You see the problem with this is…
It makes no real sense.
I’m not one to pass judgement. I’m not the jealous type. I’m that far gone I’m not even sure what day it is, what I ate last night, what I’m eating tonight for that matter or which Government is in parliament at the moment - which I’m pretty sure everyone hates anyway considering everyone’s being more depressing than ever.
Yet every time I come across this asshole I go beyond all forms of reasoning and have an outer body experience where everything I’m not I seem to be.
Suddenly I’m this jealous needy unsettled passive aggressive bitch with a vagina set out with a vengeance dying to love and care and chase after this one cryptic guy who I know will never love me back regardless of how great I am in bed. Which I might add came at a price but I’m not going into that right now.
Possibly not ever.
Anyway…
Let’s start from somewhere where I can go from some form of chronological order.
The name’s Andra Whay. Cassandra sounded like your typical boring 17 year old virgin living in Victorian times trying to be sassy so I forced Andra onto people until it eventually stuck. Not that I’m saying there’s anything wrong with being a virgin, or living in Victorian times - except for the poor hygiene and the Elizabeth Bennets and Darcy’s of the world - but you get the idea, I’m neither of those. You might be wondering why I didn’t just shorten it to Cass. Let’s be honest, that would be so mainstream and in this century that just doesn’t cut it. My parent’s are divorced and I would like to bore you with all the juicy details of how I come from a broken home yadda yadda but that’s just yawn with a capital ‘y’. Being an only child from my mum and dad’s anti-climactic letdown of a marriage has its perks. All you need to know for now is my dad is a legend and my mum is more towards clinically insane than she’d like to acknowledge. They’ve both remarried so life goes on clearly. In terms of my step-parents…One out of two ain’t bad.
So I lost my virginity at a Freddie Berset concert to my best friend. Don’t ask me why it kinda sorta just happened. You’ve got a lot of bass and a lot of heavy kick ass music playing, the energy is intense, its super crowded and you somehow find yourself making out with a guy you’ve been best friends with for most of the relevant years of your life and the next thing you know you’re in the backseat of a Honda Pacific in an isolated car park getting boned from the back - which I might add was overly ambitious for a first timer when everything feels ten times bigger than it really is but when you’re that high off something a ‘friend’ passed onto you whilst the opening act was playing to stop you from being a depressing cunt these things just tend to go by unnoticed. Chase and I are still friends of course. You might be wondering how we managed to get through losing our virginity to each other so I’m guessing this would be a good time to mention that Chase is more of a carrot muncher. And if you didn’t get that, Chase is gay. He pretty much had an epiphamy straight after our Honda adventure and realised he doesn’t walk the straight line. Most women would be insulted, but honestly I’m glad I got him to open up and discover something about himself he hadn’t quite realised. Plus I can tick off having a gay best friend off my check list.
Although there are times when I feel he just says he’s gay just so he can check out girls from a much closer angle, because for some reason girls like to flash gay men. I’ve asked him and all I got was ’ I may be gay, but a man can appreciate a woman’s assets regardless of his sexual preference’.
Such a smart ass.
So really from a snapshot my life is incredibly random if for a lack of better words.
Although I hate it I’m growing up. All the stuff I do illegally won’t be as much fun anymore when I’m legal in a few months. After that I’m just trying to cope with living in a capitalist and women oppressing society and that ladies and gentlemen is just sad.
Which leads me onto my current situation, but I’ll get into that soon enough…
