How can anyone be expected to respond to an email when it looks like the sky was painted with the literal tears of Jesus?
“I work in marketing and it’s taking over my life, I don’t know how turn it off, seriously, someone send help.”
“Of course I didn’t notice that you resemble the Elephant Man in my profile picture; I was distracted by how thin I look.”
During winter break, you will find a hometown boyfriend who is too old and too nice to be taken seriously. He will ride a motorcycle and live with his parents and be everything you never wanted.
I saw Andy and his girlfriend again — they’ve probably been together for two or three years, at this point — they were crossing the street with huge backpacks on, the kind you travel with. I wondered if they were coming or going, and where, but didn’t ask or even say hi. I just mostly felt an empty hole where the jealous part of me should have been.
He remained on the sidewalk, pacing back and forth. “They’re closed,” I’d report. “They can’t send someone for another two hours.” I’d called four or five locksmiths when one finally bit. “SOMEONE’S COMING!” I announced.
I’m exhausted by the act of waking up and knowing exactly what to expect and from whom; I’m tired of water with lemon and lemonade and Arnold Palmers, can’t we invent something new?
Here’s a pretty fierce supercut of President Obama’s “99 Problems” remix, with special guest appearances from Mitt Romney.
I LIVED for The Twilight Zone, even though it made me fear everything — ventriloquist dummies, diners, fortune cookies, books, making wishes, dolls, siblings, wearing glasses, time itself, cars…
If you care about someone, which is ostensibly the reason you’d want to hang out with them, wouldn’t you try to respect that sometimes they need to do what feels right for them, rather than what’s right for you?