d-e-q

I thought I knew maybe 50% of the lyrics to Paula Cole’s “I Don’t Want To Wait” but it turns out I knew like 1%. 

One time my neighbor (not the loud sex Wharton girl; the other one) played the Requiem for a Dream soundtrack for like 12 hours in a row and his neighbor on the other side came over and asked if I thought he was dead, since I’m pretty sure that’s how you die alone in cities: collapsed in your apartment with the Requiem for a Dream soundtrack on repeat. So we knocked on his door and he came out dressed in head to toe Hollister sweats and apologized if the music was too loud. He explained that he was a magician and that he had been working on his new act all day. 

It’s someone’sthing’s 4th/28th birthday at midnight so obviously I lied to the grocery cashier when he asked what I was going to do with peanut butter, shredded carrots, and honey. 

ideleteme:

I was going to tell you a story, but I couldn’t figure out what it said about me.

sometimes i wish i could have the kind of lifestyle

that would make for a nice lifestyle blog

i’d probably have to do laundry way more regularly