Friday, August 16, 2013

Dingleberries

It's a hot night, probably because of my menstrual cycle, or because of the gunk I have been religiously smothering my face with in the futile hopes of getting fairer skin (I don't generally spend money on female stuff such as animal fat and bottles of ethanol with fancy names, but I have learned from someone who calls herself a "beauty blogger" that women have a "regime" - clean, tone, moisturize -  hence me now having to use a minimum of four items per bath and three items after said bath, in an attempt of being a "normal" female adult. Nah, my skin just hyperpigmented after two straight weeks of being at sea, and my current hormone profile dictates that I can't be fat and dark.)

I currently like junk food, and am cheating on A Song of Ice and Fire with An Abundance of Katherines. I have read from John Green that The Royal Tenenbaums is funny and interesting, so I hope the torrent finishes after my date with Will McAvoy. I am wearing lace and my toenails are frosted and yet somehow I still feel like a cow. Probably the hormones.

Or the fact that it's a Friday goddamned night and I'm here writing a menstrual monologue instead of getting drunk or (and) getting laid.

Whoever said that 20s is the best time of anybody's life must have sniffed glue.

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