what is happening? since when am i the chick with paint on my fingers and i don’t know what to even call this on the floor? it’s a mess like a bathroom stall with better intentions and not enough genius. me, blowing off steam, sharing it with this blog because…well just because i guess. so here, this is what happens when you remove stability and let the weirdo out.
i’m not finished. who knows what the fuck it is anyway…it’s like what happens to a psychotic dyslexic three year old when given too many pixie stix (es) and one too many goulden’s mustard packets. that just made me laugh. all is well…
i’m ghetto using hangers, using plastic forks, using shiny shitty paper…but it’s either this or worse.
i’m in a good place, this alleged good place where you dont wanna jump off a bridge and can handle day to day life without a strait jacket and a plastic cup filled with funny pills.
normal. responsible. educated. covered in paint. watching intervention without feeling smug, ok trying not to feel smug.
and when did i start listening to rancheras? just hand me a pistol, some tequila, a rose and call me el grande chueca. that’s my ranchera name, officially. write it down, fucker.
this new blog post is brought to you by “what the fuck” and “why the hell not?”
ps – you don’t know what a ranchera is? ok, i got you, son.