that girl;

{anticipating ben folds with uneven lipstick. a typical friday night.}

the other day i realized some things mid-8:30am bike ride:

i’m on email lists for  ballroom dancing, swing dancing, and “acro-yoga”.

my sock collection (seventeen pairs strong) is larger than any collection of sassy underwear or stack of crappy women’s magazines.

i’m buying rain pants this week.

the words “nah, i can’t go contra dancing, i’ve got swing dancing tonight,” came out of my mouth recently.

the only way i can get stuff done at my internship is if nicki minaj or missy elliot is blasting secretly in my headphones.

i often wonder what happened to rachel leigh cook. come back to me, rachel leigh cook. you gave awkward girls a voice in 90’s rom-coms.

a local library retweeted me this week. we had a twit-versation. it was awesome.

my mom recently digitized all of our home videos. 85% of my videos involving me chasing after my childhood dog to either 1. rock him to sleep, 2. put a t-shirt on him, or 3. pick up his front legs to dance to michael bolton. nothing has changed, and this pleases me greatly.

the words “man, i just have such a crush on his brain,” have also come out of my mouth lately.

i’ve been on a never-ending quest for a “mama’s chair” for my apartment. as in, one of those “you can’t sit in that chair, it’s mama’s chair” sort of chairs. is that just a southern thing, chair-claiming?

in short, i’m slowly becoming the girl i’ve wanted to become.


4 thoughts on “that girl;

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