(no subject)
Last night as I was comparing my life to that of Carrie Bradshaw's in a very emotional manner, I made one optimistic point to myself. She, a fictional, over-sexed character, was in her 30s. I am only 18. I am still very single and very fabulous. If and when I become her age, and I'm still struggling through relationship after relationship, trying desperately to find the one that suits me the best, then I'll start to feel discouraged. But right now, I am not.
Still, I broke one in and tried complete the breakthrough but failed. And the other tried to break me, but failed too.
Happy fucking October.
And also. The other day, as I was minding my own business, I heard Spoon's The Way We Get By on a trailor for a movie. I hastily and much too fervently turned toward the television to find out what sort of an amazing movie this had to be, only to be confronted by Will Ferrell's face. First Rilo Kiley and Lindsey Lohan and then this.
From when Grace was in town. The night Jonnie B. burned my fucking bed.
And to the person leaving me pathetic anonymous comments, yeah, I know who you are. And I have enough shit on you to make your life even more of a living hell than I suspect it already is. So grow the fuck up already. I screen my comments, you idiot.