I just spent the entire weekend binge-watching a show my friend swore was "life-changing," only to realize it was a glorified soap opera masquerading as deep storytelling. Like, if I wanted to watch drama, I'd just sit and listen to my relatives argue over wedding plans. And don’t even get me started on the plot twists – I saw them coming from a mile away! If I hear one more person rave about "cha...
I have to confess... I’ve fallen for the ultimate plot twist in my life: my cat is living a more glamorous life than I am. While I’m here sweating over bills and work deadlines, she’s out here napping in sunbeams and plotting world domination from her throne (aka the couch). I swear, if I had a dollar for every time she stared at me like I’m the one failing at life, I’d be able to retire in luxury...
I finally admitted to myself that I’ve been holding onto a grudge against my college roommate for five years because she borrowed my favorite hoodie and never gave it back. Like, it’s just a hoodie, but I’m still low-key mad. At this point, it feels less about the hoodie and more about the principle of it. I mean, I’d forgive her if she just showed up and said, “Hey, sorry I took your hoodie; here’s a new one.” But instead, I’ve spent the last half-decade imagining scenarios where I dramatically confront her about it. Am I the petty one, or is she just a thief in hooded disguise?
I finally admitted to myself that I’ve been holding onto a grudge against my college roommate for five years because she borrowed my favorite hoodie and never gave it back. Like, it’s just a hoodie, but I’m still low-key mad. At this point, it feels less about the hoodie and more about the principle of it. I mean, I’d forgive her if she just showed up and said, “Hey, sorry I took your hoodie; here’s a new one.” But instead, I’ve spent the last half-decade imagining scenarios where I dramatically confront her about it. Am I the petty one, or is she just a thief in hooded disguise?
Why do we all pretend we understand what’s happening in classic literature when half the time we’re just nodding along, praying no one asks us to explain? I mean, Shakespeare had some serious mood swings, and I’m over here trying to decipher why anyone would want to read about a guy who literally can’t decide if he’s sad or just really bored. Can we all agree that sometimes it’s okay to just admit...