  60 Years of Solitude I am resigned to a new life of hermetic solitude. No, not resigned, more like I am preparing myself. It would be romantic and literary to call my new life plan "100 Years of Solitude" but I'm 26 now.
I do not want to live to see 126. I will be quite content leaving my body at 86. Anyway, I have lost my faith in love and romance so I'm going to hang out by myself for a while. Because even though I feel disheartened that this XX thing was stupid and sad, certain things remind me that life goes on. For instance, on the bus ride home everyday, I feel like crying because the commute is so long and impersonal and the workday was hard and I feel really lonely among the corpo-drones, but at the same time, I will also feel that I also really need to do a #2. What is the meaning of my meaning? That whether you're happy or sad, life goes on. And life = finding a comfortable place to have a P.M. B.M.
When I get home to my room full of distractions and my personal bathroom brimming with piles of glorious magazines, the sad feelings disappear. There are more immediate matters to attend to. In contemplation of my new spinster life, what are the necessary components to being a successful spinster? I am thinking hella cats. Spinsters always have hella cats. Unfortunately this won't be feasible because my apartment building doesn't allow pets and my roommates are allergic to cat hair. I am thinking that the modern spinster has cool hair, cool clothes, and trampy underwear. And by "trampy" I mean limp cotton and baggy in the butt.
And hanging out with LingL makes me want to become a lesbian. The only thing preventing me from becoming a lesbian is that I won't eat pussy! I really don't want to because it requires so much effort. I just like to take it easy... Lay back... Relax... And when boyfriends'd come at me with pussybreath, I'd shriek at the foul fumes. I am thinking that perhaps eating pussy is like eating durian.
The rank, uric odors will discourage the squeamish and conservative and heterosexual, but once you get a taste of the sweet fruit, you are in heaven though your breath is not. Maybe I just need a really hot girlfriend. If she was really hot, it wouldn't matter because when you're hot, your pussy tastes like ripe California peaches. This is true. I read it in a magazine. 
