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No better compliment than a scoff // CHAPTER {1}

Feminist, bitter, conceited, you have no social life, you need a love life. Those are a couple of the many adjectives and comments that are usually repeated in my blog.

Although they make me laugh; mostly because I think that my character is not interesting enough to be awarded with colorful descriptions; at the end of the day I'm only a girl talking about men...

Who doesn't need a boyfriend?, now that we're on this specific subject.

Probably the major part of my time, not only I talk about men, but I also scoff about them.

They say there is no better compliment than a scoff. Or that there is no better compliment than a copy, or there is no better copy than a scoff.

Anyway, you get my point.

My social life, unlike what haters think it is like, it's not THAT BAD, to be honest.

  I've already found the love of my life and it's called Netflix. It's perfect: it's always there, it has great suggestions about what I'd like to watch, and it can be connected  all night without getting tired.

But in reality, in the middle of a marathon series or movies, I also have dates.

They may not be classified as a social agenda, due to the fact that I only have them knowing that they are never going to work: my mission is not go out with guys that are worth it, but with the morons.

It is an auto-destructive  project -I know- that I write in detail on my blog and that it looks like certain amount of women enjoy reading, because at the end no one cares about your succesful, unrealistic, happy ending, romantic story: people always prefer the bloody,hurtful part.

Sounds flightly, I know that too; I would probably win the feminist award for putting "This brand experiments with men." for principal advertise on my page, but c'mon, you have to admit that people love taking things literally, especially on the Internet.

And in any case, we're all always experimenting with everyone, playing with our heads, manipulating and testing ourselves.

It's the natural section of the species to where you go, at work, in sports, and of course, in love. The only difference is that I have a public blog on the results.

I don't exactly remember the last time I wen't out with a man that I was sincerely interested on, but at least there never occurs unexpected endings.

I can definetely hear Rebecca, my psicologist friend, saying "You have intimacy issues, this little blog of yours is only an excuse to mantain the situation under control and to not get hurt again."

Rebecca is completely insupportable.

Yes, I have to admit that there are certain parts from someone that never want to fall in love again after getting their heart broken.

I honestly think that you become so conscious of who you are until you get your heart broken, because everything hurts when that happens, your soul hurts, your body hurts, thinking, feeling, talking HURT.

It hurts opening your eyes everyday at the same hour and for a few seconds thinking that he is gone, that you don't care anymore, just to go step by step to the disappointing reality that ghosts and demons remain there, watching you, laughing at your inability to eliminate every single one of them.

The people that you love take something from you with them, they modify you, they change you, they leave behind a new version of you that takes time to recognize. There are new fears, there are insecurities that didn't even exist a while back, there are nerves and anxiety in a space where there was calm and happiness.

And when finally you come out of your darkness, out of the hole you were trapped in, your best friend is the control; and your game inevitably goes on defensive mode.

Shit, Rebecca is right, I thought while I shut down the hot water coming out of the shower, and my inner monologues are starting to get disturbingly long. I love practicing my TED talk, almost as much as my acceptance speech for an Oscar.

Although it doesn't seem like it's close to any.

I got out of the bathroom, I examined my not perfect waxed legs (clear signal that I was not going out with anyone that I was truly interested in), I put on my sweat pants, sat on the dining room table, turned on my laptop and I got back that sensation of being locked in a dark room.

Supposedly writing is my thing, and none the less I look like I'm capable of putting three phrases together without pressing DELETE.

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I can now say that I'm more than proud of this first chapter and that I PROMISE the next chapters will be more entertaining, just please have some hope!

Anyway, whoever is reading this thank you for taking your precious time to read this awful story.

See you soon x

-k