Hi, my name is Gigi, and I am more single than a dollar bill. (“Hi, Gigi”) I am here to share my tales of woe with you, my fellow singletons. If by any chance my first post is one of monotony, feel free to nod off and wake up with lower case “a”,”s”,d”, and “f” imprinted on your forehead. It’s totally fine. I am shedding brain cells as I speak, and since the partial lobotomy, it’s fairly empty in the cranium, but ON my forehead, there’s space for some funky art.
Firstly, I will tell you a bit about myself so that you can use the imagery to conjure up an image of me, as painful as that will be. I am 5′ 8″, forgot what my real hair color is (nah….it is a deep muddy brown), and have blue eyes. My skin is light and freckled, with a liberal sprinkling of freckles. I am thin, but not a size four. I have a nice size chest (Oh, hello all you men out there that just woke up from your nap! So nice you could join us! We were just going to segue into a male bashing session. Haha.), but my derriere is non-existent. Jello and no J.Lo. I have broader shoulder and narrower hips. No, I don’t look like a football player, smart alec reading this and smirking. I’m just not bottom heavy. I think fast, can be really nuts (I keep it under wraps), and suffer from insomnia. Red Bull is my religion, Writing is a bare necessity–like water, Godiva chocolates, and Ice Cream heals all wounds–internal and external. When I grow up I wasn’t to be a Coyote ( a la Coyote Ugly), and a Mommy, and I forgot the other one which is in and of itself very, very frightening. But enough about me for now (Ha…It’s all about me! I’m trying to impress you, though, so I will write anything to make you like me. Did I tell you look absolutely ravishing today? Divine! Sublime! Okay, okay, I am putting the Webster’s Thesaurus away.)
Okay, so how are we all doing on the dating scene? The females out there are huge fans of Lorraina Bobbit, and the males of Dr. Kevorkian? I’m feelin’ you. Well, some of you men, I would love to literally be feelin’, but “Sweet Dreams Are Made of These”, aye? The ones in uniform…HOOAH!!! Speaking of uniforms, convicts are supposedly very very passionate. Since reading “The Count of Monte Cristo”, and then watching the movie…I am thinking James Caviezel-looking men that will duel for me, my long tresses down to my metatarsals, my girdle cutting into my cellulite–THAT IS LOVE.
Speaking of cellulite, a friend told me that if a man would stick to her like her cellulite does, she would marry him in an Elizabeth Taylor I Do. I myself wouldn’t know what cellulite is. (Thou Shalt Not Lieth). So okay, its basically cottage cheese looking, and even the thinnest supermodels, have it. (It killed me when I walked down the
So…my dating life, or lack thereof. I don’t want to talk about it. I’d rather listen to you–my tired, huddled masses, looking for your other half (Good for you! How did you lose all that weight?) I can’t talk about it. It hits raw nerves that I thought were numb long ago. Okay, I must run, as I have much to do. It has been real. Please refrain from calling your local Mental Health Institution. Chances are, they know me well, and went from staff to patients after being exposed to the GigiIsm.
Until or next time I remain,
Gigi, Single, And Strange.