AN: Extreme apologies for El's extreme swearing on her blog

Chapter Text

What's up, bitches?

I need to say this to every girl out there. Maybe even some guys, but definitely every girl.

You've probably heard the phrase and rolled your eyes at it. "There's someone for everyone"

Let me tell you: When someone fucking tells you that and you are already feeling lonely and useless you just want to punch them in the fucking face.

I mean, you hope they are right, but you have no faith in humanity that it will actually happen for you.

Now that I've reminded you of this and you've just started to feel shitty for the whole day: They are right. There IS someone out there for everyone.

And let me also tell you this:

It is a very humbling experience to meet your soulmate.

To know that person will love you unconditionally, would die for you in fact. Humility doesn't even cover it. To meet that person you know you have loved your entire life… including all your past lives. Even if you haven't met them yet. Yes I'm a believer. If that bothers you, well yup, you guess it: Go fuck yourself sideways. Hard.

Let me tell you about my day yesterday.

I took a bus back to my hometown. I don't have a lot of good memories there, so I've taken to calling it Shitkins, or Cuntkins (sorry dad :( ) sometimes Hawkaloogey. I'd say that nothing ever happens there but plenty did. People are in prison because of some of it. (Hi, Dr. Brenner, you fuckhole, you reading this online? Did Bubba let you use some of the internet after you blew him? I hope you're bleeding from the asshole right now after they passed you around. You fukkin' fuck.

A lot of you might be thinking I'm too harsh. Nobody deserves that.

That's because you are fucking clueless.

Sorry everyone. I have baggage with a lot of stinky shit in it. Example: the above mentioned fucktard physically and emotionally abused me for the first 12 years of my life. Made me wear a hospital gown for fuck's sake. No panties either. I've pissed on the floor in a corner of a dark, cold room more times than I care to remember. I thought it was fucking normal, until my dad told me otherwise.

So no. I don't really give a fuck how many times is ass or face is raped on a daily basis. Hopefully for a good 12 years.

Anyyyyyways, I took a bus to my shithole hometown.

I met my friend Max, I've mentioned her before, at a bar in town. She introduced me to her boyfriend. I have to laugh. She has him wrapped around her little finger. He's gaga over her. He's a really nice guy though, and I think the two of them will be happier together.

The conversation got very surreal when my shyness came up.

Shyness? Yes. Fuck off.

It turns out his best friend IS THE GUY ON THE BUS. I shit you not.

I started to cry when I read his blog. Lucas (that's Max's boyfriend) tried to comfort me. I got the distinct feeling he wanted to hug me, to keep me safe. Like I said. It was surreal.

But not only that. Apparently HE is the person who was "fixing" my code. I had mixed feelings about wanting to rip him a new asshole… or tonguing it. Yes, mouthbreathers. That was for you.

Max drove us to his place. I thought I'd be sick. If this was him… if this was really him. I hope to fuck he never read my blog. I tend not leave a very good fucking impression. See what I mean? :)

When they dropped me off it was starting to rain. It also looked like we'd be getting another thunderstorm. I hate those with a passion. I just fucking hate them.

I knocked on the door and when it opened…

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. It was HIM! I had that same feeling I had on the bus. No not the wet between my thighs, you mouthbreathers, the OTHER one.

The feeling you get girls, when you meet your soulmate.

The best part is that I know he felt it too. I could see his knees shake and he had to hold himself steady on the door. I was sure I was going to faint.

He came over and put his hands on my hips to keep me from falling over. I admit. I got all tingly. He put his forehead against mine, and I put my arms around his neck.

I fucking swear at the EXACT same time we both said, "You found me."

Now I know that some of you are not going to believe this… but he gave his heart to me.

He said some very sweet things, and maybe from anybody else, they would have been a a bad pick up line. I knew they weren't… because...

Because... HE GAVE HIS HEART TO ME.

Girls. You have to trust me on this one. You will know when it happens. I promise. Just hold on to that ok? Ignore all my fucking swearing and just believe me ok?

His little sister told him to stop fucking around and let me in. When she called me by my teacher's alias, I knew exactly who he was.

I won't go all techie on you. That's not why you read this blog. Let me just say it was all very surreal. Maybe that's what happens when you are finally in your soulmates presence. IDK.

I won't get into the whole name thing. It's fucking boring to me now. I don't really like my real name. But I LOVE my last name (love you dad ;)

I've been going by the name of "Eleven" for so long, it's just natural.

But Mike. Big sigh. His name is Mike. He has the deepest, darkest, gentlest eyes I've ever fucking seen… and he gave his heart to me.

[ok, this is later. I broke down crying]

He asked me if he could call me "El" for short. I was floored. I love that nickname. He gave that to me yesterday too.

I love him.

We kissed. No. He did NOT try to stick his tongue down my throat. It was a sweet kiss.

Girls, (I know I'm saying girls a lot, but this goes for guys too) neither one of you have to explore the other's throathole for a good kiss. A simple "I love you kiss" is very satisfying. It will let him know you love him. You will FEEL his love, all his promises in his kiss.

Trust me on this one. Ok?

Hmm, re read what I just wrote. I'm not really coming across as the bitchy cunt I wanted to. Oh well, that could be love. :)

I didn't talk much. Most of the speech in my life has been one word answers to questions posed to me. I never had a good vocabulary. Not until my dad taught me. I'm almost ashamed to be NOT using it and just fucking swearing in a blog. LOL.

We dealt with the work stuff.

Fuck. He's smart. I mean, he's really, REALLY fucking smart. I know guys tend to get technology more than us girls do, and I've tried very hard to turn that stereotype around. I taught myself coding in a very disciplined manner. I'm NOT stupid. I mean I'm shy and may come across as stupid, but I'm not.

I was going to shit all over the person who was supposed to be "fixing" my code. He told me there was nothing wrong with it. He gave insights as to what was going on.

Without knowing it, what he really did was let me know not to trust the fucking government or any of the alphabet agencies working in "our best interests."

Noted Mike. Got it. I think I may have been a little too fucking naive there.

Mike didn't have a king size bed. Only a double. It's enough for two people who love each other to snuggle. That was good enough for me. Although, I was a little worried for a minute or so.

So we are in bed, spooning, and he puts his hand on my hip.

Ok let's get this shit out of the way:

[[ fucktard mouthbreather section ]]

You want to know if we had steamy, juicy, sticky sex? If we went down on each other? How many times did he make me come. Did I swallow? All that fucking shit?

I wanted to ride him till we were both delirious. But… instead I was riding the cotton pony. So. fuck off you tardhole fucktard.

Fuck I hate you assholes. You clearly aren't getting enough porn between applying your acne medication. And if you are older than that. Well, fuck, get laid more or some shit.

Assholes. No fucking way in the world I'd betray his confidence like that. You want to read internet porn? Look elsewhere asshole.

Oh… I'm sorry did you not jizz on the keyboard? Did your boner just shrivel away?

It's because you are a fucktard.

[[/fucktard mouthbreather section over.]]

I may have mentioned in an early blog that I have low tolerance for stupid asshole people. If I forgot. Well, I have low tolerance for assholes. Especially ignorant assholes.

I REALLY hope to fuck he doesn't read this. I asked him not to, and he actually promised.

But, sorry Mike... you're a guy. I know you promised… but… you're a guy.

So this is my last blog.

It's not Eleven Alone. Not anymore.

I'm NOT alone.

I am NOT alone.

You aren't either Mike. Eleven loves you.