My friend is taking November off from all her social media, and I’m over here like, “Um, I MIGHT last a weekend…” #junkie
Monthly Archives: October 2018
Do as I say, not as I fuck.
Via Sex with Timaree: Trump admin announces abstinence-focused overhaul of teen pregnancy program:
Too cold, fuck you, don’t wanna.
It occurs to me that, to combat my seasonal bullshit brain, I may have to stop sleeping naked under 400 blankets. I live in a drafty old house and despise getting out of bed even more than usual when it gets cold outside, because I hate feeling cold air on my ass, so I just…don’t get out of bed. Too cold, fuck you, don’t wanna.
Oh, darn. Looks like I’ll have to go buy MORE adorable pajamas. Like…FOR MY HEALTH, really. FOR MORALE.
(Probably also window treatments and a space heater, but it’s more fun to focus on cute pajamas.)
Whatcha gonna do with all that junk…?
I don’t understand transphobia. I have shit to do. I don’t have time to care who has what in their pants, what they do with it, where they pee. I’m BUSY. You fuckers need hobbies. Do you have Netflix? It’s pretty great, you should look into it. Maybe knitting?
Depression: Brought to you by Massengill
I’ve had numerous discussions with multiple mental health professionals about this, but I still can’t tell if I’m depressed or just lazy. They look the same on me, which is why I have a hard time even saying I have depression, because, like…if you have the option, why are you not still in bed right now? Everyone I know would choose this. Bed is amazing. And depression is a douchebag loiterer.
I can’t be the only one…
I know what they MEANT, but what I read was, “Mommy found out she was pregnant and realized she needed to stop drinking and get her life in order.”
That sounds like MUCH more fun.
I typed “gyno exam,” but my phone thought I meant “gyro exam,” and now that is definitely a thing I am also interested in scheduling.
“Will you remember meeee…?”
Forgotten Bottom: Philadelphia neighborhood, or title of my forthcoming autobiography?
P.S. “Search here”…in Forgotten Bottom… <Beavis laugh>
Maybe I’m depressed because you’re terrible?
A friend shared this screenshot of an online dating profile she encountered, and aside from the fact that this man is obviously insensitive garbage, um…no psychiatric illness RHYMES with depression, you fucking nimrod. People don’t have “cepression.”
I mean, I guess depression rhymes with itself? But that’d be a pretty shitty poem. You should take a creative writing class or something, I bet you could learn some ways to work around that mental block. Or even just Google “words ending in ession” — Oppression. Concession. Transgression. Impression.