Showing posts with label WHAT IS MY PROBLEM. Show all posts
Showing posts with label WHAT IS MY PROBLEM. Show all posts

Friday, November 29, 2013

Drunk Blogging: Let's Talk About Our T-Gives Weekend

I discovered something about myself this weekend, that I've been suspecting about myself for a time -- I'm a semi f*cking hermit. I like to post myself up in my house and do things like binge-watch Mystery Science Theater 3000 and read a sh*t ton of books. This isn't just me trying to be Little Edie-esque. I don't like raccoons that much.

please go watch grey gardens, if you've yet to do so.
I'm apparently kind of a loner. I'm really only telling you this because I've been drinking a little. I have/had friends, and I occasionally have people invite me to do sh*t with them, but I usually don't follow through. I don't even know why. I like hanging out with people for the most part, but sometimes I like books/Lifetime Movie Network/Discovery ID better. Does that make me a horrible person? Needless to say, I spent most of the times that encompass Thanksgiving weekend (so far) reading and watching TV.

via reality tv gifs
I'm not really sure if I'm a sad ass human specimen or kind of semi-normal. Now I'm just getting weird and esoteric. You guys tell me about your Thanksgiving times. I feel awkward.

Currently listening to:

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Wednesday, February 13, 2013

Seriously, Guys. Make Me Stop This Sh*t.

I think I have a bad disease. In my brain area.

via bieb's instagram
I can't stop thinking Justin Bieber's dad is hot. What the eff is my problem? What's next, one of those kids from One Direction's great auntie? I know that I'm old and sh*t, but do I also have brain/sexual attraction to Canadian dad issues? And does this mean that I really have a thing for dudes that look like skinny Kevin Federlines? Is this really about my deep, deep love for Britney Spears? If I buy Fantasy perfume will it solve my problems? My. God.

I need some advil. Or roofies. Or a lobotomy.


P.P.S. I REALLY have to stop following Justin Bieber on Instagram.

P.P.P.S. I'm now following the dad on Twitter. Call the police.

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