This has to stop. I’m sick of having people coming up to me to ask me if I’ve seen the latest thing you’ve written about me on your blog.
I DID NOT WRITE THOSE ANONS. I only found out about them because people came up to me asking if I knew who wrote them. Which, by the way, I don’t. If you…
I don’t think I could like this post more. I wish there were a triple like or something similar on tumblr, because this merrits appreciation along those lines. I hope it’s enough to get everyone to move on, because it’s about time we all do. I don’t think being spiteful like that is funny…at all. You need to put the blame where it belongs. But I guess since the person who said those things about you was anonymous and it is now only you that remains trying to hurt people who don’t deserve it, you’re the one to blame. I kept thinking things would sort themselves out somehow and that we could all co-exist, but seeing how you hurt someone the way you did just because you speculated she might have something to do with a moronic anonymous message, showed me that our situation is irrepairable. And that’s enough to give me grattification, because things are actually as they should be.
I think about this song whenever people do something really immature or act really immature over nothing. It’s kind of like how kids were in primary, saying “I’m not friends with you anymore” because you ate a chip of theirs without asking, but the grown-up version of that. Blue Orchid really covers that kind of thing. What’s sad is I think about this song on a daily basis, even though the majority of the people I speak with are 18 and over.
I bought a chocolate sundae from McDonald’s a few hours ago and left the cup, with a little bit still inside, on my computer desk. I kept thinking to myself “You should move it. It could end badly if you don’t move it..,” but I just didn’t want to get up. Now I have melted chocolate sauce and ice-cream on my new jacket and pants. If Cheif Wiggum has taught us anything, it’s that “nothing gets chocolate out”. Dammit.
Spring keeps you ever close. You are second hand smoke. You are so fragile and thin, Standing trial for your sins, Holding onto yourself the best you can. You are the smell before the rain, You are the blood in my veins.
“Sigmund Freud once said, “What do women want?” The only thing I have learned in fifty-two years is that women want men to stop asking dumb questions like that.”—Bill Cosby (via bitchville) (via stillskywriting)