FYI: I still do have anger management issues

I am one of those people who want to have their cake and eat it, too. Preferably as soon as possible. Usually the cake is not even ready when I'd already like to have it. I am trying to grow out of this by starting an actual diet. Not one of my classics "Well I will just eat this Mars bar now, but I will go for a run later." Yeah I know it burns the calories, but it still leaves the guilt and the sweet touch of chocolate lingering somewhere on my tongue. Not good.

No, I am not morbidly obese. No, I am not anorexic. I am a normal female citizen struggling to fit in the mould the society is trying to force me in. But in this case, I'd rather fit. Let me defend myself (that's what I am good at):
- I am trying to lose a couple of silly pounds (well, 15) so that I could, for once, feel comfortable in this body
- I have gained some weight. I lost my self-discipline somewhere along getting kicked out of a job (which was shit anyway) and finding myself back in the country that has never felt warm. In any way. I sound like a fucking emo-kid right now, but I do not give a flying rat's ass about that. Shit I wish I had a flying rat. I would totally teach it some cool tricks...

Enough about that.

Assuming that some pathetic bastard reads the crap I type, I promise you: I will be updating. More. More often? Anyway.

What really annoys me are the bitches at the gym. You know the type, if you ever have set a foot in the gym. I really hope you are not one of them!

There are two types of bitches.

Type A:

- These are the alpha females/males.
- They work out every fucking day. Just because. They know everyone who works or has ever worked at the gym.
- They look at you like you're a piece of crap.
- Eventually they will accept you as a new "gym bitch" after you've shed the extra weight and can show some
toned muscles.

Type B:

- These people do not even work out.
- They come to the gym wearing all new latest fucking Stella McCartney for Adidas crap / something trendy anyway.
- Some women do not wear a bra. They want the attention. Yes, you have nipples - AMAZING. Never seen those things before,
I believe they are made of meat, aren't they?
- They come to the gym so they can say they've gone to the gym.
- They can spend hours a day at the gym, doing nothing. Or just some small swinging movement on a fitness ball.

And I have a question for you, all my fellow gym chicas:

Why do some women wear three or four bras at the gym? How about you pay some more money and buy a proper fucking sports bra. And get them fitted, it is FREE. You might wanna show your tits now, but just give it a couple of years of running on a treadmill...

That's all folks.

Oh Google

I just Googled myself.

Twisted? Weird? Shut up, we all have done that sometimes. Usually this is done when you are so bored you think you're about to go mad. That happens to me quite often.

It is funny to notice how the results have changed during the past couple of years. The last time I Googled myself I was about 19 years old. (Wow, where has the time gone?) Then the results weren't even about me. They were about other Anni's with the same disgustingly long last name, which you always have to spell to everyone. Frustrating! These other Anni-named people were teachers, athletes or other crap.

Now I actually found myself! After a few badly-written news stories in the Daily 49er (I apologize to all the editors) I actually found myself online! That was easy, considering I have wasted the last 23 or so years in search of true me. Excellent! Now I finally have time for my hobbies... Which I have none. Seriously, what the fuck actually is a "hobby"? Scrap-booking? Amateur pornography? Midget porn?

I DON'T HAVE ANY FUCKING HOBBIES! Yet. Maybe when I am retired.

I am going to by a Polaroid-camera, maybe that will bring me fame and glory... or at least a hobby. Plus I think Polaroid-cameras are awesome.

Try Googling yourselves, it really makes a difference.

P.S. Some irritating little dicks are having fun outside my building, it made me to think of this song. I love the band, too. Ignore the old and poor-quality video, just listen the lyrics.

Yes, I happen to have an accent

I want three statement T-shirts.

1. "Do I look like a vending machine to you?"
2. "This is my otter shirt"
3. "Yes, I have an accent."

First one is easy to explain.

No matter where I go or what I do it seems that someone always wants something. Whether it is a quarter, dollar or a cigarette, I don't care. It is just so painfully annoying that people want things they can't fucking have. I am not giving them anything.

I was waiting for a bus the other day and a guy WHO LIVES ACROSS THE STREET went through the trouble of crossing the street, came to me and wanted a cigarette. He was on the phone and just yelled at me: "Give me a cigarette!" Rude, huh? I didn't give him one. The expression on his face was worth of that one magical two-letter word. Oh and next to his fucking house is a gas station. Go buy your own cigarettes, dick.

The second T-shirt would just be funny. And cute. Otters are funny and cute, thus the shirt would be funny and cute, too.

Third one is also easy to explain. As a Finnish person studying my degree in the UK, and now doing an study exchange in the United States I hear people commenting on my accent every day. And I fucking hate that, it makes me sick. SICK! Yes, I happen to have an accent - how many languages do you speak? I speak three languages fluently so you go back to your pathetic life and fuck yourself while you're at it.

Sometimes I feel it would be easier just to speak Lolcat.

In general, I just hate everything.