Day 16 of yoga on a hangover- surprisingly went well!
I’m so awake!
Making chocolate cupcakes! YUM.
Someone ruined my nap!!!
Snuggled up watching movies in a beautiful cabin is the perfect way to celebrate…
Thanks for the bday wishes errbody!
Wait, so is that 16 days of constantly being hungover and constantly doing yoga? Defo hoping this isn’t an old status update of mine that I’ve just forgotten about amidst all the hungover-ing and yoga-ing. Which reminds me: yoga tonight!
It’s raining and probably (who can really say for sure?) not that cold: does one wear a tank top and carry a busted-ass little umbrella around, or a leather jacket that must occasionally be hoisted over the head? Remember: dressing to impress is what the night is aaaaaaaaaaall about.
Would like a solid answer on whether hot alcoholic drinks are still good for your infected throat after having twenty of them over three days and then constantly feeling like your esophagus is burning and suffering a dull, lingering pain behind the sternum each time you swallow.
Dancing around solo on the stage, then taking a running leap onto the dance floor, nearly BAILIN’ OUT – is this more of a high thing or a drunk thing?
Should try to bear in mind that 1:30 a.m. in Vancouver is 4:30 a.m. in Toronto.
Cocktail swords as hair accessories – the new afro pick?
Let’s just agree not to kick / kick at / kick near anyone holding a drink.
The stars (Scissor Sisters) are just like us! As in: dancing shiftlessly while throwing shady side-eye because we can’t decide whether we hate or want to fuck each other.
And how do I know all these people I seem to know? Not sure how comfortable I am with the amount of trashy trivia now occupying my mental space (e.g. “he has a big tool” (who says “tool”?!) or “he used to do a lot of meth” or “he puked on me once when we were having sex”).
So, what do we do think about having someone aggressively trash talk your “faggoty style” when you’re drunk and eating and it’s 3 a.m. and you’re already not particularly fond of people and things? Boot to the face, or keep eating that pizza unperturbed? Discuss.
“i want a boyfriend. someone with good taste in music and good style in clothes. nice hair and beautiful voice. mail me if you exist within one hour radius. help me make my summer.”—ffffound on a personal style blog as part of a larger ‘outfit post’
which can only mean one thing (and what i’ve secretly suspected all along):
personal style blogs are nothing more than glorified eharmony/plenty of fish/dudesnude/manhunt/grindr profile pages.
so wrong it’s right that every time i see it i immediately want to find a loafer-wearing-spaniard, who will insist on decorating our apartment (by the sea) like one big acid trip you can never wake up from. i, of course, will agree to the whole thing.
So how about those people with whom you just have no choice but to exchange awkward looks? Sure, maybe you could wade your way through it, reach a situation of socially agreed-upon nicety, but by “no choice” I mean “no choice that maximizes effort vs. payoff.” Which is what a lot of nicety-nonsense comes down to: though we could often smooth things over, make things peachy-keen, that all tends to come at a price of risky and unnatural self-extension, with a minimal return in social capital.
Say, for instance, your LBF [lady best-friend] has introduced you to an innocuous ex-boyfriend (about whom you don’t particularly give a shit either way), or your GBF [we should all know by now what this means] has introduced you to some guy he’s into (about whom you don’t particularly give a shit either way), or some other scenario has taken place that involves someone you care about and someone else who assumes you might have feelings of bitterness/jealousy/etc. towards them. In any one of these situations, the heady mix of disinterest and mistrust ensures that a state of awkward-looking must ensue.
Well, to be mildly exhaustive, that’s only one possible range of scenarios; how about those cases where you’ve met someone while sauced, and you think you might have talked meaningless trash about them in that state and in their presence, and now you just have no idea what the hell exactly happened, and you don’t even particularly give a shit, thus awkward-looking seems the optimal option? Don’t worry, we’ve all been there.
Anyway, what’s the common thread in all these cases? Well, clearly: not giving a shit. This is where a delicate calculus comes into play between appeasing your ____ [whatever] best-friend’s better sensibilities, and your own disinclination towards looking like you give a shit about things you otherwise don’t.
There really are no easy answers, so I’m just going to give this topic the old side-eye and cozy back up to my wine bottle one-hander.