Dreams, BUT WHY?

Ok, so I have been hibernating far away from my keyboard for awhile and admittedly its cause I really didn’t want share anymore of my angst about fuckboys and alike anymore. I needed to find inspiration and some cool stories to share with you guys on the other side of the screen.

And lately I have been struggling with the lack of sleep and not for any of the good reasons, I just can’t find that good good sleep. So for weeks I have been watching every BBC radio 1 Live Lounge video on youtube and throwing back to my high school playlists , which no doubt unpacked a whole suitcase of memories, I was beginning to think I am never going to sleep again, I spent my nights making playlists to listen on my way to work, reading Game of Thrones(for the millionth time) and stalking like every football WAGS’ insta profile. Spent days on end looking like one of Helen Bonham-Carter’s character, until a few nights ago, when at long last I fell asleep like Thumbelina in her walnut-shell cradled.

But just like that stupid toad, who kidnapped Thumbelina while she was asleep. My peaceful slumber was stolen by my wretched dreams, I mean calling them dreams is being nice. My dreams….

Are the most violent, thrilling and scary subconscious creations, ever. Its like they were written by Edgar Allan Poe and George RR Matin’s love child and directed by Alfred Hitchcock and Quentin Tarantino’s love child. Seriously, I was so happy to just sleep but my dreams were like, “yeah, how about no?”

Have you guy’s watched season 5 of Dexter, you know the season when Johnny Lee Miller (loved him in transporting, though) kidnapped Julia Stiles for his rape-club, and then she teams up with love of my life Dexter Morgan to kill the club, one member at a time. Yeah, well last night I dreamt(in the most violently vivid manner) that I was the Julia Stiles, I was kidnapped and shown to my room where they were going to handle me without care etc. and I tried to escape but failed then made a deal with my dreams version of Johnny Lee Miller and I didn’t know any Dexter in my dream, things were not going my way and getting more violent as the dream went on….

I woke up sweating though every pore, I own.  Like, seriously I laid in bed thanking every star that it was just a dream, but curiosity got the better of me. I remembered, when I was at campus, my friend Kavita and I used to everyday, sit on her bed and relay last night’s dream to each other, then we would take fifty steps to far and interrupt our dreams using those trusty dream interpretation websites *LOL* but hey if kids think that sleeping with a cuddly toy will keep the monsters out, then I’m  going to believe in these here lovely and well researched websites.

Anyway, after spending about 30 minutes reading interpretations of this dreams basically I  am feeling manipulated by someone/have lost control of some aspect of my life and I am avoiding an issue/person. Okay, now my dreams make me think I should have a shrink on retainer…

I mean, understanding our dreams and their meanings is like trying to dissect a human body with a pair of tweezers while being blindfolded. We never know what our subconscious is trying to tell us and whether we should read further into it or just let sleeping dogs lie. But, it does make for interesting writing and good movie ideas, too.

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Anyways, love you, bye.

P.S. IF you click on the word playlist, I have shared some of my slumber tunes 🙂

MePhone 2017

Sup, guys. So 2016 is well and truly over, its time to talk New Years resolutions. A lot of people say that they don’t believe in them but I think that we all went

Let me explain, after 365 days of living and loving, we are bound to reflect and realize that some shit has got to change. Change is necessary for growth, it’s like Steve Jobs (may his soul RIP) said in his Stanford commencement speech, we can’t look forward to make sense of life but can only look to our past to guide our future. So I’ve had time while clearing free on a beach,to ponder the last year I’ve had and have decided to change a few things and leave some firmly in 2016…

Things that I learnt:
1. You can’t make someone like you i.e. Persuasion is not attraction.
2. There no bounds to the love you can give yourself. Don’t accept second rate love, also just be proud of yourself, cause like I said before if you happy with yourself then you don’t anyone else’s affirmation.
3. You can’t make anyone happy, it’s their choice all you can do is be secure in who and what you are.

Things that need to change:
1. I always believed “treat people the way you want to be treated…” and 2016 has taught that’s not always the case, you can be as genuinely nice as Winnie the fucking pooh, but if people don’t want to be as nice as you they won’t. So no more Miss Nice Girly, in 2017. #NiceForWhat
2. Stop hesitating and take more risks, stop worrying about failing and just take the shot cause at the end of the match, it will still count as a shot on target.
3. Maybe learn to cook at least one curry….just in case Rio Ferdinand needs to impressed by my ethnicity.
4. Let it go, just like James Bay sings let it go, leave all the broken pieces to the breeze…leave all the resentment, the second guessing and fractured emotions in 2016.

Aside, from working on my intrinsic factors to grow, there are extrinsic factors that influence your growth like the people in and around you.For instance, the Pepsi uncle who didn’t believe in the Macintosh, and subsequently ousted Steve jobs from apple circa 1984, bitches like that have to get a red card from your life with a lifetime ban, with no appeal. The need to be added to the somebody’s that I used to know folder in your brain.

My somebody that I used to know folder reads like this, things that need to be left in 2016

1. All the now popular term Fuckboys, the ones who only like you skin bearing insta photos, the males who like your ass but not your assets, those idiots who call you hot and not pretty, oh and that not because they lack the vocab they really just like your body and could care less if your discover plutonium
2. The Tywin Lannisters, who despite all your efforts to uplift their existence they still don’t care for your existence, those people who you could give 9 realms and 7 kingdoms too, but all they want is a small rock from the shadowlands beyond Ayrshire. No more being a crutch for anyone
3. Haters, naturally.

So I’m excited for 2017, breaking some habits will be hard but change comes with getting older. It’s the year, to be selfish with your mental space, with your heart and time. Life is too short to settle for less than you deserve. Just keep your head down and be patient with your goals…

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Anyways, love you,bye😘

Excuse me, while I dismount from my high horse

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So my last 3 posts sounded like a Taylor swift song, if it were written by maleficent, on her period. I make no apologies for my reductive reasoning on men of the 21st century. But maybe I should explain my bitchitis…

So yeah admittedly I’ve met a couple of douches along my way, who only wanted to ransack my Calvin Kliens, which I know is a tale as old as time but that was not the reason for my Adele-album sized melt-downed. Actually, I was really pissed how guys just start things with you and then decide, they’re going to lose you just like a Lego piece that you will find 20 years later under your sofa.

I was pissed about their assumptions and how if they truly said what they felt and wanted then I don’t know I would die or turn into a white walker, recently a friend said to me “when you assume, you make an ass out’ve you and me…” and that is basically as legit as Kris Jenner’s Berkin collection.

If you after a couple of texts, one or two chance encounters presume to know a person, then you deserve a Paul Scholes free-kick to the back of your head. Not all girls are going to knot their panties and through a hissy fit if you came at her like genuwine. I mean if you don’t like me, then you don’t. There isn’t anything in all the universes that I can do to make you change how you feel but at the same time, you don’t have to be an ass about it. All you have to do is be real, like Kanye west and tell it like it is.

“Words left unspoken, left us so brittle…” -Depeche Mode, “Precious”.

Pretty much sums up all the problems in this world, having to not express what you truly feel is like being trapped, and usually is why passive aggression is so popular. All the shade throwing and subtweets out of fear of the recipients reaction is usually the “why” people don’t say and do exactly what they feel. If you think about it, avoiding the problem is basically like passing a level of game, forgetting that eventually you going to get to the boss-level. There is always a boss-level, ignoring that fact doesn’t make it disappear.

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Also, you haven’t met all of the homosapiens on this planet, you haven’t assimilated their personas to assume that they will react negatively to your openness and transparency. Your honesty, admittedly would hurt but I’m 90% sure it won’t kill you or me, I mean after you have heart surgery or any surgery for that matter, it hurts but it didn’t kill you and if you can survive those odds, I doubt some words of truth will end mine or your existence.

In saying all of that, let me jump of this horse and say, everyone can’t be like me(i.e. honesty is the best policy & all…)and if all you want to do is go through life thinking that by not saying or doing anything will not hurt people, then that’s your choice. At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter how many spirited blog posts I write, it won’t inspire you change who and what you are, as long when you lay your head on that pillow tonight, you are happy with who you are.

Anyways, love you, bye😘

Douche Dicks Academy, Enrolling Now….

Good Evening, fair ladies and jerks! So lately I’ve been posting about all the fucked shit boys tend to do to me and other females, it got my gears turning…

If you’re a girl after reading that one sentence I know, your mind has already started listing the messed up things that have happened to you all by the hands of those penis having pleabeants. Like mine has already listed lies, cheating, pretending I don’t exist, bad at remembering game of thrones characters, snarling comments when I know more about soccer than he does, poorly tailored pants, briefs instead cotton boxers, the list is never ending as I’m sure you know.

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It got me thinking, there must be a reason for this dishonorable tendencies, like as a fairly smart girl I’m aware that some behaviors are either Innate behavior(which are instinctual and genetic) or learned behavior( that is behavior that must be directly taught or learned from experience). Having studied anatomy, physiology and psychology somehow I don’t remember any of those lectures explaining the innate ability of lying, cheating and manipulating. So those are definitely learned behaviors.

Learned behaviors are usually learned from parents, teachers and alike. Since I like my life, I would never point the finger on anyone’s parents so where then do they learn such behaviors?

I mean is there a Douchebag Express at platform 69 and 3/4 transporting theses douches to a mystical castle where they teach them how to lie, cheat and manipulate without thinking about the consequences of their actions, wait that sounds more like assassins maybe they met the Ras al ghoul of playerism and he teaches them how to assassinate my panties and it’s contents or they worship the many panty god, whose kind of like the many faced god but instead accepting human sacrifice as form of worship, this god likes to collect the panties of their victims.

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Cause you must go through some stringent training, to lie like it was drilled into you as if it were your timetables, cheat like you were being paid to do so and manipulate like your life depended on it.

Now I’m well aware that I sound like a bitter sour bitch, I mean if I was guy reading it I wouldn’t disagree but don’t take it personally or do I don’t care, but honestly what gives you the B-A-L-L-S to treat people in this manner?

I’m no saint, we all know that through my incessant perving over Rio Ferdinand, but it perplexes me how someone can hurt you using the above mentioned methods and have no remorse.You son, must be born without an anterior insula cortex, the part of the brain that processes empathy, cause only someone who lacks empathy would be fine and dandy with hurting someone. And if you were going to lack empathy, try using that super power for something better than being a talented mr fuckboy.

Maybe I’m just like overly sensitive, and like REM says everybody hurts, but why would you, in your short existence on earth, want to be the reason that someone hurts. Cause having a little bit of decency and morals never landed anyone on a crucifix except Uncle Jesus, and like I’ve told you before no one is ever going to accuse of being him.

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Anyways, love you, bye😘

When I grow up, all I want to be is not “hot”

Ola, amigos! As a girl living in the 21st century, no as a single girl living in the 21st century, people are always cautioning you about guys who only want to use you for your body and nothing more, and unfortunately this is a truth that every vagina wielding person must face sometime in their lifetime.

This happens to me more often than not, before you say “Oh, what a little Naomi Campbell you are…”, having men only want for your body, is not as appealing as usher Raymond makes it seem.

Boys/Men/The part of the human population who have an after-thought of a sexual organ protruding through those poorly tailored pants, can be thirsty AF. Yes, that is a massive generalization and will remain one until I meet someone/something who proves all my theories inconclusive. In a world where instant gratification is paramount and a growing population of Fuckboys, my theories are going to remain conclusive for a while.

Their play, is now as predictable as Jose Mourinho’s favored 4-3-3, It always starts with him calling you hot, followed by incessant texting and fawning over every skin-revealing-tight-dress-wearing instagram post and when he realizes that your panties are never touching the ground, it’s SILENCE, the silence that NASA gets from Mars!

Being called hot has the potential to have you feeling like Kim Kardashian after she breaks the internet but for me, being called hot, is a tell-tale sign that all he wants is to rip off my panties/thongs or g-strings and gentrify my gonads. I say gentrify, cause immediately after he enters and leaves me, I probably will feel as valuable as a 2-bedroom flat in Inglewood and a couple months or even years after a lot construction on my self-image, the value of my self-worth has quantified.

The feminist in me, wants to believe that if a guy treats you like a disposable pleasure rather than a meaningful pursuit, than you start treating guys similarly. And I am aware that there are girls/women who are down for the sex-only relationships, sometimes I try to convince myself that I can be one of those girls, but the cold hard truth is I’m not and a lifetime of idolising Paul Scholes tells me that I should be content with who I am and what I offer to the world around me.So, the nice girl, that I have been for the last 24 years has me to believing, that there is no way my conception came about just to satisfy some emotionally disconnected gits, wants.

I think of them as the Poonanibal Lectres of the world, cause remember all Hannibal wanted from his victims were their bodies, and all they want is the poonani, they could care less if you discovered water on mars. All they looking for is p-bomb on the v-bomb. Hence, the moniker #PoonanibalLectre.

Now let me drop some unsolicited truths, you know how guys never want to go from zero to relationship similarly some girls or at least this girl doesn’t want to go from zero to fuckgirl.

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I won’t admit to being a prude, cause with my mouth and all my thoughts about Rio Ferdinand, I know it can’t be true, but listen if you said to me “Uhm look I only starting talking to you cause I wanted to butter your muffin, but if that’s not going to happen there’s no reason to continue this conversation” I would respect that, might even convince the Nobel Commitee to create an award for you but the whole ignore her, she’ll forget game is played out, immature, mean and selfish AF! Obviously, I’m not 5 so I’m not going to assume every guy who utters 3 syllables to me is my future husband. Some of us, are cool with the transparency. And your honesty won’t kill me, cause once the brakes failed on my dads corolla and I survived…

So again being nice and honest never killed anyone besides that sexy Israeli guy who was born on 25 December. And not one person is going to assume that you are him, because your beard sucks and you can’t rock the long hair and sandals for shit.

Anyways, love you,bye😘

He/She Died Replying To Your Text

Sup, nerds! So I’ve been thinking yes overthinking about all the texts that I’ve sent and never gotten a reply, I’m like 500 000 % sure that we all have sometime or the other never gotten a reply, since like texting is the most common means of communication in the 21st century.

What is texting? It is a short and instant form of communication. Texting connects homosapiens. For me personally, I prefer texting mostly cause I suck at verbally expressing myself. Through texting we are able to converse with people all across this planet without having to pay exorbitant telephone bills, we are able to build and foster relationships when we cannot be close to those we love and like. My thinking is texting is a form of conversation and in a conversation you speak, I listen and comprehend and then I reply. So why isn’t normal conversational etiquette not necessary when texting?

I mean, for days nay for months I’ve been thinking of possible reasons to avoid replying to text messages, and I’ve come up with some theories, using my popcorn psychology

Theory 1: You receive a mass text or broadcast message about a sale, or some internet gimmick etc.
Reason not to reply, it’s kind of a PSA and not really a intimate setting in which a reply is warranted.

Theory 2: It’s a text from a random wrong number
Reason not to reply, that could be some kind of terrorist shiz, and you’re too young & beautiful to be a suicide bomber.

Theory 3: It’s a text from a person, you’ve kind of sort of maybe something with
Reason/s not to reply:
(a) You are genuinely busy AF & when I say busy AF, I mean you are defending the planet from Loki, Frost Giants or The damn Chitari or disarming a nuclear bomb cause really it would literally take you a millisecond to say “busy”, no need to be like “boo, I’m busy text later” a simple “busy” would get straight to it💁

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(b)You genuinely don’t like this person, you were mildly amused by their existence for a time and then you decided you don’t like them but you’re a spineless little drain rat with not a shred of honour or balls to tell that person that you don’t like them and also you find a sick comfort in leaving that door slightly open cause you know that as long you don’t completely come of it and say nothing will come of this thing, you stand a 0,5% chance of at least a booty call situation. Even it’s a casual thing, a reply wouldn’t kill you unless….🤔

(c) YOU WILL LITERALLY DIE, if you reply! Like for reals, Ultron tapped your mobile and if you text that person back, he will kill you not badly injure you, like literally 6-feet under being chewed on by maggots and like dead! ☠️

Haha, writing this was so much fun😂and like in my opinion, unsolicited of course, we should always strive to be honest, I mean honesty only ever killed a few people, amongst those was Jesus and please after all the dick/booty pic’s that half you lot exchange, not one person would ever relate you to the likes of him. But if you have any theories, share them with me🙌

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Anyways, love you, bye😘

Virusha, First of her name

Hello inter-webs and the global citizens that troll this wondrous labyrinth of pleasure. My name is Virusha, a 24 year old lass with an insatiable love for football, electronically produced music and all things nerdy/geeky. Like the first homosapien, I come from the cradle of mankind commonly known as the republic of South Africa, home is Ladysmith a tiny little seigetown up in Nothern KZN.

I started this blog, because I am absolutely certain that I’m not the only girly who has a brain that works a 9 to 5 plus overtime, I mean everyone in their twenties knows the never ending struggle over careers, boys/girls and babies so I figured why not share my turmoil with you sorry losers who are basically trolling the internet for either cats doing weird things or internet breaking Kardashian drama, so you might as well be reading my blog…

To be quiet honest, you won’t find a sex tape featuring Ray J here nor would you find my face smashed into a slice of bread like this poor kitten…

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What you would find is daily rumination courtesy of my overworking brain, some cool records now and then and definitely a lot of perv’ing on footballers & other bearded aesthetically blessed male homosapiens(before you assume I’m basic because I watch footie for the hotties, you’re wrong I know the offside rule and what a 4-4-2 is…)

So welcome to Kinky & My Brain, after all I’m just a girl sitting on their other side of your screen asking you to read and follow my blog or I will get the lady Melisandre to send forward a shadow demon to get you…..

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Anyway, love you, bye😘