Danger is the subtext of girl-lives. All of them, all the time.
I realized today how long it's been since I've had sex. Is it a) three weeks b) two months c) eight months d) a backwards-shooting Jupiter-C rocket?
Ex-boyfriends are the most powerful mutants because they know what your skin tastes like and how it feels when you hate them.
Pretty sure my overall project as a writer/human/girl is to convince other people that caring what other people think of you, especially of your social choices, is an infection.
The first line of this content unit is going to be "!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" which is obviously the zeroes-and-ones-style code that will create, narrate, and regulate the future.
Even if you are on the up with your family it's still a days-long feelings rumble, with too-convenient avenues for emotional eating and buried-alive amounts of useless television.
"Partying" as a verb and concept makes me uncomfortable until I'm doing it.
I'm a happy, posi homie, but once in a while, like now, I get stoked on being sad.
OOPSIE. Wrote this last week in the disgusting spirit of Black Friday, because I forgot about Thanksgiving. But it's not like we can't still get hard into what we want, as opposed to what we need.