I really need a business card. No, not because I have a job, so I can place it in those drop a card jars at food establishments.
I am Eryka. I am awesome.
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I’m sorry, is this real? Is this a real thing to happen? Am I contemplating selling back Fest tickets to go to this?
(Source: rgr-pop)
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Lost a phone, had a mental breakdown, found a phone, apologized profusely to everyone around me within an hour last night. Life is horrible/wonderful.
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"I don’t know if teenagers — or at least introverted teenage girls—can really survive without the LoBaLM [Lying on the Bed and Listening to Music]. It’s an hour straight when you are essentially allowed to purge yourself of your most yearning, inarticulate feelings, like a mother expressing breast milk or an Elizabethan being purged of bad humors. And if it’s so essential to teenage life, and if I’m not so different now than I was as a teenager (I still have a notion deep inside that it ain’t no sin to be glad I’m alive, and I still have no idea how to shop for bras), then why don’t I LoBaLM any more? Do I have fewer feelings, or do I give them less credence? Am I less inclined to believe that the ridiculous murmurings of soul are relevant to my path in life? And is it possible to reap the rewards of your twenties (relationship experience! stabilized hormones! the ability to concentrate on dull but important tasks!) and still listen to your inner LoBaLMer?"
I Want to Believe: Discovering the Inner Scully | The Hairpin
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(Source: Spotify)
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(Source: theworstbitch, via highoncruel)
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I’ve never wanted to be one of those roommates who leaves little notes on things since that just screams passive aggressive dick. But what can you do when you ask someone not to do something over and over and they’re too dumb to remember?
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2010
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Anonymous asked
The wine, on the train, was that a Santa Rita? if so, Excellent choice, your or your mom's...
My mom is the classiest woman you’ll never meet.
