Well Tumblr, since I last complained to you MY LIFE HAS FALLEN INTO SHAMBLES.
And now I guess it looks like it might be creeping back into awesome territory.
Par for the course.
As it turns out, 4.5 hours of swing dancing the day after really aggressive sex kind of makes your body hate you.
How’d those crazy kids survive the 40s?
I’ll have you know that every single time you creep on my okcupid I throw up in my mouth a little.
(read: a lot)
It feels so, so, so amazing to be the one who’s less sure. I haven’t had someone 100% convinced that I’m the girl for them since high school, and he was a dick. So basically, I just need to be smarter about figuring out if this one is a dick. All signs point to no.
So Thursday was a solid month sober from the dancing ginge, and he texted me asking if he was allowed to talk to me again. Because he missed me.
Managed to ignore, but it kind of wrecked my day.
But that night I had a first date with a guy who is literally—literally—going to charm my pants off, and he’s older and together and sweet and smart and thinks I’m the best thing that’s ever happened.
Onwards and upwards.
fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck