27 was an incredibly crazy year to say the least. A lot stayed the same, but there was so much kinetic movement centring around work that it felt like nothing ever really settled down. And just when I thought it did, another piece of kindling was added to the fire. Thankfully the dragon is a creature born of fire, so instead of burning up I channeled my inner wingéd beast and rose above the flames. Goddess help the poor knights who get in my way.
It is abso-fucking-lutely possible to become more fabulous every year.
Puppies make everything better (even if they can’t actually solve your problems for you).
Taking notice of those fleeting moments when the light hits the trees just right.
Social anxiety is bullshit, but you learn to work through it if you ever want to get takeout.
When the guy you’re dating sums up his perfect vacation as “Salt Lake City, heavy-biking through the desert, and eating spaghetti and meatballs at the Old Spaghetti Factory” and your perfect vacation is a variation on “Paris, leisurely tours of the Louvre, and eating copious amounts of pain au chocolate at street side cafés” it’s never going to work out.
My high-school punk-rock/bitch/do-what-I-want attitude wasn’t just a phase.
Being the “bigger person” is really easy when you’re always right. (Letting others destroy themselves with their neuroses is also equally pleasurable to actively ruining people).
People are part of your life (or not) for a reason. #squadgoals
I still really don’t like when people tell me what to do, and having someone treat me like I don’t have my own opinions, goals, and capabilities is the quickest way to make me cut you out of my life. i may still follow Peter Pan’s philosophy of refusing to grow up, but I am a goddamn independent adult and I expect to be treated like one.
I didn’t believe him before, but Andy Warhol totally had it right when he said “The idea of waiting for something makes it more exciting.” Though I still haven’t quite learned patience in all things…
All you need is cheese. #smokedgouda
Mold on cheese is negotiable, but not having chocolate in the house is unacceptable.
It’s all about the pillow count.
I may be a girly girl, and I refuse be a basic bitch, but an explosion of pink flowers is what Spring is all about.
You can still go home, but it won’t be quite the same, since everyone who counts has left town (including you).
Happiness is a cold Beck’s on a Friday night, a caramel frappucino on a hot Saturday afternoon, and a fresh batch of cookies on a Sunday afternoon.
Guilt is still a useless emotion.