictures of my terribly chubby arms in my cousin’s wedding pictures, I’ve realized that I need to cut down on the amount of time I spend with you. I am obsessed, and absolutely far too pleased with the joy you bring to my life. In fact, I am very close to diving into a box of you thats sitting in my dorm room. My stomach is growling with desire for your tasty goodness, or just generic goodness. However, I know I must resist you, no matter how tempting you are. In fact, I’m thinking about giving some of my time with you up to spend some time with a more healthy relationship; exercise. Exercise and I have been apart for quite a long time and I miss him so. I miss the way he makes me feel, and how I never feel guilty after being with him for copious amounts of time. In fact, I’m just exhausted..

So, I sincerely apologize, Food, for the fact that I will be drifting away from you (at least trying anyway). It will be a painful drift, I assure you. But it is necessary and better for the both of us, I swear. And one final word for you, my love. Don’t fret, because its not you, its me.

Love always,
Marissa