Oh my Fan!

At the age of 22, the only thing Joan fangirls about is Backstreet Boys. So what happens when talented and stupidly handsome Harry Styles comes into the picture and is determined to steal her inner fangirl? Beautiful chaos.


1. The Simple Concept of Baking a Cake... and Hating a Band

       " Hating a band wasn't easy. It came with a bunch of complex ingredients that helped you develop the cake such as a racist comment or fat shamming. However, my ingredients consisted of a mixture of hate because of the band's beautiful looks and amazing hair. Hair that not even I could achieve ever. 

       But it wasn't the ingredients that kept me awake at night re blogging hate about band, it was the passion that I put into my daily aggressive hate that really encouraged the experience."

I could have gone on and on about how I compared hating One Direction to baking a cake, but eventually I got hungry and set my laptop down to go food surfing in my fridge. My eyes were whining about staring at a screen for hours but it was all for the best. My post on the infamous One Direction had surprised me as if I was possessed by a bitter fan who got rejected by the beautiful human creatures. 

After warming up my leftovers, I padded my way back to my bedroom cooing at my cat as I passed by his lazy form. I threw myself back on the bed and hovered my finger above the mouse. The mouse was invading the post button on my Tumblr and I began to question whether I should have posted the stupid article. 

Oh well, here goes nothing, I thought pushing the post button. My heart settled. It was done, the article that would forever change my life had been exposed to the Internet like the time I accidentally flashed my butt at my dinosaur English teacher. And he had liked it too. 


It was a oddly cold afternoon in California. The sky bled a sad tone, it was dull and reeked of gloominess. 

I sat on couch watching reruns of Britain's Got Talent with Pickles purring by my side. My adorable pug sat beside me humping a toy. My computer grinned at me from the other side of the couch. It's screen was lit to reveal my latest article.

I chomped on a carrot and pierced my lips as a series of commercials streamed. There was the entertainment evaporated by a string of commercials that I had no interest in. Apparently Shrimp had cared because he stopped rocking the world out of the poor stuffed dog and watched the lady share her Tide story. 

I rolled my eyes. I really needed a new group of friends. Maybe even human beings. In reality, I never really got out beside when I was out of food and only on occasions when my boss needed me at the office. 

Most of my time was spent on the couch watching Netflix and watching my pets do the deed with random objects around the house. I realized I needed the friends when I found Shrimp humping the fern in my living room.

I screamed as my phone rang throwing me off my train of thoughts. I usually didn't get many calls unless my mom accidentally forgot to buy 'blankets' for her man friend. Even at the age of 58, my mother still got a lot more action than I had gotten in years. 

I stopped and listened to Freddie Mercury's voice serenade me softly. By serenade I mean he started singing about fat bottomed girls. I reluctantly gave in and pressed the answer button. 

"Mother, I swear to Shrimp that I will not buy blankets for you boy toy's willie!" I said exasperated. Shrimp stopped humping another toy ( that player) and glanced at me with his big eyes. His head was tilted as if expecting a big surprise. 

"Excuse me?" a sweet accented voice laughed. "I didn't need to cover my willie. That's until the third date Joan." 

My heart stopped. Holy Shrimp. It felt as if Shakira had let her hips and caused an earthquake of destruction. I waited for the moment destiny came and humped me in the butt with it's ridiculous shakes of evil. Because on the other line, it was no other than Harry flipping Styles.  

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