I hate how much Los Angeles has made me like juicing. Especially when kale is involved. Who am I and more importantly, when I will I get over myself?
I hate how willing someone to contact you, doesn't actually make them contact you. It makes me wish I had the nerve to peel a page from the every student I've ever had playbook and email and/or call every five minutes until I receive a response. Instead of my per usge approach, which is to wait forever and just passive aggressively check my email every three seconds.
I am sure Beyonce never has to deal with this crap. And, of course, if she doesn't, neither should I.
Let's see, what else? So much. So much else.
I hate the Boston real estate market. I hate that I did weeks of research and will have to fork over a fee--in the amount of the one month's rent--to a realtor who did approximately zero weeks of research. Who do these people think they are? My junior year Hormones and Behavior class? You know, the one where I did all the work and studying and got a "B" and my friend Drew did nothing and got an "A". Oh, you don't remember that? Because it will only be etched in my memory for. ev.er.
I hate crop tops. Stop trying to make crop tops happen.
I hate how unproductive I've been recently. It's just that I've been working so hard for so long that the moment the dark cumulus clouds parted and allowed the dimmest sliver of sunlit reprieve to cascade through, my adreneline plummeted and my mind and body be like:
UGH. I hate that I use the phrase "be like." Gross.
In other news...in dry heat, Wendy's hair be like:
In humidity, Wendy's hair be like:
I can't win.
And the bangs v. no bangs debate wages on. It aims to rival the Hundred Years' War.
I hate that in less than two months, I will begin every complaint with: well in Los Angeles... I apologize in advance for this, Boston. You don't deserve it. Just know that I don't mean any of it. I mean, I will but not really. Blame my fickle fickle heart and penchant for quibbling.
And I hate that this post so closely resembles another post I wrote...or all of them, but c'est la nature of the beast.
Here's hoping for a good day tomorrow.
Or a new personality that is more inclined to make lemonade
...that is not filled with vodka.