"how much more of this shit"
— My sister, who came to the gym with me for the first time tonight, via text after thirty minutes
The bad, the good, and the pretty
A good measure of whether I’m truly upset about something is whether or not I’m still pissed off after I eat a snack. Well, I just ate a delicious chicken burrito bowl and I can now confirm that in my heart of hearts, I would like for the cuntwaffles who saw me trying to hail a cab and crossed the street to get one before me to eat a bag of dicks.
But, not being one to dwell on the negative (hahaha!), I will also say that my new Toms arrived (my first pair!) and I freaking LOVE them. The sound of my feet thanking me is loud enough to drown out the crickets coming from my bank account right now.
So um, I’ll just leave you with this picture of my happy, happy feet.
A Profound Observation
Sometimes the hyperbole of fashion magazines just really gets me. Oh, you’ll “totally live in” those 5 inch rainbow metallic sandals that cost $920 and “go with everything”? Perhaps you’ll throw them on with some cutoffs and a chunky ring for a fun weekend look and go run some super important errands? You and I have so much in common, Lucky editor, except what I wear on my little jaunts around the neighborhood (to pick up Chipotle or froyo) is a sweatshirt, ratty leggings, literally whatever shoes are by the front door regardless of whether or not they’re mine, and not a bra. I’M JUST SAYING.
Also, hi new tumblr friends! Thanks so much for following! I’m very flattered, and will try not to crack under pressure to post funny and entertaining things frequently for your enjoyment.
Today, in GChat Statuses
1. Hey, North Carolina? Fuck you very much.
2. “I especially love that line, ‘What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,’” says Kim Kardashian of Kelly Clarkson’s “Stronger (What Doesn’t Kill You)”. In related news, maybe I’ll move to Canada.
P. O. Box 337
The letter begins Dearly,
and ends With love;
formality, hyperbole.
Dear Leigh, I think we’re broken.
What gauze, splint, patch, or plaster
can fix this fracture, this fissure?
It’s hurting me sorely but surely,
sincerely.
"all my friends kids have met their husband there so that would b a winner a MS and a hubby and near your granny who loves u so much"
— Nana, weighing in on my grad school decision via text
This is my happy face.
So… this happened. I’m so excited (doo doo doo, doo doo doo) for this week to be over.
I realized today that I’m funny. Or at least I used to be, in college. I mean, I definitely had my moments. Extreme sleep deprivation and subsequent delirium might have played a role, but either way, today Rebecca Gyi (pronounced: gee) reminded me of the time I found her studying in the library, crept up behind her, and said, as if I was Nigel Thornberry narrating a National Geographic documentary, “Ah! The eluuuuusive Gyi-spot!” And I’ll be damned if that story about my own self didn’t crack my shit right up.
So yes, this past week has utterly sucked. And I’ve succumbed to some negative thinking about myself, and done a lot of wallowing and some hating the world, and okay, maybe too much “retail therapy” but I NEEDED that new bag and also that other bag and both pairs of shoes leave me alone. But at least I have a sense of humor and hilarious friends who have pun-conducive names, and that will get me through setbacks like this. That and my new wardrobe.
Anonymous asked: How is it that you are so awesome!?
Aw shucks. That’s an excellent question, Anonymous. (And seriously, someone did ask me this question!) Well. I’d say my awesomeness can be attributed to a combination of:
1. healthy diet and active lifestyle
2. a robust intellectual curiosity, cultivated via the consumption of stimulating, educational television programming
3. a positive, can-do attitude and my motto: “You’re never fully dressed without a smile!”
