January 2012
December 2011
1 tag
Those moments when you hate yourself enough that you feel like dying just a tiny bit more than you feel like living, but only to the point where you get too drunk and cry and pass out in a puddle of snot. See also: must remember not to trust another person ever again.
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That one time I bumped into Fred Armisen in New York City before I knew who Fred Armisen was.
It’s not that you broke my heart. But you might’ve cracked something, and it hurts kind of the same.
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New Years Eve was always so anticlimactic anyway;
two thousand and eleven is only a number that makes sense because we make it make sense. Years months weeks three hundred and sixty-five calendar days, twenty four hours, who’s counting? This morning the sun rose and peeked through the open blinds of the window next to my bed, old bed, okay kind of new, new room, bedroom number eight or nine. But the point is the sun rose just the same even...
Fantastic Mr. Fox is such a perfect movie.
Been wearing the same clothes for 26 hours straight. Been a week since I’ve slept in a bed. It might be time to get my shit together.
Today I had to pull off to the side of the highway because I was sobbing too hard to see, just because NPR played an episode of Fresh Air from September where Maurice Sendak was interviewed. Not sure if it’s because the interview was really that beautiful or because I was hungry and emotional about it. Either way, it was a moment.
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60-70 people are coming over tonight. panicpanicpanic.
Side boob itch in public is so distracting. Can’t help that my bra occasionally makes me itchy, y’all. Lemme fondle my goodies in peace. Don’t give me that look.
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Help I don’t understand this robot.
Tumblin via iPhone oh lawd.
Whenever someone compares me to the girl from drunk kitchen, it sets my heart a-flutter.
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Really need my inhaler but the dog just fell asleep on my feet. To suffocate or cuddle? I’ll probably just cuddle.
I smell like love and curry.