My only hope for this pajama party is that people are TRUE TO THEMSELVES and wear their actual pajamas. This is an authentic swim team shirt from my freshman year of high school that is stained and basically disintegrating from the turn of the Willennium.
That’s right. I may have a flesh-eating staph infection. I may have been asleep a mere 40 minutes ago having terrifyingly lucid dreams due to the antibiotics I’m on.
But, I will STILL go out tonight. I’m doing it for my 2010 self that had the worst night ever last year due to the (awful) guy I was dating that my friends not-so-affectionately nicknamed “Tutti Frutti.” Psst, he was the manager of a yogurt shop (and attained the position at the enterprising age of 27).
Whatever. I am primping (gpoy), doing it up, and having all the yogurt I want tonight.
HAPPY THANKSGIVING, Tumbladies and gays.
The tattoo artist gave me this ointment to use for two weeks, and I flipped it over today to see if I might be able to also use it for the evil flesh eating blemish on my face. One of the uses of this ointment is for “nipple care.”
NIPPLE CARE.
Hey! I did something permanent to myself! Give me attention!
I wanted to get a tattoo of something that wouldn’t be immediately recognizable to others, so I decided to get two H’s joined together in the center. They stand for health + happiness, and I got it last night (rather than another) because it’s the same number of lines as 11.1.11.
Knowing my luck, it’s probably a widely known symbol in some far away land that roughly translates to, “ALL GAYS MUST DIE!”
Was going to skip Halloween this year, but I might just have to get a mask for this…
