You need to have a big wedding so that your aMAZing friends can hook up with his idiot friends and then spend the next year complaining about how they can’t come to any parties at your place “because I’ll run into that douchebag that I hooked up with at your wedding.”
I feel like this must describe more people than we can even imagine. I feel like I’m being dramatic when I think about: being sexually assaulted in a dark corner on a strange street in Madrid and my phone was dead; all the times I was in a frat house of people I trusted, blacked out having sex with I don’t remember and only knowing it happened because I wake up naked with a condom next to me; how hot the german guy was before he got forceful and made me let him finish without a condom; all the times I had laid there in pain waiting for my past boyfriends to finish; all the times I have given in to a man just because I liked him; being scolded at planned parenthood in the suburbs because I didn’t know how many people I slept with; almost but not quite having sex with my manager at my first job when I was 15 and he was 24 because I thought I knew what I wanted. I can’t write #metoo because I can’t stand the thought of people thinking I’m promiscuous [that’s no excuse for sexual assault so it’s sad that’s what people would think], and I can’t stand the thought of my mom knowing that I was irresponsible and slutty in college [again, really sad that people think being irresponsible means you should be sexually assaulted]. I also can’t write #metoo because I don’t feel the same pain that many people feel; being whistled at on the street irritates me but it doesn’t bring up bad memories; sex in general does not trigger any bad feelings for me. The sexual assault experiences I have had in the past do not affect me unless I actively think about them, so writing #metoo feels like a slap in the face to those who ‘truly’ suffered, whatever that means. I wish we didn’t have to have this conversation. Maybe someday.
I read 50 Shades of Grey because I wanted to learn What Women Want. I learned that women really like nice looking young billionaires who fly around in their own helicopters and they’ll put up with a lot of shit to get one. Which I sort of already suspected.
The popularity of American Girl dolls in the 90s has contributed to the current rise of Nationalism so thanks, Rachel. And I’m surprised you didn’t want Kit since Kit was a writer.
I really have nothing intelligent or witty to say here, but I feel that I should comment just to keep up appearances.
[…] A boob grab releases oxytocin, which is the same chemical released during hugs. SourcePhoto […]
You need to have a big wedding so that your aMAZing friends can hook up with his idiot friends and then spend the next year complaining about how they can’t come to any parties at your place “because I’ll run into that douchebag that I hooked up with at your wedding.”
Yes, you made out with him. We all saw you doing it and we posted pictures of it on Facebook.
Apple Store employees are allowed to have sex only with other Apple Store employees. Which the rest of the human population is completely fine with.
I want all of these same things, but at my funeral.
Going commando takes the Shart to a whole ‘nother level of adventure.
Han shot first
You should’ve had them hit up the thrift store, I had 2 Samantha’s and a Felicity from local thrifts. My mom only got me a new AGD when Kaya came out
These dolls were my whole childhood I had around 6 so I feel bad for my parents for paying that much
I had five American girl dolls as a kid and now I’m a social studies teacher. I think there is a correlation there somewhere?
I feel like this must describe more people than we can even imagine. I feel like I’m being dramatic when I think about: being sexually assaulted in a dark corner on a strange street in Madrid and my phone was dead; all the times I was in a frat house of people I trusted, blacked out having sex with I don’t remember and only knowing it happened because I wake up naked with a condom next to me; how hot the german guy was before he got forceful and made me let him finish without a condom; all the times I had laid there in pain waiting for my past boyfriends to finish; all the times I have given in to a man just because I liked him; being scolded at planned parenthood in the suburbs because I didn’t know how many people I slept with; almost but not quite having sex with my manager at my first job when I was 15 and he was 24 because I thought I knew what I wanted. I can’t write #metoo because I can’t stand the thought of people thinking I’m promiscuous [that’s no excuse for sexual assault so it’s sad that’s what people would think], and I can’t stand the thought of my mom knowing that I was irresponsible and slutty in college [again, really sad that people think being irresponsible means you should be sexually assaulted]. I also can’t write #metoo because I don’t feel the same pain that many people feel; being whistled at on the street irritates me but it doesn’t bring up bad memories; sex in general does not trigger any bad feelings for me. The sexual assault experiences I have had in the past do not affect me unless I actively think about them, so writing #metoo feels like a slap in the face to those who ‘truly’ suffered, whatever that means. I wish we didn’t have to have this conversation. Maybe someday.
I’m not going to start eating until after I get Turkey Dumped.
#TurkeyDump2k17
I read 50 Shades of Grey because I wanted to learn What Women Want. I learned that women really like nice looking young billionaires who fly around in their own helicopters and they’ll put up with a lot of shit to get one. Which I sort of already suspected.
*brake
The popularity of American Girl dolls in the 90s has contributed to the current rise of Nationalism so thanks, Rachel. And I’m surprised you didn’t want Kit since Kit was a writer.
I’ve always suspected that JLaw was a Dementor walking amongst us and this confirms it.
Love means never having to say “Yo, bitch, I done bought you a Ferrari now get off my ass about that Becky thing!”
What kind of parents name their kid The Weeknd?
This could have been written by my dog.