i am one. there’s at least twelve.
i bruise too easily.
i think i’ll dismember the world and then i’ll dance in the wreckage.– preludes and nocturnes, neil gaiman
every morning this bruise on my knee is bigger and marginally darker.
thanks for the baller new water fountain in the women’s locker room. now stop underscheduling the pool - working alone sucks.
while being the super-handy bad ass i am, i got sprayed with the hose that supplies water to the toilet. twice. the price i pay for being good at dude shit.
tonight is the 7th time since may i will have spent the night in a bed.
i want to be a kardashian when i grow up.
it is funny how you do not miss affection until it is given, but once it is, it...– the sweet far thing, libba bray [also applies to attention]
nice to meet you, i can tell we’re going to be friends.
my summer bubble of proximity, excess, convenience, and awkward dancing pops tomorrow. this is sad.
my knee. it’s broke da broke. ow.
all i want in the world right now is an everything bagel and my bed. and maybe a sweatshirt, i’m freezing.
skinny people with cankles never fail to stump me. how is that possible??
there’s actually 8 other seats readily available, not sitting next to anyone on the t. why do you insist on sitting next to me?
i’ll miss you the next few days, can’t wait for a blissful reunion. i just want to be with you!
you toyed with me, and now i feel dumb. our relationship is on the rocks before it has even really begun.
i am a jumble of passions, misgivings, and wants. it seems that i am always in a...– the sweet far thing, libba bray [how did she put me so perfectly??]
why is summer almost over??
she’s definitely hotter, but my name isn’t linda… i’ll stop trashing you to my coworkers?
when i grow up, i’d like to be dangerous.– inside the shadow city, kristen miller
a yinzer just called me looking for his friend russell. pretty sure when i answered sounding like a girl, that should have been a tip off that you didn’t, in fact, reach russell.
for as much as i commiserate about how much i hate it for making me congested, i take a lot of naps on this thing.
the ghostbusters vacuum is cool in theory. not in practice 12 hours after you do hot yoga and you carry tension and stress in your shoulders. and your eye, but that’s unrelated.
it’s shocking and disgusting how much shit comes off your shoes and ends up on the pedals of the elliptical. i know, because i vacuumed it.
couldn’t be less inclined to not be in bed if i tried. seriously.
and i thought i liked you...
our other roommate and her pseudo boyfriend can sleep in your bed… but my friend stays there and i have to wash the sheets? really.
blogs i want to write. part 2.
best days. side note: listen to the song rightnow.
rain makes me cranky so does mopping for 3 hours i eat pizza after i workout i am the rule, not the exception
“wine is bottled poetry” on a magnet at the christmas store. you know who you are.
(832): we’re going to play a drinking game. it’s called...– tfln
you must not let yourself become too respectable. keep yourself a little wild....– the callender papers, cynthia voigt
new favorite rule: toilet card. thank you, scotland.
borderline too short shirt dresses are my new favorite thing.
i’m going to turn into one.
even i can admit I look good from behind when i sassy walk in a short skirt in front of you. do something about this.
slept in beds 2 nights in a row for the second time this whole summer.
honesty is the most embarrassing policy.
I hate that i can see your ribs but you have a beer belly, so unfair. but i like your swag. a lot.
sidewalks are for people, not bikes. or skateboards. some pedestrians don’t like trying to anticipate your next move to avoid being runover. thanks.
clearly i’m not ready to graduate: yesterday i colored for 4 hours, today it’s friendship bracelets.
http://bodyodd.msnbc.msn.com/ this could explain marathon monday. but still not okay.
let it be said.
i like to clean. just not when someone with crazy eyes tells me i have to. especially when she can’t even operate a dishwasher properly.
my mouth tastes like i’ve been smoking. i haven’t. what the hell.
love: the sickest of irony’s sick jokes. the place where logic and order go to...– coyote blue, christopher moore