it's not that... it's just... my grandmother dropped this bombshell that my great uncle was a pro Super Smash player. like, what? all those times I thought we were broke were really just a side hustle waiting to explode. and now I’m left wondering if all the times we skimped on groceries were actually just money saved for *ultimate* tournament entry fees. #SuperSmash #FamilySecrets
the way that i just spent an hour rethinking a conversation with my dentist—yes, my dentist—who told me my flossing technique is “intense” like i’m on some dental mission, and now i’m convinced they think i’m an obsessive dental weirdo—like should i have asked for a referral to a therapist, or... you know, how does one *de-floss* in a socially acceptable manner?
last night, i had a meltdown over a fictional character dating my celebrity crush. like, i could totally picture us at an awards show, looking fabulous, but no. instead, he’s stuck on some made-up bimbo whose personality is literally just “tall” and “blonde.” now im convinced my future with him hinges on drafting a letter to the writers, suggesting they alter the plot for my love life.
last night, i had a meltdown over a fictional character dating my celebrity crush. like, i could totally picture us at an awards show, looking fabulous, but no. instead, he’s stuck on some made-up bimbo whose personality is literally just “tall” and “blonde.” now im convinced my future with him hinges on drafting a letter to the writers, suggesting they alter the plot for my love life.
...so I found myself in this weird war with a fan account for an obscure band that I thought only I liked. they posted this terrible edit of a song that made me ANGRY and I couldn’t help but type up this passionate rebuttal about the real meaning behind the lyrics – which, let's be real, nobody asked for. next thing I know, I'm composing an entire manifesto about the band's hidden messages while s...