Why Girls Are Weird Read Online Free PDF

Then I was flooded with the jealousy of another person getting picked first. I didn’t need a husband to prove I was worth something. I just hated being second.
    Or last. God, don’t let me be last. The Spinster. The Old Maid. Aunt Anna With the Cats. I don’t have to be next, but please, please, please, I can’t be last.
    The guy at the Circle K already had a pack of Marlboro Lights and a 20-ounce Diet Coke sitting on the counter when I walked in. “I saw you walking up! I know what you want!” He beamed. How did everyone else know what I wanted? Why couldn’t I have that insight?
    I got home, grabbed a bottle of beer, smacked my pack of cigarettes against the inside of my wrist and then opened them. I sat down to my computer. I lit a cigarette, took a breath, and I wrote. I wanted it to be okay to feel like this. It’d be okay if I were Anna K.

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    Girlie Thoughts
    LATER, 30 JUNE
    I never start this off by saying “Dear Diary.” Sometimes I wonder if I should. Tonight, because I want to sound more like a diary than a column, I’m going to.
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    Dear Diary,
    I’m going to pretend that you’re quiet, secret pages locked somewhere in a drawer and that you’re not the Internet. I’m going to pretend it’s just me here tonight because what I’m about to say makes me appear to be weaker than I ever thought myself to be. Dear Diary, I’m sad tonight.
    A friend of mine is getting married, and even though that doesn’t make me any less of a person, and being single at this age is perfectly normal, I want to say right here and right now that I feel like I’m not on the right path. No, maybe I am. I don’t know. It’s just not the path that my parents followed, and it’s not the path that movies are made out of.
    My life so far isn’t going to make much of a movie. That’s something I’ve been thinking about lately. If my life were a movie, how would I want it to end? Does someone swoop in and carry me off into the sunset? Is it Ian? Does anyone have to? Can’t I be the swooper? Why do I have to wait to be chosen?
    I like to think that I’m a completely independent woman capable of running her own life without the help of others. I like to think that. I know it’s not true. I depend on others for fun, advice, help, and favors. Right now there’s nobody around, and nobody’s home, and there’s nobody to commiserate with about someone else just getting chosen to get out of the game. I’m alone tonight because my friends are busy and Ian’s not here. He’s been out of town and will be for a while, so I don’t know when things are going to get easier. I hate that I feel this way. I hate breaking down, shutting down, just because there’s nobody around to keep me up.
    Last night I went to get a glass of water, but I couldn’t find a glass. They were in the dishwasher, dirty. As I turned the dishwasher on, I realized that it’s quite possible I haven’t run a load of dishes in over two weeks.
    I never remember to do laundry. If I do, I usually forget to put it in the dryer. The next day, when I do put the clothes in the dryer, I forget to hang them up. I run out of steam right there. I’ll pull all of the clean, warm clothes out of the dryer, give them a half-assed fold, and then put the basket on the floor of my bedroom. I honestly can’t remember the last time I went to the store to buy groceries.
    But that’s nothing compared to the hardest part. When it gets this lonely, and I’m feeling this down, I can’t sleep. I sit silently on my couch, listening to the wind hitting the building, and I think about things I should be doing or things I want to do. I worry about things I haven’t done yet. I worry I’m running out of time.
    I can’t sleep. I try to clear my head by creating a pillow-and-blanket boyfriend to spoon against. It doesn’t