I Can't

I can't... Stop watching "House." But the more I watch, the more I realize, no matter the subject or symptoms, it's always the same misdiagnoses. All I really give a shit about at this point are the characters' personal lives, but I guess that's a good thing, right? What's a TV show without character development? You're not supposed to like the characters - you're supposed to love them.

I can't...

put down This Is Where I Leave You. And to be a total accidental hipster, I started reading it before I even knew it was coming out in moving picture form this fall. So. There. Also, if you're looking for a great book to actually read word for word, it's this one.

I can't...

deny that my old bed in my old bedroom at my parent's home is so much more comfortable than my bed in my home. How sad is that? It's a full, too. Not even queen status. Isn't that ass backwards? Isn't my old bed in my old bedroom supposed to be the most awkwardly uncomfortable twin-size piece of shit available on the market? My parents were good to me. Old beds die hard.

I can't...

imagine how many times I would've already been murdered in cold blood in the midst of traffic if the cars in my vicinity could actually hear the obscenities that come flying out of my mouth. I think that's when I knew I was bound to be a writer - because of the overwhelmingly creative word combinations that I'm capable of forming when under great stress and upset.

I can't...

be trusted when any variety of Talenti gelato is in my home. In any flavor, for any occasion.

I can't...

usually get down with fake plants or flowers, but get yerself a fake orchid and watch your world change. Orchids look fake as it is, so what's the big deal behind taking it all the way by investing in the real fake deal? The plasticy leaves and tiled vase really make all the difference.

I can't...

tell the difference when I use Gold Bond powder, so I conclude that it doesn't work for excessive sweating in the slightest. That or my sweating powers are above and beyond any sort of weak ass powder shit. FUCK GOLD BOND.

I can't...

believe (but I can) that I spent an entire 20 minutes creating this yesterday morning. It was really hard, you guys. I had to walk away and regroup several times to get those hands just right (the term "right" very loosely used here):

I can't...

handle when anyone, man or woman, calls me pet names and they're not a) my parents or b) my boyfriend. If you don't fall under either of those categories (not much wiggle room), don't you EVER. EVER. Call me pet names. If you're my peer, you're my friend. My girl. My (insert your name here). You're never my: lady, honey, sweetheart, babe, etc. I will smack a hoe so hard, she spins.

I can't...

deal with the new tortilla chips from Pop Chips and neither should you. They're foul. Was intrigued, bought a bag, popped one in my mouth, and threw the bag away - all within 2 minutes. #wasteful

I can't...

that a girl I know just recently married a man whose last name is Costanza. No, really. Never in my life have I ever come within miles of a real-life Costanza. And, here, this girl just MARRIED ONE. If I were her, I would get that last name tattooed on my body so fast and so hard. She's so lucky.

I can't...

carry on enough about these sports bras from GAP. The color options are depressing, but that's no matter. They hold the ladies in and were made to support and encourage the more well-endowed women of the workout world. Highly recommended by my breasts.

I can't...

handle the new Emoji news. So many new ones. So many. Obviously, we're all waiting with bated breath to send every single person in our contact list the middle finger emoji, regardless of when the last time was we actually even spoke to him or her.  But the one I'm most excited about? "Heavy latin cross." DUH.

Enjoy hump day, everyone. I know I will.

xox,

emma