I hate Twitter wars. I really do. I had never partaken in one before because I do enough dumb shit on my own that I never saw the point in going out of my way to do more and have it publicly broadcast and immortalized.
But today I decided to give it a go because, why not? I get trolled all the time, so I thought it’d be good to see what happens when I actually respond. Plus, it was Adam Baldwin.
Watching Girls is like having really rough sex.
You might like it. You might ask for it — beg for it, even. In the moment it might hurt a bit, but at the same time it’s a needed release, an escape from the rigid formalities and predictable nature of your life. Those precious few moments when taboos are actually meant to be broken.
But as soon as it’s over, you’re left bruised and alone, feeling as though you’ve been run over (and run through) by an 18-wheeler.
As you sit there, surveying for damage, you’re left with no other thought but: “What the fuck am I doing with my life?”
Not that you’re ashamed of what you’ve done (you’re actually quite proud of that), but you can’t help but wonder: Is your life really in a place where you can walk around all day with a giant bite mark, bruise, scratch on your thigh, arm, neck? Are you really in a place where you can spend all day lying in bed eating Nutella straight out of the jar (no spoon required) while watching Parks and Rec because the idea of moving is that daunting? Are you really in a place where you’re jealous of Hannah Horvath, the alternate persona Lena Dunham created for the purpose of being a hot mess that we’re both supposed to empathize with and pity? The girl whose boyfriend peed on her in the shower as a goof? The girl who tried to fuck her skeezy boss just for the story? The girl who pours water on bread so that she isn’t tempted to eat it, but then does so anyways? Read more…
You guys, it’s finally here: Twilight release day! I’ve been tittering away to anyone who will listen about my mixed emotions now that Breaking Dawn Part 2 is out (excited to watch and mock, sad there aren’t more sequels).
But during these conversations everyone keeps getting hung up on the same thing. “Wait a minute, Sadie,” they interrupt. “Jacob imprints on the baby?!”
C’mon, guys. Old news. But for the record, yes. Jacob imprints on Renesmee and it’s not that weird. Get over it.
To prove my point here are 12 other things that happened this week weirder than Jacob imprinting on the baby:
Throw out your lingerie and get five cats, because you’re just going to die alone anyways. What brought me to this desolate conclusion? Why, the death of love and all that is good in the world: the divorce of Amy Poehler and Will Arnett! I’ve already been feeling pretty down this week, so tonight I canceled my plans and came home to relax and recuperate (aka watch SYTYCD and hang out on the Internet), but little did I know what horror was waiting for me on the World Wide Web…
Here’s a brief timeline of my experience since first hearing of this tragedy.
I love Zayn Malik. He’s like the Muslim Zac Efron (and I love me some Zac Efron)! Whenever I see Zayn’s sexy lil babe face I wish I was thirteen again so I could be a full-on One Direction fangirl. I’m talking binders on binders covered in “Mrs. Sadie Malik” and “S <3s Z 4eva!” (complete with glitter gel pen hearts, of course). But while I can handle being a 22-year old in love with a boy bander, even I’m ashamed of the amount of pleasure I get out of these gifs of Zayn humping, thrusting and booty popping.
If I’ve learned one thing during my twenty-two years of making planet Earth my bitch, it’s that TV boyfriends are the solution to all problems and foul moods. My current medicine of choice: Awkward‘s Matty McKibben. Why anyone would chose Jake over this fine specimen of man is inconceivable to me. My argument: Read more…
Until then, Tracy Jordan might live every day like it’s Shark Week, but I live every day like I’m on Bad Girls Club. (Semi-censored) evidence below: