I love being alone in bed so much that I’m not sure adding another person could possibly improve the experience. This is a tad worrisome, ‘cause, ya know, dying alone, but I’m in bed, so…eh. Blankets will fix it.
Scott Foley is going gray and my body was not ready for these feelings.
Merry Christmas, you magnificent weirdos. I am grateful for you all.
And also for pie.
And wine. SO much wine.
But mostly for you all, I swear.
On one hand, canceling plans IS my favorite. Very little in life is better — dogs, sure, but not much else.
On the other hand, meeting dudes at my friends’ huge parties has been the only successful route to nookie I’ve had in recent memory, and I’m kinda pissed I’m too sick to go prowlin’, because I am cute as fuck in Christmas garb.
Plus there’s definitely a dog there.
Fuck you and your betrayin’ ass, Body. This is NOT the bed I want to be in.🖕🏼
The criteria for depression annoy me.
“Loss of interest in things you used to enjoy?”
OK, fine, but…sometimes shit just gets boring.
How is it MY fault that everything is garbage except John Mulaney specials and Serenity on repeat?
Y’all, I may be dead inside and stuck in heinous rush hour traffic, but even *I* can’t keep this dipshit look off my face listenting to Michelle Obama recount her early courtship with Barack. JESUS, people, I’m not made of wood. This shit is cuter than a Hallmark movie about kittens wearing tiny sweaters. COME ON. #IAMBECOMING
Today I learned that the Aquaman sex toy is a thing that exists.
And now you know, too!