<3

you could only understand this if you've experienced the shitty service at the Eaton centre Thai Express.

my favorite man in the entire world.

Goldie and her duckie have the same cheeks.

Three Amigos (and my amazing little sister)

Cassandra, in all her glory :)

Tiff, we'll grow old together lol I've already known you for a lifetime

Goldie, the girly girl.

my man and his bitch.

Franny, my sis

Demitri, my adorable cousin. he enlightens me <3

i am screwed

i'm not one of those intellectual people who has a whole lot of important shit to say. i'm a fucking 18 year old girl who still spends her time getting high in her parents' basement while watching the Colbert Report.

i'm the kind of person who doesn't want to have to explain why i do the shit i do. sometimes you just do shit for no fucking reason, man.

like the other day i had to explain to a potential employer why i wanted the job i was applying for. a job making COFFEE, no less.

what am i supposed to say? "I want to work here because it is my dream to brew coffee for a living". more like, "I want to work here cuz I need some money so I can move the fuck out of my mom's house". I need money. People work because they want the money.

why did they have to ask me that question?
i couldn't offer them an explanation. i still can't.

i don't know

I cry, all the time. And anytime for anything.
I'm overly emotional. My emotions are psychotic and out of control. Yeah, not me, my emotions. My life is an unstable mash-up of every day disappointments, perpetual failed attempts at random things, and just plain and honest fuckedup-ness. It's not like everyday when I think of these things I throw myself a pity party. And this is not a pity blog. It's more of like, a DOES ANYBODY HEAR ME blog.

I keep having a dream about this one time when I was in a park with my boyfriend. We got into a pretty serious argument and he got up off the bleachers where we were sitting. He started walking away from me, down a dirt path, into the trees, into the park, away from me. I remember a split second where I just sat there and asked myself, is it even fucking worth it to run after him?

Well, I did. In those moments it felt like my legs weren't carrying me. It felt like they were failing me. He was so far ahead. So far away. It didn't occur to me that it was because he had obviously gotten a few minutes worth of a headstart. No. To me, my legs were failing. I was failing. When I was finally close enough to him to call his name without looking like some stalker-creep, he didn't stop. "Eric!". He fucking kept walking.

In my mind I said to myself, "If he doesn't stop at that next bench and sit down, this is over". And he stopped and sat down. And it's not over.

But it's something about that experience that humiliates me down to the core. It's like a metaphor for all the other colossally fucked moments in my short time on this earth.