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  1. If you have to take your life cues from a list written by a snarky blogger, you’re doing it all wrong.

New format. Raw. Real. Uncensored. In your face. Girls Gone Wild. Live Nude Girls. Girls Girls Girls. Smoking in the Boys Room, I think you get what I’m getting at now.

But, for those not at my superior level of intellect, basically what I’m saying is that this blog will no longer be my attempts at creative…pretty writing. No more lyrical-esque, floweryish, pseudo-poetry about rain storms and lilacs and rose hips…you know, the stuff chicks with small tits write about. I’m focusing more on the day-to-day of life. The stupid, silly, bizarre, fucked-up shit that pops into my head on a daily occurrence. Because in the end, that’s me.

I haven’t done too much with my life. I’ve never been a “risk-taker,” I can only write memoirs about people whom don’t exist. I can’t draw, can’t sing, can’t dance…so don’t ask me. Actually, I can dance. So long as it entails me swinging my hips in an overly-sexualized manner and putting my arms up in the air. But I can’t dance in any sort of choreographed fashion. I’ve never done drugs, I’ve never drank with anyone famous, I can’t even ride a bike.

But I can hate people for funsies, flawlessly look like a doofus in every picture/video of me ever in existence, wrap my arms behind my head, stumble awkwardly over my own words on daily basis, eat meat like a savage, let my thoughts (and words) trail off mid-sentence, knock back whiskey like a classy broad, paint my nails every week, swoon over 90s nostalgia, swear far too much, constantly worry about how long-lasting my deodorant REALLY is, blatantly adjust my boobs in public situations, regret the shoes I chose to wear for nearly every occasion, diagnose myself (and others) with my own psychotherapy, occasionally spew some radical, intellectual thoughts about literature, be creepin’ at punk shows all over the city, be a slut in my mind,  tumblr like it’s going out of style and play ukulele. Ok, I can only play the beginning intro of “Backseat of My Car” on ukulele, but it sure makes me sound cuter if I say I can actually play.

Also, I’m learning how to play bass for a psychobilly band. I’m spastic as fuck but in my head i’m the baddest bettie you’ve ever met.

Now…who WOULDN’T want to read about my life?

 

Oh…and as for my creative writing…all of my unfinished short stories [once they’re finished, maybe] will still live on at my webzine.  But that’s still in progress. I have far too many websites and a different alias for each one to ever keep up with. But I like to consider it “social networking with the best of ’em.”

 

Now, love me?