The clown in your rodeo

If you were a story I would be your tragic ending.
If you were a dream I would be the girl crawling out of a well.
If you were a poem I would be the word you can never rhyme.
If you were a full moons night I would be your werewolf.
If you were a car I would be your speed-bump.
If you were a starship I would be a Sith Lord.
If you were a bottle of scotch I would be the 7-up.
If you were time I would be a wormhole.
If you were insane I would be the hallucination.
If you were a tree I would be the chainsaw.
If you were Othello I would be the dagger.
If you were a rockstar I would be your cocaine.

But if you were a rodeo I would be your clown.

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The limbo called 23

Well obviously this my kind of 23.

Tea is what you love in the morning but that occasional coffee helps you get over nasty hangovers.

You are will-spill/drop-anything-you-are-holding-when-you-see-an-attractive-guy kind of awkward.

You guffaw or groan and roll eyes every time people talk of love. While secretly wishing you had a fairy godmother.

You have Beethoven on the gramophone and a glass of wine kind of evenings. But the ones you love most are when you dance in your pajamas, singing(in a voice that puts the coyotes to shame) into your hairbrush.

You binge watch tv series when you are depressed (that is most of the time) and knit cat clothes. But when you are happy they will find you at the local bar trying to drown yourself in alcohol.

People you grew up with have spouses-kids-RingsThatWillPutSauronToShame. You have scrabble with the computer and a basement bedroom.

Well sometimes you go and order that Long Island and do the walk of shame. But more often than not weekends are reading Shakespeare to your cat.

High school stereotypes don’t apply anymore. You were the geek-with-glasses-and-ugly-sweaters now you are called a sociopath (suck it miss-prom-queen-who-is-with-her-fifth-husband-at-tiffanys). Yeah….No, high school never ends soccer mom/ miss pretty in Prada will always be the Bellatrix Lestrange to your Hermione.

You know you will end up socialising with balding men in tweed suits and women who make you wish feminism never happened.

And the closest thing to sex is watching rat EEGs while they are at it. But there is that thesis on a gene in the drosophila fly that controls its desire to copulate (does that counts as foreplay?)

Twenty three is when you unravel the mysteries of life. It is that time when you finally accept that there are no mermaids or Loch Ness monsters or Yetis. You will never find Asgard and Thor will never find you. You know the mysteries are those of loneliness, love, companionship, loss and what helps you unravel all that. You gain true wisdom and enlightenment from those moments with your head in a toilet seat because you still can’t hold your drink. That is what 23 is all about.

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Ways to mend a broken heart!

What every self help blog ever written should say,

Have a broken heart?

1. Find the ETIOLOGY:

You got dumped: there are a billion reasons, you are fugly, you are clingy, you want to get married on your 2nd date, you are a lousy kisser, you cheat on him with his best friend and are a horrible liar.

Very rarely you have a genetic condition called the curse of the black heart.

2. The PATHOPHYSIOLOGY of a broken heart:

just when you think your life is a Jenifer Aniston movie(no the guy is not Ashton Kutcher and at your best you look like Nikki Minaj without make up) the break up catches you off guard(obviously you couldn’t see the signs like him never calling you back or slamming the door in your face when you go over to find out why).

You cry. In your head you think you look like a helpless mongrel, but all everyone sees is a zombie from Resident Evil.

Your friends try to help but they have a life(boyfriends/girlfriends) even the tramps have their friday nights. And you? The TV the couch and that tub of Chocolate ice cream(non fat? You think?!) All you can think of is dying alone. You wait for him to come back. Sometimes you stalk the poor thing, and get a restraining order.

You forget to feed your cat(of course you are a cat person) she runs away and finds a new home(a sex life).

Your waistline is growing and your apartment looks like a crime scene.

3. INVESIGATIONS:
look at yourself in the mirror, if it cracks your condition is serious you will need surgery.

check your weight anything above 80 pounds could be fatal.

If you are anything under a 36 D(no wonder you are reading self help blogs)

4. DIAGNOSIS: a broken heart.

5. COMPLICATIONS:
being single for life(very real threat if condition not treated immediately)

Ending up as one of the step sisters when all your life you thought you were cinderella.

Oprah asking you how you managed to be so repulsive in an exclusive.

6.TREATMENT:

If Bridget Jones could find Mark Dassy, you can at least find a new cat.

Get plastic surgery and those *will make you a super model overnight* loubs(who needs a BRAIN?!)

Keep doing the walk of shame it might just work! One night stands=
True love.

And always remember the way to a man’s heart IS through your vagina. Don’t let anyone(your mom) tell you otherwise.

A surgeon’s spirit

A general surgeon- Country liquor… Its cheap, easy to find, gives you a hell of a high(or so I have heard).

Obstetrician- Champagne… No matter what you had to go through to get to the top(in this case get the baby out) its worth it. Every. Single. Time!

Gynecologist- Beer. Why? ‘You assumed we remove uteruses so we like tequila?’

Pediatrics- Surgery on little people. Sometime their crying is unbearable, so give them a little gin from your bottle(only if mother’s love doesn’t work) and you are in fairyland again(No judging. But what did you think those cough syrups were made of?)

Ortho- Whiskey, because its a men’s world darlings! And even the few(can’t stress this enough) women in this world would reply to ‘Bourbon neat?’ with ‘fill her up!’

Neuro- What do you take me for? I went to med school! Mixing alcohol with neuro? Preposterous! Have you no morals?

Plastics- Bring out the wine… They know all about aging gracefully (at least the experienced/skilled ones do). The new just suck(ask Cher I think she has met a few!)

Cardio- Vodka, like the Russians, its close to their hearts!

Urosurgeons- Rum, it takes a pirate’s drink to stay sane when you know you do prostate exams for a living!