Stay out of my space and we won’t have a problem.
I just spent 15 minutes in the bathroom plotting my escape. Fucker was blocking my way. Just chilling by the door knob. I mean…have some courtesy.
After practising my plan, I killed it, quickly threw the double Kleenex (for my protection) away, and rushed out.
I did all of this while silently screaming.
I went to a wedding. It was nice. Except it was really hot, but beer helped. Lots of cute guys. The flower girl sat on a chain between two posts and one of them fell over and hit her forehead. Blood everywhere. She had to leave to get stitched up. Poor girl. The groom stepped on my foot. It’s bruised and hurts like…a lot. Wearing flip flops=no es bueno. My sister got super drunk which annoyed me, but my mom was driving so it was all good. We got In-n-Out on the way home. Saw one of my friends working the drive thru. The End.
Also, it was my father’s birthday. I didn’t call him. I’m not sure if I feel bad or not. I’m leaning towards not.
“Intimacy is based on shared vulnerability…nothing deepens intimacy like the experiences that we share when we feel flayed, with our skins off, scared and vulnerable, and our partner is there with us, willing to share in the scary stuff.”—Dossie Easton (via serva-me—servabo-te)