Why I Hate Gotye or the Stalker's Lament, as I like to call it.

OK, we all know that stupid song by Goyte; “Somebody I Used to Know”… This song, annoys me more than just about anything else on the planet. I mean, seriously. This fucking song.

It is really the lyrics that spawned my unequivocal hatred for it. I mean, really this song is 4 minutes of whining about just how fucking broken hearted he is about his loss of a girl.

 I get it… break-ups blow. That’s why it is a break up. And everyone has earned the right to write a hit song about it (Taylor Swift, I’m looking at you) and whine and cry and have your breakdown about it sponsored by Haagan Dazs. I however, reserve the right to hate it—and critique it (see below).

Now and then I think of when we were together
Like when you said you felt so happy you could die
I told myself that you were right for me
But felt so lonely in your company
But that was love and it's an ache I still remember
I get it. He is lamenting the love. I understand that. Nothing hurts worse than feeling alone, in a relationship. Also, it hurts knowing you thought they were the one, but they are not. Very. Sad. This part is not bad. In fact, it is a somber, contemplative verse—when it could have opened with a wailing “Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy…”

You can get addicted to a certain kinda sadness
Like resignation to the end, always the end 
So when we found that we could not make sense
Well you said that we would still be friends
But I'll admit that I was glad that it was over
Now, here you can see the start of a downward depressive (dog) spiral. I mean opening the next verse with “addicted to a certain kind of sadness”—pop an Xanax, or do some of my implied yoga. Everyone know when you say “be friends” this means on Facebook… or friend-ly, like I won’t stalk you, break into your home, try to kill your pets, destroy your car and tell all of your friends (and his) vicious nasty un-true things about you. Were you glad, Mr. Goyte? Were, you—if you REALLY were, I doubt this song would exists.

But you didn't have to cut me off 
Make it like it never happened and that we were nothing 
I don't even need your love, but you treat me like a stranger
And that feels so rough
This negates your last bit about resignation and “gladness.” Maybe she had to cut you off. You sound like a bit of a wet blanket. And If you were said blanket, then it might be better that she acted like you were nothing in the end. And I venture to say that even if you don’t “need” her love, you clearly want/miss or are in denial about it.  OH it feels rough?? Well, I guess you are not a Alpaca fiber blanket.

No, you didn't have to stoop so low
Have your friends collect your records
And then change your number
Guess that I don't need that though
Now you're just somebody that I used to know
Look, dude… she didn't want to see you, or put up with your wet-blanket- lament, while you bemoan your part in the break-up. And she changed her number to avoid the annoying crying voice-mails you would have left—or did leave, after you realized she changed her number. And sir, she is someone you used to know—used to date, used to fuck.

Now and then I think of all the times you screwed me over
But had me believin it was always something that I'd done
But I don't wanna live that way
Reading into every word you say
You said that you could let it go
And I wouldn't catch you hung up on somebody that you used to know-oh-oh
Ms. Kimbra chimes in here as the Girlfriend. And she firstly states off your parts in the break-up. I guess you thought you did no wrong? AND of course you couldn't let it go. I mean really. You’re writing a damn song about it instead of moving on or into therapy for it like the rest of us. And she can’t catch you, she is changing numbers (and locks I bet) and sending her BFFFE’s to collect her things (NOT leaving shit behind a la T-Swift).

The rest is just about Mr. Goyte whining about how he is just “somebody” she “used to know.” I refuse to post anymore of those lyrics because as I read them, I want to put him down like Old Yeller. I mean, the whole song is one by “Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!!!! *sob* *cry* WHHyyyyyyyyyy!!!!” 

So, If you like this song (in any way BESIDES a break-up guide of how not to behave and/or write a break-up song) you can Go Fuck Yourself.

Un-Seasoned Starbucks Patrons aka Why the Flat White annoys the fuck out of me.

Pumpkin Spice Latte’s are addicting, I know. But that is so last season. We’ve all moved on. But, seasonal Starbucks Patrons (SP’s from here on out) don’t know that – or do, and either way it is irritating. And now let’s all pretend we do not know what a Flat White is…

Starbucks and their seasonal delights are the epicenter of Suburbia. The Mecca for Hipsters, Homeless and the Caffeine addicted (Hi, I am Anastasia Elizabeth and I am addicted to caffeine). This does pose a problem for those of us well versed in the Starbuck-ian culture, custom and language.

I’m in line, and I hear you struggle with the menu. ‘I’ll have a… umm… large? Care-a-mel… latte? With an extra shot? Of ex-press-oh?’ at this I tap my foot and lock my hand on my hip. I am irritated. You struggle—like it’s a foreign language. You fumble for your gift card/debit card/ exact change. I cringe. I want you out of my fucking way, so I can fucking order like the expert that I am. You leave the queue, with your stroller/laptopbag/massivefuckingpurse. I announce (so you hear) “Iced Grande 4-pump Caramel Non-Fat extra Ice Latte in a Venti cup” a semi-complicated favorite of mine. I imagine you look back in awe. I also imagine the barista is thankful for my fluency. I pay—with my card via my phone (iPhone, there is a Starbucks app after all—get a clue). And move on. Please, fortheloveofgod, move the fuck on.

Whilst waiting for my beverage. You drive me further to the brink of insanity. You SP’s mill about, all thinking your drink is next. It. Is. Not. Drinks are created in the order they are made. Unless you do something like a hot or cold House Blend (decaf is for pussies), you fucking N00b. You wait, I claim a coveted table/bar spot near an outlet do plug in my laptop and write things like this (yes about you). All the while, you wait. I divide and conquer.  This is where it gets dicey. I mean, you might have an army with you—your Stroller Brigade, Book Club, Study Group—and I am alone. But again, I have claimed a spot—and you have not.

Now, the baristas as in the zen trance of creating drinks with beatific smiles and the cashier is politely ushering us along—you along, I’ve long since claimed my territory. You get frustrated. Your child is running amuck—putting coffee stirrers up it’s nose and claiming to be a walrus, running around dying and vying for strangers attention—since your focus is on your poorly ordered beverage. Your study group is milling about trying to subtly re-arrange the furniture to accommodate them—you know this is what STUDY ROOMS on campus are for (as are campus café’s).  I assume Book Clubs do not meet at night—you all have families to attend to. I can see you eyeing me—I have no beverage. Yet, I have a spot. You will attempt to ask me to leave/move. I will not. I will politely tell you “I’m on a deadline” in the tone of Fuck You; or if I have my headphones, ignore you—I’m not listening to music yet, it is a prop. I only leave my spot if the call my drink—or my name. Anastasia Elizabeth. You will see me rise, obtain my beverage and saunter back to my prime real estate.

You will marvel. You will cringe. You will be amazed how I knew my beverage was ready after such a “complicated” order. I know, I’m amazing. 

Please Edit Your Hate Mail and Break-up Letters

I love a good break up letter. I really do. I love the way it lends itself to "honoring" the time the 2 people had. together. The way it seems to say "I've moved on" even though generally that person is obviously more sad or angry then the pen and paper let on.

Then, my idea changed. My friend sent me this break up letter she was recently "gifted". Now, I have removed the names, because-- well, that is the polite thing to do. Right? I just want to say, seriously.... fuck this guy. No one say anything like this to my BEST FUCKING FRIEND and gets to digitally live to see the next day. I have sat on this, and meditated on how to handle this outburst-- after tweeting you into submission (was it as good for you as it was for me)?--- * side note, if you wanna see the take down, check out my twitter https://twitter.com/AnastasiaElzbth

Here is the email:

After all things considered, Karma will get you. There are no demons for you to blame. It is you. In a conscious mind making conscious decisions to destroy. I don't care, as if I have never
Met you. I threw away all canvases and memory of you. I am moving back east on Tuesday to never return to this shit show, ass backwards greed infected city where those of you have no boundaries of pain and suffering, coddled by your Hollywood parents. Nobody fucking cares about your pain...we all have pain, most have suffered much more than you. You were given the world and you were to naive in your forties to even understand it. You have a soul a sad soul, a soul in which those who attempt to love you eventually are overthrown by your compulsive lies and need to gain acceptance. Your not
Crazy, in fact your not even above average on the intelligence meter. You may be slightly dumb. Numb to reality. All in all fuck off. Go to a miserable place and end it. For you will burn in the end. Karma has it out for you... No luck wished, no fucks given, your a sorry child in a woman's body who will one day return to this planet as a peasant, hopefully to learn the error of humans. No daddy to use as a scapegoat. You carve your destiny and your destiny smells like the same shit your apartment smells like. Cleanup, grow up, wash your house, kill your pride. You are the great American, the selfish, greedy, spoiled, material , bullshit that represents everything I hate about this country. Good luck with your fucked sense of self...

Wilt slow and alone

My edits-comments-concerns are in RED. Here is the email:

After all things considered, Karma will get you (Strong opening sentiment, I also appreciate the capitalization, because Karma is a name-- most likely one of the Dominas you used. Excuse me, I mean Mistress Karma). There are no demons for you to blame (This weakens your previous statement I mean, going from Karma to demons and blame-- going from egalitarian faith to the constraints of conformist religion-- bad move "artist"). It is you. In a conscious mind making conscious decisions to destroy (Repetitive, I mean, most decisions are consciously made-- and some decisions do destroy. Again, if you are aware of the choice made-- one is aware of the consequences. However, you didn't think about this when you were WALKING/BIKING to your local S&M dungeon  Or think that in doing so, you would destroy your own relationship with someone). I don't care, as if I have never met you. (I don't care, as if never-- that is a double negative, sir, and it does imply that you do care. And it is bothering the fuck out of you. I am sure you and Mistress Karma will work this out, no doubt). I threw away all canvases and memory of you (Alright, big boy. No you did not. Did your alter ego post that picture on instagram? Did you steal another canvas-- maybe-- that shit is expensive-- and Domina's are not Sugar Mama's. ALSO, one cannot actually throw out memories-- unless you can based on that new movie where they give you new memories...). I am moving back east on Tuesday (insert victory party) to never return to this shit show, ass backwards greed infected city (Oh, hunny-- did you forget you wandered into Los Angeles?? The city that thrives on creative, driven, money making minds? Are you sad you "zine" sucks-- and is a SAD substitute for soft core porn? Or is it that you realized your work was nothing here...) where those of you have no boundaries of pain and suffering (No use crying over RT'd tweets-- ALSO you are one to fucking talk about "boundaries, pain and suffering"-- you paid to have all of that. Pain and Suffering is what you are into-- I thought I was giving you what you wanted, free of charge, long-distance), coddled by your Hollywood parents (careful who you talk about-- the walls and cities have eyes and ears) . Nobody fucking cares about your pain (that we do not PAY to have inflicted on us)...we all have pain, most have suffered much more than you . You were given the world and you were to (too) naive in your forties to even understand it (Not sharing intimate pain with you does not imply naivete, it implies a lack of trust-- and rightfully so). You have a soul a sad soul, a soul in which those who attempt to love you eventually are overthrown by your compulsive lies and need to gain acceptance (I am her best fucking friend you fucking asshole. I love her beyond your fucking scope of understanding you self-indulgent pseudo-intellectual malcontent fucking "artist"). Your (You're) not Crazy (you're too stupid for this to be intentional), in fact your not even above average on the intelligence meter (this is a self-important way to call someone stupid... gawd you are long winded). You may be slightly dumb. Numb to reality. All in all fuck off (All in all, fuck off-- take your own advice, seriously dude, I am bored to death reading this swill... this is the closest you will get to being published and I regret posting this twice). Go to a miserable place and end it (End what? You have poor sentence structure. Is this a 'World War Z' reference?). For you will burn in the end (Seriously?? Oh. My. Gawd. CONFORMIST). Karma has it out for you... No luck wished, no fucks given, your a sorry child in a woman's body who will one day return to this planet as a peasant (Please, pick a religious theme and stick with it, I mean it. I cannot take the Karma, Reincarnation, Fire and Brimstone mix), hopefully to learn the error of humans (You are implying she is, not human? Above human? Above you! Over you!). No daddy to use as a scapegoat (Be careful sir, no one likes name calling). You carve your destiny and your destiny smells like the same shit your apartment smells like. Cleanup, grow up, wash your house, kill your pride . You are the great American, the selfish, greedy, spoiled, material , bullshit that represents everything I hate about this country (move to fucking Canada then. Seriously, you are already in Social Siberia). Good luck with your fucked sense of self (Thank gawd, this is the end of the GD email. You are the one with the fucked sense of self-- paying for BDSM, stealing art supplies, stealing ideas-- all the while believing you are in the "right". You are the one who didn't play by the rules, and you are the one paying the price. BDSM-- not the norm, BTW. It must suck to be such an outsider, who landed himself there on his own terms-- yet wants others to work out his pain for him, indulge is "creative" side-- while he Starves, is Celibate and has no Dreams)...

People know better than to cross me-- and you sir, did it. While I would love to read your replies, and hear your insight... I don't give a fuck. As an actual artist, I welcome your reaction. In fact, I want one. So I can frame it, and point to it.

Things I Wont Do

I went on a "date"...

Correction, I was promised a date and was conned into watching the first hour (minute? half hour?) of Inception, then was invited to give that guy a... BJ.

Seriously?!

You think some movie, like that, is going to get me in the mood to do YOU that kind of favor?

Where do guys get off thinking these things.

Obviously, I am not seeing this guy again.

So male readers, take note: Buy a girl a drink (a meal? dessert? something!) before asking for such insane favors, in bizarre settings.

It blows my mind.

pun intended.

Bitter. I Am Fucking Bitter.

OK. Once again, I total neglect my following.

I apologize.

But this time... THIS time, it is because I was coming to terms with my feelings before committing them to html.

And what feelings is that?

BITTER.

This overwhelming pissed-off-ness about shit so far beyond my control. And not only that, that sneaking suspension that I haven't learned a gawddammed thing from past relationships.

I was involved with a guy... in a limited capacity, from June till October. It is only 4 months. But that 4 months was filled with a daily barrage of texts, picture messages and peppered with calls. Then, it just stopped.

Normally, I'd let it go. Just write it off as someone missing out on my awesomeness.

BUT no. NOT THIS TIME.

Over the course of 4 months, I developed feelings for this person... a growing infatuation. It was made clear to me, by him, that his feelings were similar.

And then... October hit, and all his communication halted.

I figured it was because we both have been insanely busy with our jobs, I also figured it could have been something like else.

As it turns out, part of it was work, another was a family affair, the over-whelming part: "It is hard to let myself get close to someone who is 7 hours away"

I just want to say:

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME??! You knew this when we met.

You knew this the entire time you were talking to me?

Why are you surprised? Why are you backing out?!!

YOU’VE GOTTA BE FUCKING JOKING.

Now that I have that out of my system.

I have been holding that in for weeks.

I can’t bring myself to talk to him again. I can stare at my phone all I want and try to will it to show a message… but it wont work. So, I don’t bother trying to talk to him.

I mean, his kiss-off… honestly, made me feel like shit. And that like I am too “inconvenient” (my word, not his).

What really gets me, is… what level of damage prompts a guy to say that shit? I mean, I appreciate the honesty…. It doesn’t mean I like it.

This also, puts into perspective what level of bullshit that dude has been put through.

Part of me thought this was an ideal situation, we have the same job (he’s been doing it longer—and is better at it), we work for the same company (not at my branch, I’m not that kind of girl). I really thought that since we had that in common (and how we met) that this would be pretty ideal. I mean, who else will understand the insane hours and stresses that come with retail at the holidays???

But. I was wrong.

Those factors don’t matter. Nor does the fact that we had a budding relationship.

Which brings me to the point, of how I am bitter:

I am fucking over going through the ringer because of boys bullshit. Don’t get me wrong.

I get it.

Bitch broke your heart. Bitch took 4 years of your life and walked the fuck out on you.

DO NOT make me suffer for her bullshit.

I get it. Really.

We all have our baggage. We all have our issues. I know I have dated guys who are real pieces of work, who have without a doubt left their own mark on me.

Do I take those issues out on a good guy? Never intentionally. But occasionally I have when a red flag goes up. So, I am not faultless.

I just…. I thought things were different this time… and I was wrong. And that sucks.

Sucks for him, because I am FUCKING awesome.

Infatuation Situation

I always find my self getting infatuated with the most inappropriate boys.

I keep finding these candidates and throwing my hat in the ring for them... only to find they have other interests, or one way tickets to other countries.

How many times can this actually happen to a girl?

I mean, maybe... I don't know. I feel very.... Jane Austen.

I mean she nailed it with the line:

"I'm 27 years old. I've no money and no prospects.

I'm already a burden to my parents."

I mean, that is me... currently.

I am 27. I have little-- or no money (depending on the month). And yes, no prospects.

Well... None that I am aware of (or want, stalkers do not count).

So what is a girl to do?

Well.. This girl is going to do what she has been doing, which is focus on work.

I mean, I have put more focus on my job in the last 8 months than I have, possibly, ever. And in doing so I have found more success than ever. Which, how does one not enjoy success at work?

But, you know what... I want someone to celebrate my successes with me.

I want someone to get stoked that I bonus'd last quarter. I want someone to get jazzed that I am in charge of one of the premier North Texas TOMS events.

But not only that... I want someone to collapse into when the days or rough. I want someone to take my mind off work on my days off.

I can line out wants and needs all day long. I can make it cut and dry.... But in the end of it, it is just my one sided view of it.

It is a vision that is still missing the other person.

I guess, in a way I deserve it, I go around attaching meaning to kisses and conversations. Some, that it turns out mean the same thing (or anything) to the other party.

Just, a moment.

We walked in, close behind one another.

We were headed in the same direction. Walking with the same purpose.

The doors open, we all pass through.

Head right for the bar.

Deep in the crowd, pushing forward.

Edging others out for drinks.

Our fingers lace through each other's.

Small circles traced on the back's of hands.

Tightly knit, hands release and graduate to the small's of our backs.

Pull each other close.

Not for warmth. Not for comfort.

Just so. Just because.

Bold moves for shy ones such as us.

We think we know what we're up to.

Eyes catch. Smiles flash.

The lights flash. The crowd ebbs and swells.

Eyes ahead.

A friendly squeeze. A knowing glance.

Eyes lock.

A slow lean in.

The choreographed tilt of heads necks.

A breath, a pause, a A breath.

A kiss.

The crowds stops swirling.

The need for drinks subsides.

And all there is....

is a kiss.