Confessions of a wannabe ballerina.
sext: i want to pay bills and share household duties and approach our late 20’s in a financially and emotionally stable way with you
Oh god why do I even bother. I have been trying for a long time to taste food from different countries and see what all the fuss is about. And I don’t know why I tried the Cronut… I hate croissants and I am noooot a fan of doughnuts at all PLUS it was filled with cream and drizzled with white chocolate and sugar… It is nice for about the first bit then it made me feel ill. Thank lord I split the thing with my mother. She was not pleased either. But yeah Ok seriously Americans!? Who the hell likes pop tarts?! WHO!
They taste like recycled food! Like every one has a slight after taste of raisins and cardboard as if they have been mixed together with old stale pastry and the box itself!
I had about 3/4 of a cinnamon roll one and I had to scrub my mouth out with toothpaste. What the heck is all the hype? Why are they so famous? They taste sooooo incredibly bad! O.O
Then again I am one of those weirdos who’s fav veggie is brussels sprouts and green beans. So what do I know… I’d rather eat a bowl full of green than a poop tart ever again :P I am not ever going to be sorry.
Don’t read The Fault In Our Stars.
Not because it isn’t the most profound piece of literature ever… but because it will take a piece of your heart and nuke it like metal frying a microwave that is being shot at with missiles while simultaneously being dropped into a hot pot of fucking lava and inside said lava is the devil himself waiting to inflict any number of horrific crimes against all that is holy.
And you will cry for the duration of the last 20 chapters. Either with horrific sadness or ridiculous joy. Either two at an interval of about one comma.
And as an insult to injury… I just have to ask? Is he Van Houten? Does he want to be loved and hated at the same time? Because weather it is the intent or not. He has succeeded in that. Also when I inevitably have to purchase a hamster for my future metaphorical child I now have no choice in what it will be called. Because fuck.
Omg. That is just wrong. Spare that person the hurt and tell them never to read it in public! Bitch baby tears will come. Well it isn’t so much the ending as it is the whole last 100 pages of the entire book.