Why is it that whenever I think I've found "the one," the guy always turns out to be A) a complete dolt, B) an asshole, C) already in a relationship, or likes someone else, D) your best friend, or E) some odd combination of the above? Does anyone else get the irony of this? Men think we women are so confusing and unpredictable, but what about them? We see all of those internet jokes about how women are so emotionally superior to men (you've seen them, I don't need to give an example), but I think I can speak for a lot of "emotionally strong" women when I say that men are completely confusing. It used to be that all it took to make them happy was a game of football on television and a beer. But now it seems that their primal nature is maturing, and there's no telling what they want in a relationship anymore.

Don't get me wrong, I don't *want* men to degenerate into vegetating couch potatoes (ignore the bad puns) with beer bellies, but this new development is, well, unexpected. The joke's on me now.

I personally find it easier to focus on obsessing over celebrities and rock stars as opposed to actually trying to forge a workable relationship with a human male. It's the same emotional (and physical, in most cases) appeal, and there's a less impacted heartbreak if I find out that they've got a girlfriend, whatever. Because I already expect it to happen.

Life is a vicious cycle of need, want, and ultimate disappointment. I'm sorry, I guess I was a born pessimist, but it seems that all I'm doing nowadays is pining. The Art Of Pining, as the title of this journal so neatly advertises, is pretty damn well-known to me and my semi-deranged mind.

Ta ta for now. Pine some more later...

~AF

The internet is a glorious place. Ignore the frequent porno-site popups, ignore the casino advertisements, ignore the pedophilia paraphernilia. The anonymity is great. Unless a hacker gets to you, that is.
[ahem] My point is, I could post anything here. I could tell you about any fetishes I might have, my friend's crossdressing habits, the names of all my cats, and you still wouldn't know me. You wouldn't even be sure if I were telling the truth or not.
I digress yet again.
Let me introduce myself...my name is Aurora Fiske, but most people call my Aury (pronounced O-ry, for all the dyslexia-burdened people out there). I'm 17 years old, and live somewhere in the U.S. (Can't be too sure about those hackers!) My hobbies include playing the guitar and singing in a garage band, eating ice-cream, tutoring, and writing. Most of what I write goes into a ritualistic compost heap, though - it's crap. I mean, on the internet, I could ransack my thesaurus and come off sounding halfway intelligent, but on paper I tend to sound second-grader-ish. I write about love, not being able to make it come true (how many of you grasped that Weezer reference?), falling in love, etc., etc., et al. It gets really repetitive after awhile.
And thus the topic of this weblog. Nevermind the title of the story...just ignore it.
I'm going to explore the inner psyche of love and all it's human reincarnations. Or at least try to. And I'm not making any sense anymore (and it's not like I ever *did* make sense...) so I'll just go until next time.
~AF