Wait, what.
If you're into it, you can start by reading my posts about Mrs. Coco T, pleasure yourself to Super Close-Ups of Christopher Meloni, or really get to the root of how much of a mess I am by reading about Things That Shouldn't Give Me Anxiety, But Do. Or like, whatever. Just do whatever. I don't know how to do blogs. I don't know what you're here for.
E-Mail, Ask
Fuck everything about this winter. This is insane even by Massachusetts standards. Fall is my favorite season, but only when it lasts until mid-December. It’s nearly February.
Someday I’ll tell you about three awful and boring girls I met in middle school/junior high who hated me and how, over the course of several years, I strong armed them into being my friend until they enjoyed my company. At which point I stopped answering their phone calls and only responded to their in-school conversations with tight smiles and overly polite compliance.
I didn’t realize how insane this was of me until recently.
NO. YOU DON’T GET TO NOT LIKE ME. I DON’T LIKE YOU. THAT’S THE WAY THIS WORKS.
Ripping apart cotton balls makes my fingers feel a noise that then the nape of my neck tightens up and I need to leave the room.
FUCK. EVERYTHING REALLY IS FALLING INTO PLACE. HOPELESS PLACES. OH MY FUCKING GOD.
I just wish it didn’t have Rihanna on it. That’s the only thing preventing me from spending the money. I don’t know, man. I don’t know. Should I start up a Kickstarter? Remember that time I talked about periods and stuff? Wasn’t that worth $39?
(via Rihanna We Found Love In a Hopeless Place Pop Art by lovejonny)
Everything looks like it’s falling into place (except for the fact that I gained back the entire 35 pounds I lost last year, but whatever. Maybe I can go camping with my friends and then when they get lost I’ll kill myself and then they will eat for months off of my carcass and, haha, this started sentence started out as a joke but now I’m way more fucking depressed about it than I was 45 seconds ago), and that makes me very, very nervous that I’m going to get into a car accident or will soon be diagnosed with breast cancer or kidnapped and forced to rip apart cotton balls for 16 hours a day.
Oh my god, I would rather take the cancer. Don’t make me rip apart cotton balls.
(via rachelfershleiser)
HOLY FUCKING SHIT
I just googled. Rumor has it that the news for a possible Ferris Bueller 2 could be revealed during Super Bowl Sunday.
I’m nearly in tears. This could be done very, very well. Or it could suck. But it’s hard not to see that usual, if aged, face, hear that familiar voice, and be reminded with that chk-chka-chkahhh and not feel hopeful.
Jenelle from Teen Mom 2 caught boyfriend Kieffer “Herpity-Derpity-Doo” Delp texting a phone with an area code of 508.
THAT IS THE AREA CODE MY TOWN IS UNDER.
DOES ANYONE KNOW WHAT IS HAPPENING TO MY BRAIN RIGHT NOW? I MUST FIND THIS GIRL.
MAYBE IT’S THE CAR WITH THE NEARLY EXACT SAME LICENSE PLATE AS ME?
Every morning starts off so healthy and every night ends with me wanting to slit my wrists to see how much peanut butter is currently running through my veins.
- Me: Dad?
- Dad: Yeah?
- Me: If you could get my period for me, would you?
- Dad: You're fucking disgusting.
