Wishing reality would just sort of fall apart and turn into a thousand little pieces of fairytale

It's beer o'clock, and I'm buying


why people suck

So this is not some post about how guys are assholes or how girls are sluts because I'm the only cool girl existing. It's about people in general, how amazingly lame they are and why. Here's a list of shit people do to be cynical about:

We always see the world from our own narrow perspectives. We trust everything we see with our eyes and we rarely give ourselves a second to question it. We all think we're exceptionally smart, brave and awesome. The faults lay in the person we have a problem with, rarely in ourselves.

We pitty ourselves. The world is against us, Jesus hates us or we have bad luck in our genes.

We interpret the happenings around us so they suit our own personal wishes. When your friend doesn't wanna be your friend anymore it's probably because she's having a rough period in her life, she's jealous of your amazing looks or she's into crack. When you don't get into the school you applied to it's probably because of the slightly higher standards this year, the fact that you didn't really have time to read enough or because the interviewer was intimidated by your amazing skills. It never occurs to you that all this shit might happen to you simply because you're actually a pretty boring, untalented and antisocial person and you might wanna do something about it.

We are too scared to follow our hearts. You always meet these people who really wanna be world savers, travellers or artists but they still work at Handelsbanken, just because living scares the shit out of them.

We make stupid choises to get other people's acceptance. We live our lives pleasing others and we die realizing no one did ever really please us back.

We never stop and think. 

We stop and think too much. It's either or.

We don't believe in love. We think we're too alternative to fall in love. And then we do, but we call it "finding our soulmate".

We think we see love eveywhere. No idiot, you're not in love with your best friend's cousin's cousin. He looks like shit and he's nothing like you. The reason you think you wanna marry him is because you're desperate and lonley and you probably have a bad self-esteem.

We use rebounds to forget the ones we're actually into. And to pimp our egos.

We use people for sex.

We use people for money.

We critisize the hell out of everybody but we have a hard time seeing our own weaknesses. I'm wonderwoman, who are you?

We blog about personal stuff. If we want to be heard, why don't we go ahead and write our shit on facebook, twitter or google+? If we don't, why don't we just keep a diary? We blog because we can't make up our minds. Ever. About anything.

makes me wonder


i en värld där folk krigar för fred kan väl inget bli något annat än bakvänt?


hello i'm a stupid little girl who loves money and who hates bills

registrerade mej just på everyday.fi och gjorde ett litet snabblån. jag vet att jag inte skulle, men... i suck.


new header

some piece of crap with a little arms and a little hair. fever makes you creative. not.

je veux

anyone wanna hand me one million dollars?

You need everyone's eyes just to feel seen

Next week: work, seeing Nelly, Micki and Milla, cleaning, taking the kids sledding, hotdate with Random Cutie, trying to rent out my appartment, buying tickets to France. 

l'ultima lacrima

Den här kvällen, en av verklighetens alla hundratals kvällar inkapslade i tidens paradoxa spektrum men ändå, den första och den sista av dem alla. Du ligger drömlöst i sängen med huvudet på dynan och lyssnar till ljudet av älvorna som dansar. Du vet att sången inte är för dina öron men du kan inte låta bli, du åtrår i hemlighet deras slanka höfter, sagolika läppar och faktummet att de endast existerar inuti ditt huvud. För de kan inte slita dig i bitar, de kan inte ens krossa ett fönster med sina snövita, minimala elfenbensfingrar. Någon ropar på dig, sakta och mjukt, på ett sjuhundratusen mils avstånd och även om du hör en röst så låtsas du inte reagera. Du sänker blicken och betraktar dina händer, torkar bort smuts från vänster pekfingernagel. Du hade svarat förut, men det är länge sedan nu, i ett annat universum innan du tappade bort dig.

En älva sätter sig plötsligt på din axel:
Du rycker till och välter ner dina batmanlakan, en present från din mamma på trettonårsdagen som du helt enkelt inte orkat byta ut, och du sträcker febrilt ut handen efter dina fantasiers mytologiska väsen. Varelsen ger ifrån sig ett lättsamt skratt som påminner om din barndom, och viskar sedan med en silkeslen röst -"Om du fick möjlighten att under tre år, resa till en värld du konstruerar själv, begränsad av inget annat än din egen fantasi, skulle du ta den då? Du skulle få leva i den världen i tre år och allt du önskar skulle slå in. Men när denna tid passerat på det sätt som tid passerar på vår jord, då skulle du vara tvungen att återvända till ditt liv. Det är den enda premissen. Skulle du, i den verkligaste av verkligheter, fånga denna möjlighet eller skulle du låta den gå förbi?"

(Sanningen är att alla världar går under, det ingår i konstruktionen av deras solsystem. Varje prins skall falla och varje älva skall förr eller senare tappa sina vingar och bli som alla andra. Då känner ingen igen sig längre. Vi passerar varann på gatan, som maniskt radiostyrda leksaksbilar och stirrar förvirrade in i varandras ögon. Vem är du? Vem är jag?)

He asks me what I want and I tell him "nothing but the whole world"


Oh mommy dear we're not the fortunate ones, and girls just wanna have fun...

Skype med finaste Caroline och sedan sömn. Imorgon skall jag charma skiten ur hela världen! X

When the eyes don't see

I have a handicap. A handicap that's been bothering me since forever. Often the reason that lots of people around me think I am bitchy or mean or a motherfucking dramaqueen. I suffer from bad face-memory. "Lol well that's a big deal", is probably what lots of you are thinking right now. Because for real man, there are worse conditions than a little cognitive retardation. There sure are. But it doesnt take away the fact that every time I go out I meet people, friends and old crushes who think I am the weirdest fucking human being alive. It doesnt take away the awkward moment in the airport, when I sit next to a guy I used to date three months ago and I have no idea why the dude is talking to me. It doesnt help me when I am supposed to meet up with someone I really like and when he shows up I mistake his best friend for being him. There is nothing funny in it. There is no room for jokes and regretful laughter. These people either think you're bored as fuck and do not have any interest in them whatsoever, or they think you're actually a rude hell of a bi-atch. So what do I do? Call the guy next to me from a private number so I can see if his phone rings? SMS the FBI on "recognize faces"? Because I am telling you, being honest doesnt help in this situation. You hear people pretending to have a bad face memory all the time. You see these douchebags who are talking all like "lol it was so riddiculous, I have no idea what her name was or what she looked like... Umm who are you chick? Am I supposed to get this? Sorry babe, sucky facememory". No, being honest definitely doesnt work. My incapability of remembering faces doesnt mean I dont remember you. It doesnt even mean I dont remember your looks. You could be extremely goodlooking and I could be fucking crazy about you, but if we've met only once or twice or it's been a long while since our last meeting, there is a big risk I will not recognize you unless you wear that exact same smile you have on your profilepicture. So dear friends, lovers and co-workers who might read this, next time you see me at the foodshop, hospital or club, come up and talk to me. And if I seem confused, just fucking slap me in the face and remind me. Because you might just as well be the goddamn love of my life.

Bloody saturday!

Drar till Malin nu för croissanter och Bloody Mary's. Lyxbreakfast, med andra ord.

Some boys take a beautiful girl and hide her away from the rest of the world

Cyndi Lauper Cyndi Lauper Cyndi Lauper

jag tror jag tror att livet går mej förbi

jag är ingen godnattsaga man läser upp för sin tvååriga dotter, inte ens för den tuffa sexåringen som på sista tiden fattat tycke för actionfigurer. allt vackert tar slut, det är den ljuva lekens naturliga dekadens. varje lycklig partikel skall förr eller senare blödas ut och stelna, i en mörkröd evighet av sönderfallna bevis på alla platser du en gång lämnat bakom dej.

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