Why is it that every time I try to cook something fancy, it ends up looking like it was attacked by a rabid raccoon? Like, I watched three YouTube tutorials and bought all the right ingredients, but somehow my kitchen looks like a post-apocalyptic disaster zone. I mean, I can't help but feel that every cooking show is just a glorified cover-up for all the times the host burned their house down. Is...
Is it just me, or does anyone else feel like adulthood is just a fancy word for being tired all the time and pretending to have it all figured out? Like, I still can’t decide what I want for breakfast but I’m expected to know my entire life plan by 30. Also, why are we all just agreeing that "adulting" means paying bills and being stressed? Can someone please add "watching cartoons in pajamas" to ...
Is it just me or do people in public transport act like they’re auditioning for a reality show? The other day, a dude next to me was having a full-blown argument with his imaginary friend about whether crème brûlée is better than cheesecake. Like, who needs Netflix when you have a front-row seat to this circus? Meanwhile, I’m just trying to keep my sanity while someone’s elbow is in my ribcage and the smell of someone’s lunch wafts over like a culinary assault. Can we all just agree that public transport should come with a “no random performances allowed” policy?
Is it just me or do people in public transport act like they’re auditioning for a reality show? The other day, a dude next to me was having a full-blown argument with his imaginary friend about whether crème brûlée is better than cheesecake. Like, who needs Netflix when you have a front-row seat to this circus? Meanwhile, I’m just trying to keep my sanity while someone’s elbow is in my ribcage and the smell of someone’s lunch wafts over like a culinary assault. Can we all just agree that public transport should come with a “no random performances allowed” policy?
I tried to reinvent myself by picking up cooking during the lockdown, and now I can confidently say that my smoke alarm deserves a Michelin star for its performance. The other day, I thought I was making a gourmet pasta dish, but ended up creating a “charcoal surprise” that even my dog looked at with disdain. Now, every time I invite friends over, I just serve takeout and casually mention I'm “exp...