behave decently, be an obedient and exemplary Christian, because there is no place for harlots in heaven.
So you stand in a dilemma: bright makeup is not allowed, God does not want it. You walk around pale as a moth, and pretty boys pay attention only to those whose natural beauty outshines all the other parishioners.
Brad, really?
That is, in the battle for the best guy, the one who doesn’t need makeup a priori wins.
And the dull gray mouse gets exactly the same mediocre guy. And everything would be fine, because there are a lot of couples like that, and they live happily, love each other (I don’t mean it as a reproach, forgive me for God’s sake if I offended anyone), but there are also those who don’t settle for the average, give them the best .
I'm very ambitious. I always wanted to be on top.
I don't think I'm giving up yet.
Every time I increase the upgrade level to reach new heights.
Now I’m thinking about going to Hollywood, I’ll start with small roles, and then we’ll see how it goes. Look, in this life I’ll star in the main one.
Then, at fourteen, I didn’t want to agree with the vow of celibacy. She constantly tried it on herself and threw it aside with contempt.
I prayed that God would not give me such misfortune, that he would bypass me and reward Olya, well, let Christina, Nastya, Valya in extreme cases, but not me.
They are all married now, just like me, but then they were so afraid. They were afraid, but did not show these feelings. They held firm.
I was the weakest of all, the first to start putting on makeup, and so brightly, to be sure. I didn't even give up on getting David.
He was in a relationship, and I asked him to teach me how to play the guitar, suggested we go for a walk, supposedly discuss the Bible, and arranged gatherings with mutual friends at his house. All this was seasoned with a ton of makeup and a deep neckline.
Even after that unfortunate under-kiss, I carried out attacks on the poor couple of guys in love. I think these were attacks on my loneliness. I fought him desperately.
I went to clubs, met with guys in between, until I left for a bigger city, where, as I wrote earlier, I almost locked myself in a monastery for three years.
Do you know what was there? Three years of celibacy. It’s so funny, I fought with him so much and lost. Beaten and defeated, with my tail between my legs, I resigned myself to this fate and stopped trying.
In the dorm, I was a nasty nerd who, at twenty-three, could go into the kitchen and rip someone's stereo cord out of the socket because I wanted to sleep. The whole floor was having fun and listening to this music, it didn’t bother anyone, but they were afraid of me. I complained, after all.
I laugh, but in those years I was stiff and hypocritical, like an old woman.
I masturbated then too. But she hid it from everyone, fearing to spoil her image of decency.
These were strange years in my life. I had a lot of friends, I won’t say that I missed you, but life in fear of God’s punishment is very depressing.
Christian girls, friends of those days of mine, if you are reading this book and are still not burned with shame, then come to your senses.
There is no one in this life who would live it for you. If you are unhappy, then it will get worse, only depression and antidepressants while waiting for a better life in paradise. I have already seen girls like this, dreaming of quickly getting off this rushing train called “life”, instead of picking up speed and winning themselves.
There will be no other source of happiness except yourself. No one, no heavenly powers will make you happy if you have not learned to generate happiness in yourself.
Okay, let's move on. I'll tell you a little later about my episode of apathy.
In the meantime, here are examples of girls who thought they were under a curse, ugh, you misspoke again, a vow of celibacy.
Inessa, a plump thirty-five-year-old girl, married a rich Finn, travels with him around the world.
Sonya, a masculine, stooped, bespectacled daughter of a village priest, married a young pastor from another village.
Another Sonya (the spitting image of John Lennon in a skirt) married a new parishioner.
Masha hurried up and married an alcoholic, but the truth overcame loneliness. Was it worth it? She knows better.
Sveta, she went on exchange from the University to Norway, there she found herself a tall, curly-haired Jew who lives in Israel.
Zhanna married her childhood friend, but I think she’s worried that her betrothed is still wandering around somewhere.
Zoya married a very hardworking guy. Do they have orgasms? I don't know, but they have fun together.
Zhenya is married for the second time.
Edita is on the verge of divorce, but in my opinion she never doubted herself. If he gets divorced, a dozen more people will immediately appear.
I… But about myself a little later (I’m married, I looked for a long time, I found it).
You know, there is such a belief that if a woman is over thirty and has not been married, then she is an old maid.
I think we weren't afraid of celibacy, we were afraid of being labeled an old maid. We were afraid of old age in principle.
And if someone had shown me then an example of a happy old woman’s life: a biker jacket, a biker jacket, no wrinkles, pumped up, wearing makeup, well, maybe a little Botox for the sake of gloss, heels and latex trousers, my life could have been different.
Have you seen Mylene Farmer? Not married, no children, that is, no relationship with some handsome guy, and all this is seasoned with concerts for millions of fans peeing with delight.
These are the kind of women that need to be shown to young girls, so that they don’t realize themselves yet, and don’t even worry about being lonely after thirty.
Now Mr. President will condemn me, but what about the state order for children? Dear sir, I am not against children or marriage, I am for conscious marriage and creating a family.
Girls, girls, women, realize yourself, strive to be happy, the rest will come later.
"Painful breakup."
If we take the chronology, then after unrequited love for the man of my romance, I experienced my first painful breakup. If you look at life in general, then I had at least three of these.
So, let's start with the debut. It’s, as you know, going out into the world for the first time and finding yourself dirty, or naked. As it happens in a dream. you walk like this through the snow in only a sweater, no boots, no socks, and what’s worse is that you don’t even have panties. Such an under-exhibitionist.
Who had this? Yeah, I see hands raised, there are a lot of us.
So, finding yourself in love for the first time after a breakup is cruel.
The second and third time you get more or less used to it.
But the first time you completely lose your head. You try to get him back, call, write, follow him around, ask for forgiveness, have sex just so that he doesn’t do this with anyone else but you, get angry with him, complain to your friends about what a scoundrel he is.
But from the perspective of my current situation, I could just as diligently take up sports, dancing, drawing, going to a theater group, doing what I was called to do.
I don’t argue that I may also have a vocation for the return of runaway guys, but considering that now I have a beloved husband, and they were left behind,