Howsameyomoma

I have just finished four days of actively watching my new favourite show (totally legal, of course..), and when I wasn't watching the show, I was either attaining new episodes or being unconscious (christmas break rocks, being sick sucks), also called sleeping. So, after laying around in my couch, eating brownies and sucking that show dry of any new episodes, what have I learnt?

Well, I can conclude many things from this wise show. What is it called, you may wonder? Well, it is called How I Met Your Mother and it's just the most awesome show ever! Well, back to buisness. I am a pretty wise woman, I pick up on knowledge and have the ability implement this understanding of worldly things and use it in my own life to spare me from disasters and mistakes that someone else already made for me. Instead of getting trapped in the same old route as many people have done before me, I just adapt to the current situation and steer clear of... Whattahell am I talking about. I can't remember shit, other than that I really want my own cute Ted, and that I probably should be getting naked more often.

The getting-naked part of my newly earned knowledge of life is entirely a figment of my twisted brain. In its defence, my twisted brain nor my luscious bod have gotten any action in lots and lots of weeks. Let's just leave it at that.

I should find me a wingwoman.
Oh, and read this. Barney Stinson's Blog

Mr Un-Real

I'm quite a normal pers... Ehm, I live quite a normal life. It involvs eating, sleeping, taking showers, mingling with human beings and sometimes animals, consuming alcohol, working a little and doing schoolwork. I own a gymcard which I always plan to use but never get around to. I've even gone there, stood outside and then turned around just because I'm a fat lazy bastard. Pretty much what everyone else does in general.

Apart from this I have an personal trait that not everyone admits they have. I find enjoyment in stalking people. And now I mean the light stalker-type, like looking where people live and try finding them on MyFace, not the freaky insane-serialkiller-type of stalking. This of course only applies on special people, and most of these special people is boys. Foremost boys that I can see myself sleep with. I can, in my blind faith that I'm quite anonymous on this blog, admit in MrBusy as one of these victims. They haven't been many through the years, and he's the latest and only for me right now. Now, MrBusy is a tough nut to crack. He absolutely does not exist on the internet.

He's so non-existant everywhere that my friends question his existance in real life.

There has been a few sightings while I've been with people, it sounds like we've ventured on Sasquatch-type of safaries altough this is not true, but since my best friends still haven't seen him they question the statements of the witnesses too. I mean, we're young and virile, pretty much everyone my age is somewhere on the internets. And after some research we (me and my posse) can conclude that he's not registered where I know he lives, and he lives on a floor that doesn't exist in that building. And what conclusion is drawn by this?
Yes, you're right. The conclusion always falls back to: Wynn is crazy. She's making people up.
Well, since I cannot really agree with this I've been struggling to find -something- on him. This search and struggle resulted in a lousy picture from the pub last weekend. At least he stuck on the film, we were quite sceptical of this. So, he's not a vampire, but undercover agent still stands as an option.

Stupid boys, the search goes on albeit put on ice until I hear something compromising.

Men have it easy

The other day there was a big end-of-the-season party. I was damn foxy, my blonde hair in perfect shape, the eyeliner highlighted my eyes like I was born that way and I felt like I could attain at least one persons desire for the night. In the middle of a gesturing conversation with a drunken friend, my stalker eye noticed something by the entrance. It was the presence of Mr Busy! I have never met him at one of these social gatherings. He just walzed right in there like it was his land, left his coat in the wardrobe, ruffled his fluffy hair and looked out over the crowd of people. I almost dropped dead right then and there, but the beer in my classy plastic cup told me that that would be alcohol abuse and therefore I stayed on my feet. The drunken friend came up with the brilliant idea of trying to drag me out on the dancefloor, which was something that I wasn't at all up to par with so I fought myself out of his plucky grip and instead I waved to MrB that just spotted me.

I was noticeably, for myself at least, nervous because I was so surprised, but we chatted along like usual. I stood there, looking into his dark brown eyes and listened to him talking about something I right now can't remember. I found myself really into it, liking it with many parts of my body and mind. The fact that the music was loud and meant that he had to stand close to me in order for me to hear what he was saying didn't drag down the overall goodness. In the midst of this, him looking at me, me looking at him, him telling me something that he found interesting, I got a bad feeling. A very bad, and very well-known feeling of horror. In my woman parts. Like something was really close to going wrong.

Thing was, I was on my lady week. Other thing was, I instantly remembered that I had forgotten to do the necessary swap of girlyweek-appliance in order for it to not overflow with girlyness. Fuck! Well, I'll let him finish the conversation for now and then neatly sneak away to the ladies room, which in this case wasn't a ladies room at all, but just three small toilets for all to use.
Well, my plan instantly failed as I stood there, fighting to keep my straight face when I felt movement. I wouldn't want to be asked questions about why I started looking funny and making strange faces. The answer "Well, I just started leaking blood into my undies." didn't really seem appropriate at that time.
Someone could have just hit me with a big piece of irony and poured my beer on the floor. I put on my most charming smile, touched him by the elbow and said, because I'm not the prudish type of girl, that I had to use the restroom and that I would be back soon. I hastily waddled off towards the bathroom, probably walking funny to not make the damage worse, and locked myself in one of the toilets. Cussing the entire way.