I think its ironic people try to police usage of “throw shade” since its recent re-popularization traces back to “Paris is Burning,” and a big theme of that film is how the subjects wish they could make some impact upon the wider world.
I’m still kind of upset Gwen Stefani started letting Kingston dress himself.
Like, Mondays at work suck and there’s nothing going on social-wise at night and you come home like “I ain’t doing anything” and then you don’t because you feel like you deserve it and its the start of the week so you don’t feel behind and figure you’ve got the rest of the week to finish shit anyway.
The first time I got black out drunk was two years ago at my friend Jorge’s birthday party. I had been drinking gin with Leo, and I don’t normally drink gin, and then went to the party at Rokbar. My friend Jason had to drive me and my car home. He left his wallet in my car, and came over to get it the next day and mentioned that we had pizza the night before. I didn’t remember it. I remember walking to the car. I remember the car ride. I remember coming home. I didn’t remember the pizza. He showed me the entry on his banking account to prove it. It was the first time I seriously couldn’t remember something because of drinking. I freaked out. Hasn’t happened since. Memories might be fuzzy occasionally, but they’re there. Maybe there’s been a few times of remembering being dropped off, but not the act of getting in bed, but that doesn’t count?
Well, yesterday was Jorge’s birthday again. He rented a hotel room, and we were at the pool most of the day. We ended up later in the room. I thought we were gonna get food, but there was some girlfriend drama. We never got the food, and I kept drinking from bottles without thinking about it. I hadn’t even been drinking at the pool. The last thing I remember is being in Ceci’s car. Then I woke up this morning on my friend Tom’s couch. Apparently we went to Purdy lounge. I spent about 20 minutes sitting on a coach. Accidentally stumbled over a table. Tom had to basically carry me home. Apparently I made some innuendos. I have no memory of any of this. None. Really embarrassed, and it scares the shit out of me. I mean, I’m 28 and I’ve only been blackout drunk twice. So that’s pretty good, maybe, but damn I do not like it. I mean, I really do not like that feeling at all.
I just woke up at my straight bro’s place and I’m not sure what happened. Nt even like that. Just “wait we didn’t go to Purdy lounge, right?”
A simple way to avoid making bad decisions in your life is just to not make any decisions at all.
Someone posted scans of our junior yearbook in my High School reunion Facebook group. I was browsing them and suddenly remembered Albie. “What ever happened to Albie?”
The thing about Albie is that first of all his name is Albie. He also was bigger, had GIANT lips, wore a lot of Marshall’s-grade dad-stripped polos and basically never ever said a word.
So I looked Albie up.
Turns out Albie is gay as fuck. He’s moved to LA, and lots of his Facebook pics have Britney and Gaga-imagery photoshopped in. Just gay as fuck. It makes sense. Lonely HS years. God gave him those lips for a reason.
once at karaoke the dj was like “this is travis and i guess he’s going to sing us the song of his people” and this striped polo cargo shorts flip flops ut cap bro walks onto the stage and immediately goes into santeria by sublime
This is my favorite text post of all time and I think about it a lot, and I just asked Cloe to find it for me so I can reblog it. And now I’m tagging it Sublime so I can find it whenever I want.