Archive | January, 2013

blast from the past

23 Jan

So, this previous summer, my dear brother Brian decided to buy a website domain and asked if I would post some blog entries for him about random pop culture shit that popped into my head. I wrote five entries in total for him (one of which did not make it to his website), before we both kind of forgot about the website and carried on with our lives. So, I told Brian that I was interested in writing for his website again because I needed to get my creative juices flowing. He told me he would find the password for the website again and get things up and running.

Well, Brian and I worked on a voiceover special for Halloween which he posted to his website. I went to check the website to give it a listen, and it turns out, he deleted my entire page off of his site. As one could assume, this is annoying as fuck. Yes, I have the documents saved on my computer (new computer, actually. Files transferred over like a boss), but unfortunately, they didn’t save exactly as they had appeared on my blog there due to the formatting differences and the fact that I didn’t post the links I was referencing on the actual word documents (I’m stupid).

Long story short (not really, since I just told you the entire story in those first two paragraphs), I am going to repost those entries onto this blog, because I was kind of proud of them and I entertained myself with my extremely profound insight into the world of sitcoms and television of the 80’s and 90’s.

So, the next five posts are all going to be ones that I wrote a while ago. I might edit them to fit the context of this blog better, but really, who knows? It’ll be a last minute decision. I’m a procrastinator, it’s what we do. But, I figured it’s best to get that work back out there on the internet for no one to read again. Enjoy!

shantay, you stay

22 Jan

I usually talk about how much I hate or dislike things, so it’s a real treat and rare occurrence when I announce how much I genuinely love and appreciate something. Back in 2010 when I was in London, my flatmate Steph (wutup pheebz?!) and I had a Tuesday night tradition: go for some bottles of wine with some friends at The Shakespeare, then come back to our flat and stalk relative strangers on Facebook while on our own laptops on separate sides of the couch in silence. Sometimes, we wouldn’t even be on the same couch, but just sitting in the same room. Always in silence. No speaking allowed. Only maybe Facebook chatting if we had to send one another a link. Why speak when you can just send something virtually? It was really a tradition we came to know and love, I honestly do miss it to this day. Most of the time we would have found some food in the kitchen to snack on while we sat in silence, but mostly, we just ignored one another for a while. However, there was another factor that was incorporated into this tradition that cannot go unnoticed and is the central topic of this post: we had “RuPaul’s Drag Race” playing in the background whenever we did this. One of the stations we received at our flat played season two of “Drag Race” every Tuesday night at the time we got home from The Shakespeare, and we would always put it on, but never pay attention. What made it better is that while we had it on, we always questioned why we were watching it, but neither of us did anything to change that. This happened every week like clockwork, and it was a beautiful bonding experience for Steph and I.

Well, last year while watching “The Soup”, Joel McHale commented on a clip from “Drag Race”, which reminded me that the show existed. The clip was extremely campy, dramatic, and ridiculous, and while Joel McHale was clearly insulting it, I thought it was hilarious. Luckily for me, Vh1 (still waiting for your call to comment on shit, Vh1!!!!!) was playing a “Drag Race” marathon one night when I was at a friend’s house drinking, and the episode that we turned on happened to be the one that contained the clip from “The Soup”. The episode was ridiculous in and of itself, as one of the contestants, Willam (who is insanely funny and has a better body than me and half of the women I know), threw up off of the stage during the big judging ceremony, then the vomiting wasn’t addressed, and then after the “lip synch for your life” was performed by two other contestants, Willam was randomly called up and kicked off of the show for violating the rules. Naturally, Lauren and I thought that it was because he threw up, but the episode never went into explaining what the fuck happened, so we were left confused and amazed. And it hit me right then: I was hooked. There was no turning back after this. I watched all of the episodes that had aired so far in the fourth season on my laptop the next day that I didn’t have classes, and I was actively involved in the season finale, even sending in my vote over twitter (I voted for Chad Michaels, who is flawless). People were confused by my love for the show, but I didn’t know how to explain it. I was just obsessed (and still am).

I eventually realized the reason why I became so infatuated with the show: I love drag queens. Everything about them amazes me. They know how to apply makeup better than I do, they know how to dress their bodies better than I do, they know how to own their sexuality and love themselves, which is more than I can say for myself. Drag queens just have their own lexicon and dialogue that does not work when anyone else says what they say. They are hysterical, know exactly what to say to snap back at another queen or answer one of Ru’s suggestive questions. Basically, anything a drag queen says is what I wish I could say, but I’d look like a complete judgmental asshole doing so (I already look like a judgmental asshole, so I don’t need anymore help in that department). I came to love RuPaul, who I had really only known from the song “Cover Girl” and as the guidance counselor in “The Brady Bunch Movie”. Pretty much, I wish I was a drag queen, but I unfortunately was biologically born a woman, not a gay man. I have thought for a while that I was a gay man in another life, but I’m starting to think that I was actually a drag queen previously. I wish I was one now. Maybe my mom would get off of my back about not having a career path.

Over this summer, I watched the first three seasons of the show, came to know all of the queens, separated which ones I love, which ones I hate, and which ones I just don’t care about. I immersed myself in everything “Drag Race” and I have no regrets doing it. I’ve gotten my brother Brendan into the show, discovered that some of my friends love it, and even went to see one of the queens, Chad Michaels (who as I said before is FLAWLESS) at a club appearance a few weeks ago. I wish I could surround myself with drag queens. They seem to be the only other people on my level of bitchy who would not fault me for it. In fact, they would encourage it. That’s all I want in life. One of my top qualifications when looking for friends is that they’re judgmental (other qualities are that they drink and that they hate everything, but I guess I can overlook not fitting all qualifications if you have two of the three), and I feel like all of my favorite queens from “Drag Race” fit this bill. If karma is real, then I have to assume that I am royally fucked for what a mean-spirited and rude person I am, but watching episodes of “Drag Race” make me feel better about myself, knowing that there are others like me out there.

So, this is my open call for new friends. Drag queens. Any shape or size, I do not care. Just come hang out with me, drink cocktails with me, and teach me how to apply my makeup because I want to look better when we go out to gay bars. If you could pass me off as a drag queen, that would also be a plus. All of you drag queens whom I love, you are all the sisters I’ve always wanted but never had. It’s never too late to make new friends. Come find me now and save me from myself.

and all i’m ever gonna be is mean

15 Jan

I really dislike Taylor Swift. I don’t know if that’s become a popular thing to do, but if it has, don’t mistake me for someone who just jumped on the bandwagon recently but my iPod is actually packed with songs from her first cd. I have never liked Taylor Swift. My opinion of her has always been this: I appreciate that she writes her own lyrics because I know how many musicians still do not do that. However, I do not like her lyrics. Or the general sound of her music. I am just not a fan. Her songs sound like a preteen wrote in her diary and then thought it was okay to put that to music, completely unpolished and ridiculously immature. I am not a fan of this. So, originally my only gripe with her was really just that I didn’t like her music, but I suppose I respected her for at least doing her own work.

Eventually, I learned more about Taylor Swift. Far too much, really. All the time, all I learn about is Taylor Swift. I know way too much about her love life. And that’s really all I seem to know about her, but I feel like I’ve learned so much more about the kind of person she is just from knowing about all of her (failed) relationships. Her relationships never seem to last more than three months (recently, at least. I feel like she was with Joe Jonas for a while before he dumped her via text message. Classy move on his part), but she claims to be in love with the guys (I say guys because she has dated between men and babies it feels like) immediately. So, clearly, she falls too hard too fast. But what bothers me about this is that she’s immediately onto a new guy after breaking up with the last. I wouldn’t have an issue if she fell really hard for a guy fast, because that happens to everyone, not just TSwift. But, it’s the fact that she immediately moves on and never takes the time to just be single and deal with herself that annoys me. And I get it, she’s young. She’s my age. People my age do that. But, again, here’s my issue with that, I don’t like people who do that. So my problem with Taylor Swift is not that she’s some annoying girl who jumps in and out of relationships and needs attention (I do believe she needs attention). My problem is that in real life, if I knew her, I would not want to be friends with her. Because I have met people like her (notice I say people, not just women. Don’t get sexist and generalize here, no one reading this blog) and I cannot deal with them. I know exactly how she’d be in real life: I’d give her a piece of advice about staying single and going with the flow and just seeing what happens, and she would push for a new relationship immediately, ignoring anything I had said to her. It’s really just insulting to me. I just dislike that.

And again, I don’t want to use the excuse that she’s young. Because you know what? I’m her age and so are the majority of my friends. And I can give you a list of people who are nothing like that, who don’t force things that don’t belong just because they don’t want to be single or something. So I get that she’s young and she’s “falling in and out of love” or whatever, but how about she take a break for a little bit and learn to be single?

And yeah, I get that it’s worse for her with her relationships being completely public, out there for everyone in the world to read about. But in all honesty, that makes it even more annoying because it is thrown in my face 24/7 that she is jumping in and out of relationships. And what’s worse is that I feel like she’s abusing the word “love” because she just takes the feelings she has and lumps them under that category immediately. Again, it’s insulting to the entire notion of love.

But, back to her music. She’s young so she’s going to write young music. Well, I’ll just look at Adele, who is just absolutely magnificent, and yes, also young. Her cds are called “19” and “21” because that’s how old when she wrote them. They are noticeably far more mature than TSwift’s music ever will be. But whatever, that’s not what Taylor’s going for, she’s a part of another genre entirely. I just dislike that she continues winning awards as if she is the best in everything she does, which I strongly disagree with. Also, all Taylor’s music is about breakups. We get it. Guys break up with you. Sometimes you break up with them. Like TSwift, Adele’s second cd was about her breakup. But, again,it just sounded so much more mature. And her voice is just so much more soothing to me.

I guess all I can get at it here is I am not a fan of Taylor Swift or her music. I never was and I never ever ever will be (see what I did there?). My advice to Taylor is to take the time to work on herself and be single. Because you don’t need a man to make you better, Taylor. You do you, girl.

Also, I realize I sound like a complete bully in this, but really, I never claimed to be a nice or non-judgmental person, so you’re looking at the wrong blog if you’re actually on this page and hoping to read something kind and uplifting. It would honestly probably be easier for me to name the people I don’t dislike than it would be for me to name the people I do dislike. That’s just the kind of person I am. And I think Taylor Swift needs to take a nap.

i own a pair of kangaroo sneakers and my friends and i used to pass notes in the pockets during science class

14 Jan

Growing up, I always knew what I wanted to do eventually in life. I would say “screenwriter” or “doctor” (yeah, I used to want to be a doctor. It’s funny because as I got older, I knew that I could never be a doctor because a) I hate blood and b) I hate people) or “teacher”. These were all a lie, though. All a clever cover for what I really was interested in doing, and will forever be interested in doing.

My dream in life is to be a commentator on Vh1 specials. Most specifically, “I Love the 80’s”. Now, I know what you’re thinking, no one. “Alaina, ‘I Love the 80’s’ already happened. Three times. Also, you weren’t alive in the 80’s. How would any of this work? I think you’re a figment of my imagination”. Well, to you, no one, I have several responses. Yes, “I Love the 80’s” is already a completed series. But, let’s think about this. It’s Vh1. Is anything there ever really finished? I think not. For example, they began the “I Love the New Millennium” franchise back in like 2008, before the year was even done. So, they still have two or three years they need to comment on. That alone gives me hope, maybe one day they’ll remember their bastard child of a program and request my assistance after reading my insightful thoughts on current popular culture on my always relevant twitter.

But forget about “I Love the New Millennium”, that’s not what I care about. Entertainment media today is all about one thing: the reboot. Also, sequels. So really, two things. Reboots and sequels. Sorry for saying it was only about one thing, that was misleading of me. So, what I’m thinking is that “I Love the 80’s” is long overdue for either a reboot or a fourth segment, either of which I would be more than happy to participate in. For free. No questions asked. The first two installments were really where the show hit its stride. Vh1’s other attempts at spin-offs (yeah, I’ll call them spin-offs), “I Love the 70’s” and “I Love the 90’s”, plus their own sequels, failed to really reach the level that the first two “80’s” installments achieved and maintained. The third installment of “I Love the 80’s”, cleverly titled “3D”, I assume because of “Jaws 3D” which was a completely necessary movie, was kind of thrown in after some of the other decades were being broadcast, and I really don’t think we should even bother remembering it. So, I think it’s time that we reboot “I Love the 80’s”, and discuss all of the same topics that were discussed on the first two segments of it. Who wouldn’t want that? A fresh new take on the trends of the past that have already been discussed by the likes of Michael Ian Black, Daisy Fuentes, and Chris Jericho! New insights! Old topics! New laughs!

Now, there lies your other problem with me, no one. I am well aware that I was not a child in the 80’s. Not only was I not a child in the 80’s, but I wasn’t even alive then. I was conceived in 1989, which I thought gave me enough street cred to wear a pin that said “Made in the 80’s” on my purse, which is both really embarrassing and pretty gross. But you know what? I only did that because I loved the 80’s so much. I made two t-shirts back in ’05 and ’06, one of John Stamos back when he was Blackie on “General Hospital”, and the other of “Wham!”. What teenager who was not alive in the 80’s would do this and actually be able to still remember those references now? What I’m getting is that while I was not physically present in the 80’s, I think I was born in the wrong decade and my spirit belongs in the 80’s. It sounds insanely stupid, especially given how cool the 90’s have become recently, but it’s just how I’ve always felt. I know what the garbage pale kids are. I have a best of Erasure cd. Jake Ryan is my dream date. I remember the Berlin Wall being torn down (no I don’t).

Long story short, Vh1, I also had a tshirt that said “I Love the 80’s”. I’d be happy to be a commentator on any “I Love the (insert decade)” segments, but my dream is really just to talk about the 80’s and how much I appreciate almost everything from that time (I can’t get behind mall hair or the existence of Eric Stoltz). You don’t need to be alive during a certain period of time to be creepily obsessed with everything about it at a young age, an age where I really should have been out socializing with other people and not making tshirts with Wham! on them. But I still wear that Wham! shirt. And I wear it with pride. Because I believe in America. And America believes in me.

Oh, and to answer your final concern, no one…I absolutely am a figment of your imagination.

i would totes make the title of this post a bright eyes lyric if i were back in eighth grade

14 Jan

I have this problem where I live in the past. Any spare time I get during my day I spend thinking about things that have already happened. My real issue with this is that I think of the past and I create new scenarios in my mind that could have happened during that time and in that place, but none of it is real and never happened. I once read that 75% of what you daydream has never happened and will never happen. I’m pretty sure that this is actually 100% for me, because I think I’m actually a hallucination and live in an imaginary world.

But in all seriousness, my issue is that I live in the past and always wish that I could be somewhere else that I’ve already been, because I have to assume it’s better than where I am now. I am never just content with where I am in the moment. I am constantly unhappy with it and think about the better times I had in other places. I always wish I was back in these places, reliving the experiences I have before, enjoying myself as I have in the past. I wish that I could just be back in these locations, most usually the place I dream of being is London, because I know that this is where I was completely happy. I was literally unhappy three times in London, I could tell you the exact times because that’s how little I was unhappy there. However, I think I allow myself to forget the most important factor in this rush of wishing I was somewhere else: even if I were to go back, I can never recreate what happened there before. Things would be different if I were to return. If I went back to London, I would not be with all of the same people in my program, I would not have the same flat I had, I would not have the same sense of having almost no responsibilities. I’d have to figure out life differently and adjust to my surroundings that in a sense would become new to me again. It wouldn’t be what I experienced before. Even with Amherst, I often find myself wishing I could be back at our hold house from last year, just sitting around and drinking on the porch when the weather finally became nice. But, if I were to go back, it wouldn’t be the same there either. I’m not a student anymore, I can’t be living that lifestyle, my roommates wouldn’t be there, nothing would be the same. I wouldn’t even be able to live in 1136 again, and that’s what I most desperately miss. It makes it even sadder to think about missing these places when actually allowing the reality that nothing would be the same if I were to go there again.

I think that my issue is that I’m never content with the present unless something really exciting is happening, and really, how often does that occur? Not everything can be really exciting and I can never have everything that I want. I’m still struggling to actually accept this. And I don’t like to live thinking about the future, because I think that to me, the future is completely hypothetical. I have things that I would love to do and places I would love to go, but who knows when they’ll actually happen and if they’d work out how I plan. What if something were to go wrong? For example, you can have your hotel and flight booked to go to Germany for Oktoberfest, but you don’t necessarily plan on going to the wrong airport the morning of and missing your flight (yes, this actually happened to me. No, I don’t want to talk about it. Yes, I know I am very stupid. Yes, this is one of the three times I was unhappy in London). I need things to be happening the moment that I want them to happen, and then I mourn them when they’re over. I’m one of those people who gets sentimental and upset when Christmas ends. There’s always so much build up and spirits really are generally higher during the holiday season, but then it’s just all done. Sure, the tree stays up for another week and there’s still New Year’s Eve to celebrate, but really, the Christmas specials are all off of tv and I hate New Year’s Eve because it never lives up to the hype. I’m someone who always wishes it was another time and I was in another place with other people. It hinders me, yes, but it’s honestly very hard to control.

I don’t know if all of this makes me sound like a sad person, but I can’t help it. I’ve just had some really great experiences in my life, I suppose. I should look at it that way. However, I think I really wish I could go back to so many situations from my past because I want to be able to really appreciate them while they are happening, which I feel like I constantly never allow myself to do. I need to learn how to care more in the present when something is happening, rather than waiting for it to end so I can wax nostalgic about it. I’ll just pretend that this makes me very deep and poetic and look at it as a positive, when really, I know that isn’t it. I need to get the fuck out of my head because it’s insanity in there.

You’re welcome for this downer of a post, the zero people who look at this blog.

i will owe you a few minutes of your time back if you actually take the time to read this post

7 Jan

Working out is the bane of my existence. I do it three to five times a week depending on the week, but it’s always an endless struggle to finally get myself onto the elliptical. First, I set a goal time for myself. It’s usually at a :00 or :30. My constant mistake is not getting out of my bed to get changed until that time has finally arrived, and then I can’t just get on the machine at an off minute. That would throw off my entire day. Why would I want to do that to myself? Instead, I wait til around the next :15 or :45 and then I fill my water bottle. Again, I am not very good with time management. Prior to working out, I make sure to spend an ample amount of time complaining to several of my friends about how I’m not in the mood to work out. This not only lets them know where I will be for the next hour and a half (or eventual hour and a half, whenever I actually get off my computer), but also lets them know that I am working on my physical fitness and care about my health. In reality, I’m trying to offset all of the cookies and deli meats I ate over the Christmas season. I will never be successful.

Eventually, I drag myself to the work out room, better known as the office. This room makes absolutely no sense. There is a (full) bookcase, a tv, an elliptical, and then all of the shit I brought home from school with me this past May that I never unpacked and just keep in boxes. Now, don’t go thinking I’m lazy and haven’t touched any of my shit from my house in Amherst since May. I go and search through all of the sweaters on probably a daily basis in my endless search to find something that covers my fupa effectively enough. So yeah, I’m not unpacked, but I still use what’s in the boxes. I’m very crafty like that.

I walk to the tv and turn it on, manually, because apparently I live in the colonial age and we are peasants who don’t have a tv remote. It’s actually insulting, I think I deserve more than this when trying to work out. So, not only do I have to turn on the tv manually, but I also have to make sure the volume is at the right level. Otherwise, I have to get up during my workout, waste 9 seconds on the machine, and fix it. You don’t even want to get me started on when I finish a disc of whatever show I’m watching and switch it with a new one. On my walk back to the elliptical, I take a moment to look in the stand-up mirror we have in the room. What I once thought to be a skinny mirror, I now have come to the realization that the mirror itself was never making me look skinnier, I just was skinnier. So I spend a good ten minutes before the workout crying about the fact that this mirror I once thought makes me look skinny no longer does that. And if it is actually a skinny mirror, I am thoroughly disappointed with it. Way to not build up my self-esteem, devil mirror. I swear I’d land in a portal to hell if I stuck my hand through it.

Now, it is time to get on the machine. After licking away all of my tears as they roll down my face since they are salty and remind me of food, I get on the elliptical. I have perfected the art of turning on the dvd player to where I last left off on the show I am watching, while pedaling forward at the same time and adjusting the settings for my workout. It’s really something astounding to witness, I would assume. I wouldn’t know for a fact since I am the one doing the act, but I’m sure it’s impressive. Roughly two minutes into workout, I will text a friend, usually Lauren, telling her how much I hate working out and how boring it is. After that, I will most likely tweet the same exact thought, rendering my private text to her useless. About a minute after that, I will text Lauren again, telling her a quote from whatever show I am watching, more likely than not “30 Rock”. Throughout the workout, I make sure to tweet every single line that is 140 characters or less that make me laugh, just so others can know the things that I find funny. They don’t get much of a response, which I think is cruel. I’m providing humor for the masses, yet I earn no respect from anyone.

I’ve noticed from years of going to an actual gym, and not just the “office” of my house, that people tend to cover the time up on their machine with a towel or something, because that way they don’t focus on how long they’ve been working out or how much longer they have left, and so they actually work out effectively. Since I’m mentally unstable, I have strict times that I change settings and drink water. For example, every ten minutes, I switch from either pedaling forwards to pedaling backwards, or vice versa. Every fifteen minutes, I go up a level on my resistance, until the last fifteen minutes of my workout, in which I go down one. At every increment of ten minutes after 2 minutes, I drink water. But, not right at the 2. It has to be after 30 seconds. So at 12:36 I’ll take a sip, or 32:44. It’s extremely normal of me. Also, I make it a habit to check instagram and Facebook every ten minutes, just to see that nothing’s changed. More often than not, nothing has changed. But I can’t chance missing something big happening because I was too busy working out. Oh, also, I make it a point to immediately want any food that any character is eating on the show I am watching, usually that is pizza, and then tweet about that. Really, what I’m getting at here is that my twitter is extremely interesting and I convey a large range of thoughts on life.

Generally, I work out for an hour and a half. However, if I’m on a time crunch, I’ll cut it down to one hour, or if I feel extremely large and in charge and extra chunky yet funky, I’ll bump it up to two hours. I sound insane and I have a miserable time, but it makes me feel better in some small, insignificant way. I read once that you’re only supposed to work out for one hour at a time or some shit like that, but I say fuck that because I’ve tricked my brain into thinking I’m doing a great job, and I deserve the praise.

Once my bonding time with the elliptical has ended, I press “stop” on the dvd player (luckily we have a remote for that), turn off the machine, manually turn off the tv (waste of time), and leave behind the memories that we have just shared. From there, I tend to just stew in my own filth while catching up on Perez Hilton and Buzzfeed articles. It’s really exciting, and I suggest everyone take the time out of their life to become me for one day. You’ll learn to hate yourself a little bit more, and I think that’s what America needs.

sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead

7 Jan

Dear food,

I’m sorry I’m doing this so impersonally, in letter form, rather than over a text message or by having Taylor Swift write a song for me, but we need to break up. We have gone through so much together, it’s like throwing away an entire chunk of my life, leaving behind the one thing I have ever truly loved and that has ever comforted me. But food, me and you, we just haven’t been on the same page recently. The relationship is far too dependent, with me relying on food to cure my every mood swing, and you having no say in the matter. It’s hard when food is your boyfriend, but it’s even harder when you have to say goodbye.

I’ll always remember all that we’ve shared. At my second birthday when I stuffed my face with cake, when I used to eat three breakfasts a day, when my first boyfriend broke up with me and I devoured almost an entire pizza the next day and then three Thanksgiving dinners the day after that, when my grandfather died and the family was bombarded with trays and trays of beautiful assortments of deli meats and doughnuts and everything else imaginable. Food has been both my rebound and my buffer, always there when I need a friend and a hand to hold. But food, as fun as it’s been, it’s also been miserable, and you’ve really taken a toll on my body. It’s not that fun to not be able to fit through doors without greasing up my sides. I’m past the point where I look too fat in jeans so I have to wear leggings; I now look too fat for my leggings. I had to use my inhaler the other night because I ate so much at dinner that I couldn’t breathe normally. That’s really when I knew, that was the moment that it hit me: food, we are in a toxic relationship. And as much as I have loved you as my boyfriend, especially pizza (I think I’ll miss pizza the most), this just needs to end. This tumultuous affair must come to a conclusion. As much as it breaks my heart, my fupa will be more than thrilled to see you go, as I am tired of watching it grow. Seriously, being on fupa control patrol is very time consuming, and there’s only so large a sweater I can wear to try to cover it.

So food, it’s been beautiful, disgusting, horrendous, difficult, upsetting, excessive, and unnecessary. We had our run, but really, it’s time I leave you behind. Of course, I can’t just let you go cold turkey (I would love to eat some cold turkey right now). You are far too tempting and too delicious for me to just ignore, and I know it will take a while to ween myself off of you. But for now, food, at least know that my intentions were pure, and I am trying to drop you as easily as I can. You’ve been there a lot for me for the past twenty two years. And I often think of where I would be had we never met, or had my love for you not grown so strong. My life would probably be infinitely better. But really, I would never give up what we had. Because you are delicious. And I get really bored all of the time and just want to eat.

Xoxo you know you love me,
Gossip Girl

Cue: a mashup of “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together” and “Trouble”, as both songs describe my feelings toward this breakup.