Sometimes Netflix requires too much effort.

Jesus, Netflix, YES, I am still watching Scandal. Didn’t you INVENT the binge watch? Let me hide from humanity in peace. I don’t feel like moving my arm to find the damn remote — what am I, a triathlete?

Judgy bitch.

Petty with a Chance of Fiddles

I get a lot of (good-natured) ribbing for liking country music, but I don’t know how I could possibly NOT adore these lyrics paired with three sassy ladies, rollicking GUI-tars, and some motherfucking fiddles.

(Pistol Annies, “Got My Name Changed Back.” Catchy as fuck.)

Could you maybe just…not?

Guy I Dated for a Minute and I have mutual Facebook friends, but aren’t friends ourselves. I last saw him at a holiday party last year. We were friendly but didn’t talk much, and haven’t communicated since. Today he “liked” two of my comments — about a local bagel shop — on a friend’s post.

What in the schmeared fuck am I supposed to do with that? Stop being weird! I’m finally OK about you using me for sex and then ghosting on me because I am bad in bed or somehow otherwise boring or underwhelming… OH WAIT. See that? No, I’m not — I had just successfully buried it like a proper Irish girl should. Could you just stop being weird, then?

(Logically I know that’s not what he meant to do, and he’s probably at least half decent because my friends aren’t friends with assholes, and he just tweaked something in my pre-existing condition, and I’m glad I’m in therapy.)

Letting my fat flag fly

Perhaps I’m a little too irritable to start an audiobook about the connection between obesity and clutter…

Also, I swear it’s a joke — I know we already have QUITE enough bloated, size-queeny, too-fat-to-function patriotism.

Oh. Well, fuck you, too, Victoria’s Secret.

Oh, OK, cool, ‘cause my fat ass needed to save some money not shopping your bullshit, anyway, you word-misusing jagoff fuckface. (Even putting aside this topic, dude sounds like a complete tool.)

Via Jezebel: Victoria’s Secret Doesn’t Want Plus Size or Trans Women Walking the Runway

Let’s do this, Gilbert Grape’s mom.

Finally remembered to weigh myself “first thing in the morning after I pee but before I drink anything, because that’s my TRUE weight,” and…FUCK, now I gotta jump out the window.

It’s fine. Now I have my baseline to try to LOSE some weight. My fat, fat baseline… 🙄

Why…ARE people?

I was in a perfectly fine mood this morning after seeing many sweatered dogs at the farmers market. Dogs in sweaters are, like, bonus Paxil.

But then I spent 2 hours with my family, and got a few texts about work, and now I’m in bed with a blanket over my head and earplugs to block out any outside noise that may infiltrate my fragile senses.

Apparently even though the Pill stops my actual period, it doesn’t do much for PMS with a side of family and stress.

Anyone got any crack?