I Can't
Post Grad Problems sorta swooped in and stole me away from my blog for a bit, huh? Kinda like when your BFF gets a new boyfriend she's OBSESSED with and promises you guys will still hang, duh! And that she isn't going to get wrapped up in this one like she has with every other one, but she does. She always does. Because she's a selfish, stupid, needy bitch. That's me. I'm that bitch with PGP.
So, to apologize, I wanted to gift my readers with a brand new installation of things I just, well, can't. Because when can any of us, really?
I can't...
that I'm still working off my black, 14-pound MacBook from 2006. In addition, I can't that I brought it into the Apple store to see if it was worth putting any more money into, and the cute little Genius dude told me it's classified as "vintage." I'm so hipster, y'all don't even know how hipster I am.
I can't...
deal with myself when I've forgot that I've thrown something absolutely heinous away (ex: chicken, strawberries, dog poop) and let it sit for a day, only to be welcomed home by the vomit-inducing scents of what I imagine Sex Panther mixed with diarrhea diaper smells like.
I can't...
handle my heavy, colorful, Anthropologie quilt during the summer months, but it's just so pretty, it has to stay at the foot of my bed on display. People need to see how pretty it is, ALWAYS.
I can't...
teach my dog to love fetch and it makes me feel like a failed dog owner. She sorta just awkwardly flails around frantically, eyeing the ball mid-air, then says "fuck it" and eats all the grass.
I can't...
get into olives, still. Is this a taste preference that will change with time? I'm three years away from 30, and 1500 vodka waters away from even slightly contemplating touching any sort of dirty martini with a ten-foot pole.
I can't...
sleep soundly unless it's a frozen Tundra in my room, pitch fuggin' black, and my white noise machine is on full-blast. All three must be in motion - one or two cannot work alone.
I can't...
and have never been able to handle wink faces via text from men. I strongly believe that male's phones should have a separate emoji download, sans winky faces. I have a theory that, without winky faces, more long-lasting relationships would come out of more dates. If men did not have the option of sending a woman a winky face, then a woman would be less creeped out by a man's flirtation attempt and more intrigued to see him again. #hypothesis
I can't...
be any worse at timing out running the dishwasher and not remembering that my plan for the night was to hunker down in my living room and catch up on GoT. What's that, Cersei? Sorry, couldn't hear you over the fucking tidal wave tearing apart the few pots and cups I wasn't willing to scrub just a little bit harder tonight.
I can't...
put down this book that my friends and I are currently trying to finish by a date we chose for a Book Club we created. The pressure is on to actually meet our own expectations for once. It helps that the book really is pretty fantastic.
I can't...
get enough of picking the sleep out of my dog's eyes. On a scale of 1 to WTF, how abnormal am I for that? Be gentle.
I can't...
decide if venturing out to my front lawn every morning in my house robe and slippers is cute or weird. It's an ongoing, internal debate I've been having for the past several years. Cars drive by and stare, and I wonder if it's out of admiration or disgust. Discuss.
I can't...
accept that Lady Gaga landed this dude as her boyfriend:
I can't...
with Snapchat. Yeah, I said it. I was forced to download it before it was popular, leaving me with one singular male who would send me 100 dumb pictures and videos a day. He ruined it for me, and I've never been able to go back. Plus, sending pictures and videos is just as easy via text and, if it's truly hilarious content, you can save it forever and ever. Snap THIS chat.
I can't...
help but laugh at Google+ jokes. Talk nerdy to me, ya know?
I can't...
with Miley Cyrus anymore. I know, I know. It's like "when COULD you with her, though?" I still love her newest album and know every single note and word. And, for a time, I was willing to laugh off her nipple-heavy antics. But I'm sorry to say I have finally reached my own personal breaking point with her. I think the straw was her concert videos and pictures, along with her bed-ridden, hospital rants.
I can't...
I just can't.
xox,
emma
