Vivvystrome

Girl blogging amateur

[yuniesbby]

[vivvstrome]

Chapter 3: The Manatee Moment

He looked me up and down, scrunched his face, and said, “You look like a manatee,” and “You’re fat.”

What? Excuse me? Fat? I’m 166 cm with a body that’s soft in all the right places—94 cm bust, 68 cm waist, and hips that make people look twice. And he—the guy who looks like he’s spent his whole life in a permanent state of pubescent awkwardness—has the nerve to come for me?

Let’s get real. I might not be a size zero, but I’m healthy, I have curves, and I have the kind of body that guys literally gawk at. My curves are well-proportioned, and I have the confidence to rock it. I’m not the one here talking about anyone’s body like I’m some runway model. But no—he decided to come for me? Pathetic.

This dude—he’s the most pathetic man on the planet. Here I am, just minding my business, and he’s over here looking like he’s been raised by the “low-budget hipster” community, with his patchy goatee and cheap weed smell clinging to his fake, dark denim skinny jeans. Who the hell does he think he is, talking about my body while he’s lusting after a literal child?

But anyway, I left that circus behind and went back to my dorm, thankfully. I said my goodbyes to everyone—including him—because I was DONE. And you know what that garbage human said to me? “Fuck off.”

Good riddance.

Honestly, I was in my lutheal phase at the time, so my self-esteem took a hit—yeah, we all go through it. But there’s no way I was going to let this trash make me sad. No. So, I did what any self-respecting woman would do—I hit up my boy toy. I know I’ve got plenty of people who appreciate my company, my body, and everything I bring to the table.

I’m not about to let someone so beneath me drag me down. Like, hello, I’ve had models, athletes, and pilots in my bed. This dude? Please.

I was living my best chaotic brat life in my feral era, doing what I do best—having fun. But then, came the day of the Freshman Sports Day (for all the fresh meat at my college), and I was unbothered. That day, I spent it with my 6’4 architect man, Mister D. Not the star of this show though—he was a real man, unlike that garbage human we all know.

So, after a lovely time with Mister D—he drove me in his BMW, dropped me off at the sports hall for my volleyball game, and guess who decided to crawl out from the depths of hell? The human dumpster fire himself. The one who ruined my self-esteem on the regular. Oh, it gets worse.

My friends, being the little sh*t stirrers they are, teased me relentlessly about being with Mister Dumpster fire  And then, this trash man has the nerve to say, “If I were to have you, I’d pick your best friend to be my second wife.” Like, what?!

The audacity. The nonsense. The absolute clownery.

At that point, I was a naïve 19-year-old, and—yeah, it stung. I let it get to me. But you know what I did? I called up Mister D—because no one should have to deal with this BS alone—and

he came back to pick me up. He took me out of that awful situation and comforted me when I needed it the most.

At this point, I was seriously considering making things official with Mister D, but then my little sht* of a friend started gaslighting me into thinking this walking dumpster fire was actually nice and not that bad. Spoiler alert: He was still trash. They apologized later on, but by then, I had already decided to keep my distance from that garbage.

Of course, it’s never that easy. We’re in the same class, and we had to go to some freshman camp together. Ugh, of course, the universe loves testing me

.

[vivvstrome]

Chapter 2: The Beach House Disaster

So, things started to take a turn for the worst when my friend group—who, at the time, apparently had a death wish—decided it was a great idea to hit the beach during our midterm break. And of course, who was there? He was. The main ingredient in the disaster stew, just waiting to happen. We rented a villa with six bedrooms and a pool. Naturally, I was planning to crash with my girlies, as one does. But the universe, in its infinite cruelty, decided that fate had other plans for me.

The girls locked the bedroom door. Yeah, locked me out. So, with no other choice, I decided to sleep on the sofa on the first floor. At least it was quiet, right? Wrong. Dead wrong.

There he was, drunk off his ass, screaming and singing karaoke like it was his personal concert. And then—then—he starts screeching about the childish-looking girl in the music video, who apparently had the “best smile” and made him melt. I’m sorry, but what the actual f*ck?!? The dude had issues, and I could already feel my brain slowly shutting down.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I grabbed the nearest bottle of Vodka(the stuff that we all secretly love) and chugged it like my life depended on it. Seconds later? I was passed out.

The next thing I know, I wake up in his bedroom—and guess what? He’s not even there. I was alone in the room, half-drunk, with no clue how I ended up there.

So, I woke up in the middle of the night, feeling like my brain had been run over by a truck. There he was again—still singing like it was his personal karaoke battle. But this time, he

carried me up to his room. I don’t even know how, but somehow, I ended up in his bed. I was half-drunk, completely out of it, and my first thought was, “What the hell just happened?”

But then? My body said, “Hell no,” and I hauled my half-sleeping self out of his bed. I wasn’t about to sleep next to him—absolutely not. I had better options, like… the sofa. The beloved sofa in the living room, away from all of his cheap-ass weed smoke and karaoke delusions. So, I stumbled down the stairs like a drunken mess, dragging my half-conscious self to the first floor.

Meanwhile, he’s down there, high as a kite on whatever garbage weed he had, singing at the top of his lungs about that childish-looking girl—and I’m just over here, praying for the sweet relief of being as far away from that mess as possible.

So, there I was, barely alive from the vodka, and I crawled down the stairs like a wounded animal just trying to find comfort on the damn sofa. I passed out immediately, completely unaware of the disaster that was unfolding.

Then, the next morning (or, really, noon?), my friends burst into the room, and guess what they find? Me, fully clothed—thank God—lying next to him in bed. Not even sure how I ended up there, but they immediately started shipping us like we were some rom-com couple.

I cannot with these people.

So there I am, trying to recover from my night of bad decisions, and this guy has the nerve to scream, “EW!!? EW!? Excuse me?!” Like he didn’t just carry my drunk ass up to his room in the first place. The audacity. But, I was trying to be a nice person, you know? I didn’t want to start drama in front of everyone, especially since I barely knew most of these people. I kept my mouth shut—figured I’d just leave it. But then, he had to take it a step further.

[vivvstrome]

Chapter 1: The Introduction—A Match Made in "Not-So-Great" Heaven

When I first started med school, I was thrown into a big group of friends, and, of course, they all thought I’d be perfect with him. I mean, that’s how these things go, right? Everyone’s got their match made in “maybe-not-so-great” heaven. But here’s the thing—I wasn’t buying into their idea of destiny. The first thing I heard about him was that he’d been caught catcalling another girl in our class. Red flag, right? Yeah, I thought so too.

But it didn’t stop there. As if the catcalling wasn’t bad enough, I also found out about the child on his wallpaper. Yes, you read that right—a literal child. Like, how am I supposed to take a man seriously when his phone is a tribute to some middle schooler? I was done before I even gave him a chance.

Still, the group kept pushing me towards him. So I ignored him. I’d rather deal with a guy who respects women than some guy who thinks catcalling and child-like wallpaper was cute. But then came that fateful first day in class… and let me just say—he walked in wearing sunglasses and skinny jeans like he was about to hit a runway in Cambodia, not a medical school lecture.

I’ve never been so instantly uncomfortable in my life.

The night before I actually met him in class, his friend—who was also my friend at the time—begged me to take him to a party to introduce him to the girl he’d catcalled. I agreed, not thinking much of it. I mean, it’s not like I was planning on getting involved with this guy, right? He passed out at the party, totally useless. Honestly, I felt bad for the guy, thinking maybe he was just messed up. But how the hell did I end up with this trash?

I’m not being cocky, but let’s just say I know what I bring to the table. I’ve had my fair share of experiences—and I’m not talking about your average dudes. I’ve banged models, athletes, and even pilots. All of them? Over 6 feet tall, successful, and rich rich. So when I found myself in this weird situation with someone who couldn’t even handle his liquor, I was already questioning how I went from high-flyers to this.

For weeks after that first meeting, we had these awkward, distant interactions in class. I was always running late (classic me), and, for some reason, the seat next to him was always free. I wondered why, but at the time, I didn’t really care. I had way more important things to do—like avoiding the guy who still gave me the heebie-jeebies.

Then one day, I was starving in class, and there he was—this man, sitting next to me, devouring a double-pocket sandwich like he was prepping for a food challenge. He looks at me, sees that I’m dying for some food, and offers me a bite. A small part of me was like, “Okay, maybe he’s not the worst.” But then he handed me half of that sandwich, and—no lie—it wasn’t even my favorite filling. So I politely asked if I could switch it out, and his response? “What the f*ck, I’m being kind giving this to you!” and then proceeded to call me ungrateful.

I’m sorry, did I just get attacked for asking to switch sandwich fillings? This man was a special kind of rude, and I knew from that moment I needed to keep my distance. So I tried to just enjoy my harem of company, avoiding him for the next few weeks and pretending he didn’t even exist.

[vivvstrome]

The Worst Ex Ever: A Survival Story of Dating a Walking Disaster

Welcome to the Chaos

They say every girl has that one ex, the one who just makes you shake your head and wonder how you ever got involved with them in the first place. Well, let me tell you about mine—the kind of guy who made me reconsider my whole taste in men. From stalking to blackmailing, poop in the toilet (yes, you read that right), and everything in between, my ex is the true definition of a disaster.

And don’t even get me started on the fungus.