I’m going to try something new today. Instead of writing a long-winded blog post about all the ways that men piss me off, I’ve written a letter to the one boy who truly pissed me off. No need to condemn every other man on the planet, right? I hope you enjoy it, I hope it makes you feel something, I hope you can relate to it, and, if not, I hope you can learn something from it.
Dear… Let’s call him Fucker…
Continue reading “Dear Fucker”
UGH GOOOOOOOD I HAVE NOTHING GOOD TO WRITE ABOUT!!!!
Untrue. I have lots of things to write about, but they’re my tricks that aren’t for kids. Here’s the thing, in the current U.S. socio-political climate, I don’t even feel comfortable writing an R&B song, because cultural appropriation and all that shit; I don’t even feel comfortable giving advice to my girlfriends about men, because gender roles and all that shit; I don’t even feel comfortable writing about this in my blog, because racism and intolerance and all that shit. It’s impossible to speak without being misunderstood in the 21st Century.
I am bored.
Well, let me clarify: There is no drama in my life. And you’d think that’d be a good thing, but really it’s more of an inconvenience than anything else. Drama is fun. No, shut up, don’t argue, I’m right. I’m always right. I know you think you disagree but trust me, you don’t.
A little bit of drama, of suspense, is entertaining. Imagine going through life with no one and nothing to blame all your shit on. You can’t, but, alas such is my life. So, I got a dog. And it’s been 5 months and she’s still alive and well, which is a goddamn miracle. She is my source of day to day entertainment, mostly because I willfully decided to stop dating last semester. Yes, I said “willfully.” I, in fact, consented to celibacy, kind of. It was not something that just happened because I’ve forgotten how to flirt…
Halloween sucks.
By the way I know this post is tons late, but life got in the way.
Anyways, Halloween sucks ass, no offense to anyone’s treasured behind. I know there’s a lot of people that love it, but I think they’re just psychopaths in the making. I don’t know about you guys, but I’m scared of things that are scary, and DO NOT like being scared. I mean, it’s instinctual: We feel fear because of our renowned “fight or flight” impulses; fear’s the emotion that warns our conscious selves that we’re in danger. I don’t like feeling like I’m in danger. I am rational, everyone else is just a masochist.
Hey there, blog, how’s it feel to be completely forgotten about lately? What’s it been? Like four months?
In the process of me entering “womanhood” (because “adulthood” just sounds boring at this point; I’m a woman and I NEED the world to hear my roar), I’ve gotten many a shit together. Not joking, I can actually function before 7am and I’m feeling so grown up that I can see menopause in the horizon. Hooray for incipient dryness! Yet, regardless of my massive amounts of productivity, which I display like a giant-ass billboard marketing some type of hot pink thong (? No wait! That’s just Kim Kardashian’s panty line creeping up on my instagram again!), I have yet to grow out of my baby-girl crushes.
I took a quiz this morning, “Is Your Life a RomCom?” (psht, don’t start with me, I actually don’t have better things to do). Needless to say, my life is anything but. If my life were a movie it would be a mediocre comedy that doesn’t really have a plot. Anyways, while taking said quiz, I was asked if I had a friend/sidekick whose love life basically revolved around my own. Cue in an epiphany: I’M THE SIDEKICK!
Continue reading “I Do Squats for My (Insert Suggestive Moan) Couch”
Subtitle: But I didn’t.
I scare sex away. No, not kidding. I literally look it in the eye and scream, “Boo!” If I do it enough times, it shies away meekly. Maybe, I don’t scare it away; maybe, just maybe, I annoy it away.
I started writing poems when I was twelve. It was a very angsty time for me, and, for some reason, I felt the need to express it in rhyme. It was actually really funny, because, whenever someone would wrong me, I’d take out my journal, with a pissy look on my face, and start scribbling down furious verses. Eventually, my poems became songs, and, well, now I’m going to Berklee (self high five).
I’ve decided to start writing poetry again. Mainly because my lyrics are as bland as the rice you’re supposed to eat when you have a stomach infection. I’m hoping that writing will get the creative juices flowing again, and give me that special oomph that I so desperately need right now.
This poem has four parts. So I’m going to post it as a mini poetry series.
I should not be given a cellphone when I’m drunk. Wait. No. Scratch that. I should not be allowed to communicate with other people. Ever.
I don’t hate other people, I just kind of hate other people. And, this actually has little to do with who the other people actually are. Sure, millennials aren’t the most likable bunch in the world, but they seem to like each other even more than they like themselves. So what’s my problem, then?
Continue reading “Fucking Awkward But Without the Actual Fucking”
