Dear Steve;

No. Not you Blue’s Clue’s Steve. But I’m not done with you yet (apparently). Seriously Karina, you just made me question half of my existence. Is this the twilight zone as fuck or what? Guys. Steve isn’t even dead? And then I went and actually looked this up and I’m baffled. Like how did I NOT do this before? I feel like a total idiot!Steve is ALIVE!!!

But back to you ACTUAL Steve, to whom this hate-letter was meant for…

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In Which I Layer Rants On Rants To Make A Rantwich and Then Sprinkle it With A Dash of Rant and Add a Side Of Ranting.

 

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Dude. This chick even rants in her post titles… Gee-zus!

 

If I had a penny for every single time I’ve whispered “what the FUCK” to myself by the end of any day- I’d be rich. I’d be able to pay off my credit cards. I’d be able to half-ass-afford my own Starbucks addiction without willingly overdrawing my bank account-I don’t think you’ve been able to grasp the “realness” of my caffeine struggles guys. 

Continue reading “In Which I Layer Rants On Rants To Make A Rantwich and Then Sprinkle it With A Dash of Rant and Add a Side Of Ranting.”

WeekEND

If there were a way to capture a screenshot of what’s happening inside of my fucking head right now, I’m positive it would be immediately flagged as inappropriate content and banned by whoever those prick-people are who have actual jobs judging what gets banned from social media. It would look like a fucking battlefield-except there would be no bodies nor blood-only wounded thoughts: some shattered into millions of fragments, desperately dragging their amputated, decapitated bodies in every direction-never to make any sense; some held captive as prisoners in shackles by the enemy- Denial; some are innocent children-abandoned, confused, and seeking purpose; some are cowards-hiding from their own shadows…too terrified of what would happen to them if they stood up for themselves.  A brutally poetic setting, I can assure you.

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In Which I Rant SO Incessantly That I’m Not EVEN SURE How to Title, Categorize, or Tag The Rant.

You know that one time when I was all like  “Fuck you Universe and your lemons because I’m a boss and if I want apples then you best buh-lieve I’m getting some juicy apples bitch”?

Who even ARE you Elizabeth?! 

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Continue reading “In Which I Rant SO Incessantly That I’m Not EVEN SURE How to Title, Categorize, or Tag The Rant.”

Black Glitter

It’s no secret. I’m shameless. I was brought into this world with one missing section of the brain: the one that helps process and filter words and emotions before they get sent to the vocal cords. Or the fingertips.  It’s no longer a secret that I had a less-than-blissful childhood.

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