The old gay bear copy editor and the lesbian were talking about Rush, and I assumed they were talking about the popper. Turned out it was the band.
Which, ok, I don’t mean to go there, but that means at one point they threw around the lyric “Do you remember the 11th night of September.”
Oh, I post my snapchat and now everyone posts there snapchat with out snap chatting me. I SEE . I know you think this is about you, but this is about four separate people on my timeline right now tyvm.
I can’t have a cat because I am basically a cat. I’d need a dog to balance things out.
You can tell Pitchfork is gearing up to give Perfume Genius’s new album Best New Music when it comes out next week, but they don’t even bother to put “Hood” on their best tracks of 2k12 list. Pitchfork fake as fuck.
Apparently I’m gonna interview Andy Cohen at some point in the next few months.
It just turned six. I’m sober. And yet I’m already churning out the “text posts I’ll delete in the morning” shit. Get it together.
Sometimes I wish I could be a little bit more open about those three or four weeks I had a bar gig that required me to walk around in my underwear, because the whole thing was a really interesting experience and hilarious on so many levels. I think I’ve only mentioned it once on here, vaguely.
But two things: 1) once you tell someone you’ve even dabbled in something like that, there’s usually gonna be judgement and even when there’s not it still sticks out in people’s head as some lurid thing that they define you with more than they should. 2) people will look at you now and go “Hmmm ….realllllly? really?”
Moments of bad judgement brought on by “oh god, if I don’t figure out how to get some extra money soon it could get stressful” after paying a traffic ticket.
*Goes to Craigslist*
*Clicks on Gigs*
*Backs away very slowly*
I’m hungry but its late.