And here is a photo of me living off vodka and lemon juice. “Why is she living off vodka and lemon juice”, you may ask? Well guys it is a simple answer: I am currently so broke that there is actually nothing of edible content in my fridge, freezer and cupboard aside from ground beef, which is weird because I’m vegan and Paul can’t digest beef.

So cats; here’s to two days of drinking, feel free to send food.

I refuse to wear a bra with this shirt.

Not because I want to show off my chest and attract mates; I refuse to wear one because:

a) It’s hot, and I enjoy the airflow of this shirt.
b) It’s incredibly difficult for me to find small fitted bras.
c) I’m more comfortable without one and shouldn’t have to wear one because it is the social norm.

So to all you cats that feel the need to project negative comments towards my fashion choices: Kindly shut your mouths.

Thank you, and have a nice day.

Just gave my two weeks, got me a new, better paying job,  my lovely lady friend is in town, I’m young and  in love and am having a delicious cocktail. 

In the words of Mary J. Blige, “I’m living my life like it’s golden.”

Otterpops for breakfast; Why? Because I’m a fucking adult.

Just moved into a lovey set of towels and ducklips.

The thumping of footsteps bring chills to my spine;

As I sit naked in my chair chilled in for the night, I hear them. “Please go past our door.” I think, but they don’t. Silence starts at our threshold and then is stopped with the rampant knock of “Shave and a Haircut”. No, please anyone but him. It’s John, the neighbor that works at West and preys on men from craig’s list, and he’s here to unload his daily life on me as if I’m a diary.


The down side to living in a small complex of flats is that every fucking neighbor thinks they can come over whenever they damn well please. They seem to lack the understanding that I JUST WANT TO BE NAKED MOTHERFUCKERS!

One would think that after nineteen years I would have the skills required to breathe down pat.

Maximum air flow bb; hello warm weather.

For some reason I’ve just found myself scrolling through bulimia tags, and I want so badly to hug all those people that feel out of control of the control they’ve created within their lives. I want to tell them that I know it sucks, and food sucks, and self hatred sucks, and fat sucks, and that everything that the mirror an scale reflects sucks; but it’s not as bad as living with the heart issues and cavities that bulimia bestows upon you, or the denial you swim in for the cause. Trust me.

First time I’ve been able to do a proper ballet bun in two years and I’ve made the best lemon drop ever. Cheers to you Miss Viki.

Have you ever eaten so many lettuce, mustard and grape roll ups that you get a tummy ache?

I have.

Why we don’t care for having roommates: We’d have to wear clothes.


Teachers that don’t respect you enough to let you speak, shitty co-workers, being a minimum wage slave, not having time to spend with friends and loved ones, and this god damn rut that my life has fallen into.

I just challenged Paul to a game of Penis. I did the challenge eyebrow and all, but he refused acceptance.