Musical Masochism

I’ve heard this song a bunch of times since That Guy “made it like it never happened and that we were nothing,” and I was perfectly fine. But it just came up on my Pandora playlist and suddenly I’m a weepy bitch over it?

Li’l early for PMS, isn’t it, Body? Though I suppose that would explain the recent irritability, exhaustion, insatiable libido, and mass consumption of salty, cheesy Mexican food with Girl-Scout-cookie chasers. 

This is all fine. (It actually is. It’s out of my hands. There’s literally nothing I can do except “breathe and reboot.” Plus I think I’ve proven I’m stronger than Weepy Bitch, even if on occasion she IS the one who knocks.)

#TBT/Kelly Clarkson worship

Just in time for #TBT, a friend just posted a list of Kelly Clarkson covers, and it is amazing, but this was obviously the first one I watched. I like the original better, but there’s something to be said for watching it come from a white-girl-angst-ridden blonde with some hips. (Ahem.)

Hell on Heels” is also delightful. I always think of that song when I’m Olivia-Pope-strutting in heels.