Vampires Are Not Size 14

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I heard that vampires, aside from being dentally challenged serial killers, are glorious, glamorous and gorgeous creatures. The three Gs are deathly fabulous. It also seems that the road to love of a vampiric life is intricate. The us-against-against-the-living-world sounds dangerous enough to make it into best-selling novels, hit series and box-office, but really horrid, movies. Cupid made some really extra sharp arrows just for these undead creatures with fantastic mineral make up foundation. This makes me really upset with Cupid. Here I am, alive but unseen. I have a strong, beating heart. I am a non-fiction character leaning solely on a wall. Surely, this makes me a valid, tempting target but nope! That naked infant with minimal fashion has decided to skip me.

A number of reasons popped in my head lately. I am a commitment skeptic and probably a dash of phobic. I am severely insecure. I am either allergic or possibly addicted to men. I have a great loathing for clubbing, which some “experts” say is the place to be and might be the Roman god’s favourite spot. I dream and crave of affection but the thought of touching people makes me want to stay in my room forever and ever. They might be the cause of popping champagne never happening but one stood out from the rest. I am not size 4. Have you ever seen sized 14 vampires seducing their victim? No. Did Johnny Cash lift a sized 14 June Carter on stage when he proposed? No. Did Ryan Gosling carry a sized 14 Rachel from the pier to the bed? No. My apologies to Big Hal but I want a photo shopped Ryan stripped in front of me. Apparently, it is too much to ask from a girl who is not size 4.

The ironic thing is I don’t even want to be a size 4. I am a hypocrite if I say I want to be size 14.  Okay, I’m not even size 14. I’m somewhere between 4 and 14. Let’s just say I’m a hypocrite. I want to slim down but I don’t want to be thin that the photo shopped Ryan would carry me like a pole. I want to be swept away and being a non-fictional character, that is not happening. Cupid came alright but he didn’t bury the arrow deep enough. It touched, scarred me, buried once but was easily pulled out. My virtue of patience wasn’t rewarded. Cupid is the epitome of injustice.

The essence of what’s running in my head at 3 in the morning is deeply, deeply inspired by people who had no idea I would be cursing them one day. So let me just say that next time please hold on to Cupid’s chubby heel and shake him hard for me. This is really going nowhere so I would like to thank a number of the male species for scaring me, ignoring me, hurting me, and loving me. Thank you for making some parts of my life vaguely interesting. And again, vampires are not size 14. Ugh!

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