the quest for realness;

the moment i found myself outside of a very, very closed trinity library on an 8 hour layover in dublin. you’ve NEVER seen a library more closed than that library.
pose via britney spears circa 2007. realness via life via school of hard knocks.

*to engaged people taking pictures of themselves/having pictures taken of themselves: where the FUDGE are you finding all these fields? and do you actually hang out in them? can we all be a little more realistic and have engagement photos of us all watching netflix in our crusty underpants?

{would really appreciate the change in trends.}

*and also can we all stop acting like we’re all free spirits? you definitely yelled at your cat the other day. {i saw you} and you weren’t drinking a chai latte in your crop top riding in a top-down convertible on the highway planning your european backpacking trip to find yourself while you were getting your oil changed and balance your checkbook. and you definitely went to mcdonald’s while you were backpacking, don’t front.

{let’s all get a grip and realize “free-spirited-ness” is a marketing trend put forth by the people that have put triangles on EVERYTHING, and that confirms you can pin pictures of peonies from the free people pinterest page all day. the most free-spirited people i know don’t post about being free-spirited.}

*can we all collectively stop talking about coffee shops and their relative romance? i’ve had crappy dates in coffee shops. and awesome dates in coffee shops. and some damn near romantic times in bowling alleys. and as someone who used to work in a book store with a coffee shop attached i can tell you that 80% of those coffee shops have some sort of deadbeat shooting up in the bathroom or doing the nasty-nasty with another deadbeat in the bathroom.

what i ate basically everyday in prague because it was free and no i never wished it was a paleo gluten-free kale scramble ever.

can we all be romantic somewhere else? go get your coffee and leave and write your novel elsewhere. call me anemic as hell {and you’d be right}, but they’re all siberian-level chilly. also, the baristas hate you and they closed 10 minutes ago. let them go home.

*can we all admit one thing: posting things on the internet about book fetishes or being a reader or being reader-ly just means you’re probably wasting an hour that you could have spent reading and probably counting buzzfeed {the worrrrrrst} and thought catalog {the second worst} as “reading”?

whenever i see that self-righteous “i’m a reader, this is why i’m so much more passionate than you” shizz clutter my newsfeed/life, i just can’t deal with it, ’cause i know those people aren’t innocently posting a single picture and going back to their thrifted copies of to kill a mockingbird with their anthropologie mug with a sparrow on it. as someone who is a product of the digital age and also a burnt-out recipient of a degree in literature, let’s all please admit we haven’t read a book in a week or two because pinterest has really been “on a roll” this week.

*and on that note: can we all start writing like how we talk? i didn’t realize i knew so many anne lamotts and mary olivers having mind-altering realizations and epiphanies all the time. imitation is flattery and a form of practice, to a certain extent, but it also just curbs your brain’s natural inclination to use/find your own voice.

i personally would luuuuuuuurve, luff, and loave to hear alllllll about that time you accidentally farted in front of your priest {not true for me, i swear}, or woke up to a face-full of your cat’s dingleberries {definitely true for me.}

okay, i feel better now.