you got me sippin’ on something
Yep yep more of this.
The paunch of a woman is decidedly always the last thing to go. I’m like a mini cupcake, a gumdrop, I have no idea what I am saying it’s just girl gobbledity goo. Sometimes a bit of lovehandles can be hot. When I see innapropes and private pictures of myself sitting all out there like a boss, I’m like frig if that one leaked I would not be embarrassed at all…
Maybe I can get away with catwanging one. It’s always over the top with me though.
Speaking of (somewhat), how do we collectively feel about Madonna’s butt-flashing for real? She can do no wrong first of all. I don’t think it was sad it was more just like a whatever attempt at controversy and “being cheeky” which is outdated and cheesy of course. We all have something to say and judge but at the end of the day she is Madonna, we are not – which means something I guess BUTT it was the least interesting thing of the night. For once the Grammys are stil being talked about days after. I just can’t remember any of the other Grammys my brain can retain only so much uselessness.
I keep eyeing these buggers on my windowsill in the sun frikking flirty. I feel like chicks in their early thirties are frisky and like, if spinsters, allowed to just own the cray. Your (our) bodies are ticking hormone in their prime/is running out machines. Literal Katy Perry Roar music videos. Take like, every single burlesque dancer about this age (or more!) that you know and you know I’m right. I love it. La dee dah liiiiife! You just get one and how fun is yours?
I have been mentioning this notion of “fun” a lot lately to friends, and the need for it.
How I am addicted to it.
How it rules my world.
Other Peter Pan never grew up syndrome people I know are all about it too. I think when I don’t have fun I start to wilt like a flower petal. My spirit takes a nosedive. I drink. I bathe in misery. I hate the cold so I don’t go running, which also depletes my endorphins. Exercising indoors and on the cheap as in DIY it takes a lot more gusto and self-motivation to do it yourself.
It just feels like I will never be granted a clear mind. There is always something to nitpick about. I cannot see the forest for the trees never. Even when things are good I am like this is bad.
Then I look back a few years later and am like wow that was a good time Lauren, good thing you did not enjoy a second of it.
I just feel guilty having fun. Knowing how to have fun while being responsible. I feel like I am lying here all the time because I only show you the good things or the wishes I have and my plans my dreams my hopes I feel like I am writing on Lisa Frank stationary with unicorns and stardust floating all around me like a giant fucking jerk.
The truth is I am happy. But why do I feel so bad?
Does it feel good to feel bad? Maybe I am riding the wave of bad feelings coasting gently away and off of them standing on the abyss of a new juncture knowing it is going to be hella intense.
I am literally staring at the most calmest beautiful lake right now in the sun, the sun having all to do with this sudden boost of joy. Or maybe it is mania? Sylvia Plath, hello?
Why do writers sound and feel insane all of the time. Everything is so profound so beautiful to be captured and thought shared. To this you guys, pay attention. I was just thinking this beautiful thing and… oh I’ll tumbl it instead.
Okay I’ll talk normal now blabbity blah what is this a nature book about birds, maybe? I mean I already talk about squirrels why stop there. I’ll also mention that I am upset that I didn’t make a squirrel squatting joke at the time either, it burned me up just a little I admit.
And this fucking guy.
Should we talk about the pink elephant some more or.
I really liked this picture (taken in July) even though I look kinda too juicy in it for my usual liking, AND I kinda like that about it at the exact same time. Sometimes beautiful women with just a little more meat on them can make you go bananas? I also remember this night and how it was basically like the movie save the last dance no wait, step up? A dance movie starring me plus ______. I actually do not remember what his blog nickname is or if he even had one do you recall? Did I call him volleyball? Ok well I will now. I don’t think I even got into it because we happened quickly then were over so quickly.
In the situation I feel like I got played. The aftermath leading to a lot of reckless behaviour this (past) summer, a lot of “fun” as mentioned before which I like, a lot of woe and a lot of running. I pined for him, then I moved on and recently learned that it went over a month about without my contacting him at all til he started sniffing around again.
I had met the Polish guy at this point and was pretty smitten with him or about to be.
I am going to refrain from telling you this all at once because it is all majorly too soon and maybe down the road I won’t even want to say it. Will save for a slow news day. Or I’ll weave in and out of it along the way.
These were my skinny jeans I bought from Zara when I bought my green winter coat last season that I always wear. They fit me then but only if it was a skinny day which I seldom bothered to get to because I didn’t care about being a little extra juicy back then but anyway now they’re fat day jeans, or really stretched out plus I have slimmed down to be able to grab them for regular jean wearing rotation. I also have a pair of jeggings that were painted on tight when I started wearing them but now are saggy so that makes me happy.
This is about a month old. On way to my dermatologist appt. You can clearly see my old lip piercing hole. I think it’s cute. It collects makeup in it sometimes that I have to make a point to remember to pick out sounds gross but isn’t it’s like a personal treat ok now that sounds gross. (will use this as a stand-up bit in future for sure).
My breakup review was that I was hot, sweet, funny and would be regretted. I’m not going to divulge the bad parts of the review sorry you can just use your imagination.
Anyway this was an interesting look I had one day due to not having a flat iron available so I bjork bun curled my hair and it lasted for 2 days. For the record I am really turned off by this hairstyle, there might be a cuteness to it that some guys are 90’s wistful for but mostly it repulses me and now you know. When people are like aww cute buns I am just pretending. I think the disdain is linked to impatience and the memory of having to sit still for an hour and have my hair done like this before bed on the eve of something important I needed crimpy hair for. I do have an appreciation for braiding though don’t look at me like that I was just hyper-active.
Time for another complaint. Blogging and “working” at the same time is hard. It is exhausting. Especially blogging like this, talking about things that exhaust you but being ceative can be exhausting, it is exhilarating and I love it but it still makes you tired because it is using your talent I suppose. This fucking dink once said that I had no talent in the Globe and Mail. Uh bro I made the Globe and Mail for essentially about nothing I call that talent.
I just mean when things are fun, and it can be fun and a joy to blog, to write gleefully about your life and talk to all these different people throughout the day while blogging it just gets hard to turn off the outside noise when you want to do both. To create and to socialize. You’re left with this rubbing off onto that and it can be totally cool actually.
It was more like a non-complaint. Like all things to come out of my mouth tend to be.
No offense but gross. Cannot handle floaty things in my drink unless there’s booze in it. Jello and a milkshake (“tea”) I can’t deal. Congratulations on calling it bubbles though that’s smart and clearly the marketing works.
Pic from above but how instagram had its way with it #healthgoth. I want a picture playing tennis frozen like a mannequin in a black sport bra etc you know?
Now time for the fun task of sorting through these which I have or have not blogged yesterday. One time this psycho bitch commented that I had posted the same picture twice (they were very similar selfies) in my old condo but bitch was wrong. Also, who cares? Like what a waste of the next few sentences I type bothering clearing this up.
Because some readers do nitpick over every detail here. God some bloggers (majorly famous ones) get it so bad I feel bad they seem to be caught up in rectifying every single false claim about them instead of doing the thing that got them famous to begin with – blog. It reminds me of times when I went far with obsessing about a few times I was put through the ringer. Bloggers have harder times accepting criticisms because they’re bloggers first and celebrities second. Organic celebrities. Realer. Though a lot of celebrities do not manage to turn the other cheek and will react to haterade on twitter so who is to say anymore, it’s more based on the individual. We’re all snowflakes right.
Shutting up/owning it from here on out.
Getting there. Trying to be proud of myself and make peace with everything.
Once you’ve seen one you’ve seen them all I guess. The slight differences do not matter. I’ll have to wear a new outfit next time (not a problem). Alrighty that’s all for today then.