Meg. 22. I blog. Welcome to the party. You will find a plethora of bands, a lot of television and movies, and maybe some humor thrown in the mix once and a while. And if you find my page pathetic you should see what I'm (not) doing with my life.
I hate that I take so long to reply. Like, everything distracts me. I can be in the middle of replying and look at my wall like. “Damn.. what kind of white is this? Is this a pale white? Off brand white?”
the only domestic instinct my parents have managed to pass on to me is the tendency to hoard multiple plastic bags in another plastic bags despite the fact that I will probably never need this many plastic bags in my adult life
tune in tonight for another episode of “is he cute or just tall? am I lowering my standards out of desperation? am I doomed to roam the earth as a lonely, unloved wretch for eternity? would I fuck a 30 year old? would I fuck a broke 30 year old?”
My father had taught me to be nice first, because you can always be mean later, but once you’ve been mean to someone, they won’t believe the nice anymore. So be nice, be nice, until it’s time to stop being nice, then destroy them.