As I was raised by a self-described tribe of difficult bitches, and simply cannot take no for an answer, I am now having fancy business class cable and internet run to my new house. Because satellites are only cool in Lou Reed songs.
Unsent Email Reply: “What you wrote makes about as much sense as the lyrics to a Cocteau Twins song.”
Even though I am never on Tumblr anymore, I know that my friends on it will react the exact way I want people to react to news in my life. Thank you Internet. (And thank you for being a friend.)
I wish the sweat stains on gym t-shirts we’re like tea leaves and you could read your future from them.
Just got seriously hit on by a lady who looked like Linda Hamilton in Terminator 2. Not interested, but kind of hot.
True Detective is really easy to follow while drunk. Sherlock, not so much. UK>USA.
If I have to lug this fucking thing to the Apple Store on Knox and pray for a fictional parking space one more time…I’ll probably do that.
People with the name Sturtevant have been really nice which makes me sad because of the missed-out-on-nickname, Mr.TurdEvent.
So, India banned gay sex or “carnal acts against the order of nature,” which to me just sounds like turducken.
Days like this make me miss summer, then I remember the pass-me-a-napkin swamp ass I get from the Dallas heat.