This is literally my fourth attempt at writing this post. And when you’ve got writer’s block for a blog that is essentially the ramblings of a crazy person, you know it’s bad. So instead of trying to force out a compelling essay or analysis of pop culture, I’m going to instead write stream-of-consciously. How original.
Self-tanning lotion makes me smell like what I imagine a Las Vegas suburbs stripper to smell like. Notice that I specified “suburbs.” Like, a stripper who lives in the zip code of Las Vegas, but that’s the closest similarity.
I’m self-tanning, and that was going to be the original idea for this essay. But then I couldn’t really get the words to flow. Essentially, I’ve decided to take up fake-tanning again, which is probably not a good idea because my sunburn is finally peeling off, making it look like I’m covered in dried flakes of pizza grease. If I wasn’t so in love with pizza, I would be embarrassed.
I bleached my teeth last night, and now they feel sore, like I danced on them or something. I love how when I put in the bleaching trays, all of a sudden my salivary glands start pumping out that good shit like it’s cocaine and my mouth is a Hollywood nightclub and it’s the early 2000s. I don’t understand that simile anymore than you understand that simile.
I was looking through Kim Kardashian’s Instagram today, and discovered that I really miss her blonde hair. She looked so galactic and high-glamour. Going through her photos is also how I found out that she is pregnant with a boy! And I’ve already picked out the perfect name for him: Galaxy West. Or Ocean West. Something as large and amorphous as a direction, without being a direction. Hey, if she doesn’t want to do a direction for her next baby, maybe she’ll name him Zayn. TOO SOON FOR ONE DIRECTION JOKES. Still too soon.
Since I only have one phone case, I frequently change my background to jazz up my phone. It’s currently Khloe Kardashian, after a long stint of drag queens.
I’m halfway through Orange Is The New Black and I’m proud to say that I haven’t been emotionally scarred once! This season is funny, heartwarming, and not as depressing since Vee isn’t around to order shankings and beatdowns in the bathroom. Oh, what a wonderful world!
I finished Game of Thrones and—earlier in the summer—three seasons of RuPaul’s Drag Race and I find myself in need of a good show to binge after I finish OITNB. I’m thinking Friday Night Lights because I’ve been in a very “blonde Sandra Bullock The Blind Side” meets “small town glory Finn during his football scenes in Glee” kind of mood and I imagine that that is what Friday Night Lights is.
I still haven’t seen Jurassic World, and can I just say that it really grinds my gears how everyone is so obsessed with Chris Pratt all of a sudden? Like, I was appreciating his comedic genius and his butt since the beginning of Parks and Rec but ever since he got “conventionally attractive,” everyone wants a piece? That’s unfair. Leave him to those who loved him through—literally—thick and thin.
I’m listening to a lot of podcasts at the moment, jumping between Shane Dawson’s, Tyler Oakley’s, and Ross Mathews’, and it’s so soothing while I’m doing laundry, or going to the gym, or assassinating someone, or emptying the dishwashers. Yes, I have boring chores.
Well, I think I’ll leave it at that, and hopefully I’ll have a stronger essay for Friday. Oh my god. I just realized that today isn’t Tuesday. It’s Monday. I wanted to have a post up every Tuesday and Friday, and I’ve been busting my ass for the last two hours trying to write something for tonight, i.e. Tuesday, when this motherfucker has been Monday all along. I literally haven’t known the day all day. I can’t even.
I literally cannot. Bye. Maybe I’ll write something also for tomorrow, but this post is like almost-expired milk: I gotta put it up now or never. Also like almost-expired milk, this post will leave you with a stomachache and a distrust of dairy.