This Girl Has No Faith In Medicine: the marvel of modern titles (the 'Life Is Just Like' edition)

Force majeure meet labia minora; now shake on it. You gotta admit: not everyday you find sweet-smelling panties in the glovebox. Lucky, you know, like a penny; and you could wager a dollar, even your bottom one, that I'm going to write about love and heartache, the universal currency. Currently, I'm spending more time in the love camp but I'm fiercely independent and never needed no man (to break my heart, do it on my own dime and without much help, thankyouverymuch.) Speaking of men, did anyone ever figure out a way to make them fucking act right? Without neutering them, I mean? Because someone really should get on that. Me? Oh, no, I'm sososorry, I don't volunteer anymore; bad experience with ARC when I was a kid, you understand, and anyway, I'm just too very busy, trying not to try mine's nerves, by (over)stating the obvious or just driving real bad. Pick an excuse, any excuse: heredity, biology, drug addiction, drug withdrawal, circadian's out of rhythm, overworked, underfucked, what the fuck have you? You have a fuckin' bulletproof plausible deniability, now available in kirkland-size for the responsibility-shirker in all of us. Now feign surprise and cue pretend shame while you wave goodbye to the fancy of your youth, like. It finally occurred today that any man that I love will always have to have a compelling and rational reason to make me his wife because I just lack that requisite x-factor that inspires the kind of adoration that makes a man reckless; should've washed my face more. Don't scowl or suspire, I am not as piteous as I make myself sound; and I've made plenty of boys cry, but I am mostly guileless and play with my cards face up; never learned to bluff. Its just that today I had that crystalline moment of realization, like when you realize that the beauty of your youth has faded and that now you are just weird-looking, but you find some measure of confidence in knowing that there are always weirder. Its realizing that you are that tree: sprouted in a most geographically inconvenient location, right near the breakdown lane, dancing an awkward forced limbo under a live wire; slavishly contorted but still surviving. But everyone loves trees, right?