Sometimes all it takes is a disgusting anthropomorphic billboard to teach children about the ups and pounds of fast food.
Last month I broke up with not one, but two, boyfriends. And technically, I wasn’t actually dating either of them.
How is it possible that you’ve worked this hard, only to be reporting to someone who shouldn’t have been allowed to graduate high school, let alone run a company?
I fervently encourage expressing and nurturing one’s self through inexhaustible venues but when it comes to relationships, social media should never be one of them.
I actually am hapa, but I call myself whasian, which is a combination of white and Asian. My dad is a retired redneck from Oklahoma and my mom is a stereotypical Korean who works at a dry cleaners.
Why do we do this? Why do we read the person instead of the output? The artist not the artwork? Should we ban Alice Adventures in Wonderland because Lewis Carroll might have been a pedophile?
You watch him open his free water bottle with hands shaking so minutely only you’d notice the tremors, and you silently hope he won’t spill anything because you can’t remember if you bought him the water resistant khakis or if you went with the normal fabric.
Never read it out loud at home again and rescind the open invite to your public readings. Is one single sympathetic ear too much to ask in the terrifying world of writing and publication?
I nodded like I knew what she meant, like I was saying amen sister in my head, but I wasn’t in danger of anyone asking to have sex with me for another six years or so.
And what exactly are you implying? That I’m completely devoid of any self-worth, that my subservience was the attraction? Of all people, Pacey…