I am an Ingrid.

Your result for Are You a Jackie or a Marilyn? Or Someone Else? Mad Men-era Female Icon Quiz...

You Are an Ingrid!

You are an Ingrid -- "I am unique"

Ingrids have sensitive feelings and are warm and perceptive.

How to Get Along with Me

• * Give me plenty of compliments. They mean a lot to me.


• * Be a supportive friend or partner. Help me to learn to love and value myself.


• * Respect me for my special gifts of intuition and vision.


• * Though I don't always want to be cheered up when I'm feeling melancholy, I sometimes like to have someone lighten me up a little.


• * Don't tell me I'm too sensitive or that I'm overreacting!

What I Like About Being an Ingrid

• * my ability to find meaning in life and to experience feeling at a deep level


• * my ability to establish warm connections with people


• * admiring what is noble, truthful, and beautiful in life


• * my creativity, intuition, and sense of humor


• * being unique and being seen as unique by others


• * having aesthetic sensibilities


• * being able to easily pick up the feelings of people around me

What's Hard About Being an Ingrid

• * experiencing dark moods of emptiness and despair


• * feelings of self-hatred and shame; believing I don't deserve to be loved


• * feeling guilty when I disappoint people


• * feeling hurt or attacked when someone misundertands me


• * expecting too much from myself and life


• * fearing being abandoned


• * obsessing over resentments


• * longing for what I don't have

Ingrids as Children Often

• * have active imaginations: play creatively alone or organize playmates in original games


• * are very sensitive


• * feel that they don't fit in


• * believe they are missing something that other people have


• * attach themselves to idealized teachers, heroes, artists, etc.


• * become antiauthoritarian or rebellious when criticized or not understood


• * feel lonely or abandoned (perhaps as a result of a death or their parents' divorce)

Ingrids as Parents

• * help their children become who they really are


• * support their children's creativity and originality


• * are good at helping their children get in touch with their feelings


• * are sometimes overly critical or overly protective


• * are usually very good with children if not too self-absorbed

Take Are You a Jackie or a Marilyn? Or Someone Else? Mad Men-era Female Icon Quiz at HelloQuizzy

Impure.

Your Ultimate Purity Score Is...
Category	Your Score	Average
Self-Lovin'	48.3% When I think about you - or anyone - I touch myself	64.6%
Shamelessness	57.1% It takes a couple of drinks	78.8%
Sex Drive	73.7% A fool for love, but not always	77.1%
Straightness	10.7% Knows the other body type like a map	43.8%
Gayness	87.5% Repressed, are we?	83.6%
Fucking Sick	82.3% Refreshingly normal	89.8%
You are 59.34% pure Average Score: 72.3%
Take The Ultimate Purity Test and see how you match up! (By The Ferrett)

Boyfriend.

With 27 thousand reasons why it won't work, why do I still have that little glimmer that it will? Why are there so many stupid outside forces that happen to be so stupidly important? I'm trying to actually secure a reasonably mature relationship. I'm not acting like a stupid kid obsessed with her significant other and I'm keeping my head up, putting on a good face, trying to deal with things waaaay outside of my comfort zone. And, wha-hey, giving up sex. And all because I really believe and want things to work out. I have this totally optimistic and bright-eyed idea that after just a few months everything will settle and sort themselves out and I'm not at all used to such hope. I'm overwhelmingly excited about what's gonna come of it and have moments of choking on nerves. I forgot what a surge of emotions this sort of thing can bring. Fingers crossed.

Fuck you.

Fuck you for making me so stupidly happy and fuck you for giving me someone to sleep with at night again. Fuck you for making me hope that something could actually work out for me. Fuck you for somehow creeping past my pessimism and cynical view of everything. Fuck you for telling me I'm awesome and making my heart and head swell and then juxtaposing that with all the reasons why you don't like me, why you shouldn't, why you won't. Fuck you for somehow coming in and with one fell swoop destroying the self-confidence that I managed to have for myself and for the first time in years and years and years actually making me wish that I was different. Fuck you for being you and fuck me for falling back into the place of that stupid little girl clinging to something she knows won't work out, for trying to hold onto the guy with one foot already out the door, and for keeping the bed warm should he decide to grace her with his presence again and give her even a quarter of a chance.

And fuck you for snoring all night and keeping me up.

DragonCon.

Had a ridiculously good time this weekend. Got to get away from work, go to interesting panels about the impending apocalypse and Shadow People, eye Nathan Fillion from afar, lean on railings and judge people, and ogle cute boys in spandex. Could there -be- a recipe for a better weekend?

With friends like these...

I love that my friends are trying to convince me that I really really like the guy who has absolutely no interest in me. Awesome. At least they make me Lemon Drops.

Men.

I hate that moment of realisation when it dawns on you that the person you're talking to only cares about you when he doesn't have anything else in his life. You know, the kind of guy that dotes on you and is totally your BFF until something, anything better comes along. The kind of guy that you resolve to not get into a close friendship with, so you stop calling and stop texting because you fucking hate that moment of realisation. And then he'll call you. Or text you. Some random day when you're not ready for it, when you haven't had time to prepare. You're blindsided and find yourself laughing and chatting like nothing ever happened. And then, after a few days of this, you start calling him...until you're venting about something random and you hear that distant tone in his voice when he says 'hey...let me call you back in a minute, okay?'. And at first you think, sure, he'll call me back. You're confident. And then it doesn't happen. And it hits you again.

Who the hell needs a boyfriend to do this when my male friends fill my daily recommended dose?

Confessions.

I’d forgotten how god damn cathartic blogging can be. Speaking of ‘god damn’, though, I’m going to try taking a page from the Catholics and confessing trespasses I’ve made (at least all I can remember) and apologizing to people. I’ll actually name names here, so if you don’t want to know shit I may have said about you, I wouldn’t read any further. These are in no particular order.

 

Nicole- I’m sorry I’ve called you crazy, slutty, and a cheater. I’m sorry for the (no)thing with Jack. And I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings.

Jack- I’m sorry I can’t like you that way. I’m sorry for leading you on. And I’m sorry for saying you kiss funny.

Raigh- I’m sorry for saying that you were kinda slutty, too. I’m sorry for saying you’re a flake and that you’re two-faced. I’m sorry for zipping away without a word of explanation as to why I did it. It wasn’t because you hurt me, believe it or not, but because I was afraid that you wouldn’t hesitate to do it again and it might hurt me next time.

Johnathan- I’m sorry I said you have problems.

Misc. guys that have come and gone- I’m sorry I likely called you creepy and probably gave you wrong phone numbers. I’m sorry I couldn’t be less shallow. I’m sorry I couldn’t like you for more than three days.

Beth- I’m sorry for saying that you’re annoying and slightly promiscuous. I’m sorry that I have a tendency to only befriend you when I need something.

Miles- I’m sorry for all those times that I called you a bad person. I’m sorry for all the shit that went down between us that made us hate each other.

Jerod- I’m sorry we made each other crazy.

Rykie- I’m sorry I called you overly feminist. I’m sorry that we’ve mostly lost touch. And I’m sorry that I conspired with your sister to ruin your life your senior year of high school. =P

Daniel- I’m sorry for that time frame after Amanda.

Jeska- I’m sorry I called you a tubby whore. I’m sorry we clashed so much as roommates.

Amber- I’m sorry I called you kinda flaky.

 

But you are. That’s enough for now; I was starting to feel like I was writing a suicide note or something. One last note: Just because I’m apologizing for these things doesn’t mean I take them back (for the most part) or that they won’t happen again. I never learn.

The Bet.

Whoever has sex first wins. It quickly became clear that it wasn’t gonna happen for either of us. So we did what we do best. Made it infinitely easier by changing it to ‘whoever gets a –kiss- first wins’ and made it slightly more insidious by adding the stipulation that the kissee can’t know that it’s for a bet. Only mildly heartless, right?

The sad thing? It’s been nearly a month now and neither of us are even close to winning. –sigh-

Girlfriends

Jill (as in Jill-off) and Jenn are best friends. Jenn beats a hasty retreat and Jill is heartbroken. I’m with you so far. Then Jill writes Jenn off, talks shit, and is generally bitchy. Which is understandable to an extent. Then Jill pairs up with Jane and the duo are inseparable. Jane finds out about past transgressions made by yours truly months and months ago, runs with half a story instead of finding out what happened, and writes –me- off. Why, yes, Augusta girls –are- overly-dramatic. What gave it away? Now because Jane has disowned me, Jill has followed suit. My loss, right? Then Jill and Jane have the expected blow-out and write each –other- off. What’s the logical next step here? Oh, right, Jane buddying up with Jenn. Ladies, ladies. How do you ever keep track of where your loyalties lie?

Please don’t feed me lines about some idealistic future

Your heart won’t heal right if you keep tearing out the sutures

 

So a week ago I sent him an email with Bowling for Soup lyrics (It’s too bad and it’s too late/You were such a big mistake/Please don’t call me anymore/…I used to miss you) and haven’t spoken to him since. I thought I’d have to run to get away, but it turns out we’d already drifted farther away than I could ever run.

 

“I wish I could have known you back before you were the cynical bitch you are now.”

“You wouldn’t’ve liked me. I was damn annoying.”

But then I remember a beautiful lady who –did- like me. Liked me a fuck of a lot. And I can see her sitting with me in that hellhole apartment where I was slowly drained of my sanity and sunny disposition. And I hear her asking, “What happened to you?”. And I want to cry.

 

I’m not going to name names. This isn’t about calling people out or pointing fingers. This is about me, not you. Don’t get me wrong; there will be shit-talking and plenty of it. But the names have been changed to protect…hell, is anyone innocent anymore?