Half marathon training? Cleansing and or portion control and or calorie counting? Meh. That just sounds hard. Simply get sick and combo this with mere thoughts of your ex boyfriend kissing other girls, and you will literally never be hungry or digest ever again.
Sriracha is clearly the winner. I’d actually go so far as to formally submit a vote, but then I’d have to live the rest of my life knowing that I voted for Chips.
(Note, my bed is nothing like a prison bed. My bed is friendly, bright and soft. My bed is the bed version of an anime character, the kind that little girls want on their backpacks. I have no reason to complain.)
I’ve been sick for over two weeks now and just can’t seem to kick whatever it is, so I’m confined to bed for a day or two to wait / rest it out. This is a LITTLE BIT my worst nightmare. I’m really bad at resting / being sick. It’s really unproductive and wouldn’t you rather be going to work and doing things and shouldn’t we instead go for a run and bake things, isn’t that better? But I’m so sick of being sick so I’m willing to give it a go and fully embrace the experience, beginning first with this Cup a Noodles, which I love but rarely let myself have. I’ll also be Thinking Thoughts and updating my Scripts section so that actresses across the greater New York area will stop asking to read ‘A Girl who Shoots Guns’ which I either lost, or never wrote, because it’s really just not there.
Victoria, if puppies are your Secret, then you’re an idiot, because that’s not a secret. Also don’t ever say Panty to me ever again.
Sometimes your life, or perhaps the Universe, poses a large, vague question, and the only answer to the question is an incredibly overpriced sweater with a hood. The incredibly overpriced sweater with a hood is obviously not the answer, but a temporary stand-in for some large epiphany that will perhaps somehow be caused by the sweater, or will at least occur while you’re wearing it.
I’m finding Beyonce, basically any of it or all of it, just Beyonce Pandora, generally, to be INCREDIBLY useful during my Uh, transitional time in which I weirdly feel full of air, like if I took my shoes off it’s highly possible I’d float away. Beyonce is inspiring and empowered and makes you want to proclaim to strangers, You Must not Know about Me. She reminds you that were you to be in da club, Boys would Check up on It. Thanks B. I can’t lift my leg above my head but you sure do make me feel like maybe one day I could, or at least like I’m worth it.
I love my car and escaping inside of it. I love that I own it and that I can get inside of it and go away. I can emote inside of it. I can think inside of it and control its sounds and its temperature. I can car-dance inside of it to the songs Julien sends me. It’s usually nice to me and holds tissues and snacks. I could live inside of it. But hopefully, I never will.