The Most Beautiful Man In The World lives in my building. i don’t know his name. we met on a bus, when i smiled WAY too brightly at him for strangers because, honest to god, my whole heart lit up in a way that made me think, “oh, i must know that guy!!” no. i didn’t. he’s just The Most Beautiful Man In The World.
what does The Most Beautiful Man In The World look like? i will tell you:
like the way the sun spills over water at dusk
like the way food smells when you’re hungry
like the sound angels make when they’re doing folk covers of pop songs on their heavenly harps
and also kind of like the guy who played Chad in “high school musical,” if the guy who played Chad in “high school musical” was the most beautiful man in the world.
i tell you this not only to brag that i live in the same apartment complex as The Most Beautiful Man In The World but also because i want to know WHY, if there even IS A GOD, every single time i run into The Most Beautiful Man In The World i look like a LITERAL DUMPSTER TROLL that has just CRAWLED OUT OF ITS GARBAGE HOUSE in search of FREE WIFI AND A SLURPEE. i want to know why i can never just BE COOL with The Most Beautiful Man In The World when we ride the elevator together, which is!!!! kind of often!!!!!
DID YOU GUYS KNOW that sometimes i look nice?? sometimes i actually look like a FUNCTIONING ADULT!!! sometimes i would go so far as to say i am an ATTRACTIVE INDIVIDUAL!!!!!
you know who DOESN’T know any of that???
THE MOST BEAUTIFUL MAN IN THE WORLD, WHO LIVES IN MY BUILDING!!!
here’s a quick rundown of the last few times i ran into The Most Beautiful Man In The World:
i was wearing a maxi dress i had very cleverly biked home in, without a helmet* (*don’t try that at home, kids), in the VERY HOT AFTERNOON SUN, so i was a GROSS SWEAT MONSTER but without any OBVIOUS INDICATOR that there was a normal reason for it, and i couldn’t stand to look at him so i just glared at my phone while he probably wondered, alarmed, whether i was fleeing the scene of a crime
i was wearing a white shirt that i had not SECONDS before spilled salsa ALL OVER in a big red stain right down the front like a KINDERGARTNER
i was carrying two armfuls of ENORMOUS bags of popcorn with a three musketeers bar literally in my mouth and he overheard me say through my stuffed candy cheeks to my doorman, “oh, no, i’m not having a party, this is literally all for me”
i dropped my backpack while opening my mail and said to it, defeatedly, “why? why did you do that when i explicitly told you not to? do you like being on the floor?”
i fell into and then off of the elevator
why??? why does this happen??? what vengeful god has orchestrated it so the ONLY TIMES i ever run into The Most Beautiful Man In The World are when i could easily be mistaken for a child’s doll that has been put through the wash by accident, or a dollar bill that has been stained by years of being in people’s sweaty palms, or a mop with eyes???
whatever. everything costs money and everyone you love disappoints you. Mop Eyes out.
I have no idea what’s going on in this post, but I desperately want The Most Beautiful Man In The World of this post’s fame to have secretly been in love with his neighbor Trash Monster the entire time.
My “favorite” part of growing up/being poor is when you have some disposable income, even like 10 or 20 bucks, and deciding to splurge on yourself or even doing something unnecessary outside of base survival (Ie: Instead of getting a lot of cheap processed food “splurging” on a night out like bowling or going out to eat)
and then the moment it’s over or right before you click checkout, you get hit with this deep feeling of guilt and shame as you realize what that money could have gone towards. Or when later, always inevitably, you are in desperate need of money you can recall every “wasted” cent you spent.
It’s really disgusting that while I feel guilt over buying something as simple as a face mask, someone else can lose millions in the stock without even noticing.
it really is disgusting that things like bill gates not knowing the price of bread is endearing while me for once in my life placing the quality of life over survival is seen as living outside of my means. That living within your means is just code for just existing as a tool to make others money.
So my cat Lydia likes paper right. If I open my mail on my bed, she’s right there, walking on it, listening to it crinkle under her toes, and then laying right down. Even if I leave paper on the floor, on carpet or tile or hardwood, she’s there, curling up, standing on it, happy as can be.
And like many of my fellow fanfiction addicts, I don’t read a lot of print books, but I recently borrowed a novel that sounded a m a z i n g and I wanted to get it back to my coworker on Monday. It was going pretty well Saturday afternoon until
Every time I put this book down, whether open or closed or page up or down, she was there. Happy as can be. And so freaking cute that I didn’t want to move her, which meant I was not going to finish it.
So finally, in protest and so I could actually finish this book, I gave her another one
She’s been sleeping on it every night. It’s been a week.
This is a wise cat
reblog the book cat
Listen my campsite is sexy af
We got the black and white tux
We got the fuckin birch trees
White/gold/blue theme with the spring green and red accents
Hot damn
The Chaos Bitches 