Rude and inconsiderate

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The marriage I could have gotten over, but a baby that ties them together forever…!

My friend Marcella and I made a list of things this is worse than:

  • Season 4 of Misfits
  • A Sansa/Tyrion sex tape
  • Miley’s VMA performance
  • That Sarah Machlachlan commercial with the animals
  • That time Kobe Bryant tried to be a rapper
  • Nick Carter’s solo album
  • Ann Coulter running for president and winning by a landslide with Sarah Palin as her VP
  • Craving Chick-Fil-A on a Sunday
  • That time my friend asked me, “What man is gonna want to be with you if don’t want to have kids??” igniting every latent fear I have about my childfree future so that all I could manage to say in response was, “I guess none of them.” :/
  • Jessica Biel

One the bright side, as I was lamenting the fact that I will die alone surrounded by passport stamps and unpaid student loans, another one of my friends said that my loans will be paid off by some rich lonely guy I have an affair with for a week in a couple years, so no need to stress and I thought it was one of the sweetest things she’s ever said to me.



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“You’re gonna get raped.”

One of my coworkers said to me as I was on a call.

“Yeah, she is,” another one agreed.

They think I am too flirtatious on the phone and that is therefore a punishment fitting the crime. The conversation went on between them, but I couldn’t hear it very well because I was on the phone. By the time I got off, I had so much to do,  it slipped my mind. I just remembered now that I am awake too early for work.

I’ve never been raped, but they didn’t know that.
I’ve never been raped, but there are moments from my past that I don’t talk about.
I’ve never been raped, but the possibility of it happening is in the back of my head everyday that I leave the house and it influences my the choices I make.

Maybe they thought it was a joke. I think it is the single most horrific thing that anyone has ever said to me.


**Update: I sent an email. Apologies ensued: one sincere, one “sorry you felt that way.” I let it go. Jack went back in his box.

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I ate–and enjoyed–Indian food tonight!!!

Feeling like anything is possible right now.
Aim for the stars, even if you miss, you’ll land among the chickpeas and yellow curry.

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“I need to make it a priority.”

Text I sent to a fellow author tonight in reference to the book I am going to write.

“You should do it!!!! One sentence at a time…and you’re there!”

It clearly hasn’t written itself yet…

Later on, I stumbled across this quote:

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Interesting timing, I thought.
My life, I thought.
I know I have a rough outline and a couple chapters ideas sketched out in Dropbox, but the great computer crash of 2013 has left me unable to access Microsoft Office on my laptop and $200 for another product key is not in the budget. How do I square that circle…?

Continue reading

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I’m half drunk and I REALLY want some french fries/hot chips

But that’s not the point because I just read this and it is perfect:

I find myself in that awkward predicament where I actually really like being recognized as pretty. But I realize that “prettiness” in and of itself is a useless category. But then it’s not because I’m a woman and prettiness is viewed as a major point of me being alive, pretty much on the same level as being smart or successful.

I find myself battling with this a lot. As a former ugly duckling, I pretty much had to arm myself with things that allowed me to gain some kind of recognition and respect. So I developed a sense of humor and was really smart and treated everyone kindly. I was quick to be everyone’s best friend and since I was totally invaluable when it came to attractiveness, I developed skills to supplement it that made me worth being around, socially. But now that I’ve entered a phase where I’m recognized for being good looking, I get very uncomfortable and critical of it sometimes. I hate that prettiness matters so much to me and so much to other people but I can’t deny that it does. I like being pretty and viewed as pretty but I know that I shouldn’t need that, that I have all these other things working for me as well. It sucks to feel like all that shit combined doesn’t even measure up all that much against the currency of beauty.


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I remember you, secretly

Things Google can tell me: You share a name and geographic location with a tour guide, photographer, professor, and jazz musician.

Things Google cannot tell me: Do you remember me…secretly?


This has been a publicly private post.

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So work is going well

Me: Another member wants to meet me.
Coworker 1: What??

Me: That’s only 4!
Coworker 1: You’ve been here a month!
Me: I’m really good?

Coworker 2: Slut!
Me: Haha, you can’t insult me with that. You can’t insult me with “you do something you enjoy a lot.”


And, for the record, I’ve only actually met one…so far.

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