I'm in Chicago. I'm kind of employed, and I need to find the fuck out of my social security card. I remembered that I picked it up at home, but I have no idea where I packed it up.
I need shelves and hangers and more money.
The wedding came. It went. Nobody died. I killed nobody. It was lovely. There were some moments of beauty, and fun and adulthood, moments of awkwardness, and of shameless abandon. These might have been broght to you by the letter Whiskey.
Ricky MArtin is singing "la Vida Loca" on the TV in our room.
I'm a mess. I am also not used to using shared pronouns. I hate feeling like I have to do all these things so nobody's disappointed in me. It's already too late to not disappoint my best friend.
If I think about it anymore, I might cry. Crying is not on my list of things to do.
About Me
- Xlynn
- I live my life by song lyrics, have a chronic/terminal case of smartassitis and and currently taking medication to combat a particularly hearty strain of Don'tgiveafuck syndrome. I do the 22k in april to raise money for research. I appreciate your prayers. I'm also a sarcastic, habitual liar. ...sometimes. You will be my new best friend if you can tell me exactly what the fuck Paul Simon and Julio Were doing down by the schoolyard, the exact location of Carmen Sandiego, and the real words to "Blinded By The Lights" (revved up like a deuce, you know, a roller in the night?). I will date you if you can name 3 Green Day albums that aren't American Idiot. I'm a handful but my friends love me. good luck!
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