On Sunday I Instagrammed a cry for help in the form of a drab coconut popsicle, the sad caption reading: my only friend. This dramatic statement is far from the truth, but in that moment, as everyone in NYC appeared deeply invested in something called the World Cup with their pals, and I sat alone in my apartment clogged with snot and overwhelming angst, it felt true.
I’m forcing myself to start off the summer with some serious simplifying and lifestyle-reevaluating. So, I’m going to begin with the basics (wardrobe, books, etc.), to get the ball rolling on a broader overhaul.
“Never, ever smile for a guy who asks “why aren’t you smiling?” Because I don’t want to, and my vagina doesn’t come with a permanent smile, shithead.” And more real-talk-ridiculousness, after the jump.
“When someone is concerned about your well-being because you’re not being “cynical enough,” you should probably reevaluate your entire life.” And more real-talk-ridiculousness, after the jump.
“Write an ode to your dermatologist who essentially saved your life by viciously attacking your face.” And more real-talk-ridiculousness, after the jump.
“Do not allow yourself to have any guilty pleasures even tangentially related to Miley Cyrus. You would be welcoming toxicity with open arms.”
“Eat a bagel and don’t cry about it.”