Chelsea Fagan

Agreeing to do a favor for someone that ends up being such an incredible hassle that you briefly consider ending the friendship just to be like, “Nope, sorry, this is ridiculous and I’m not doing it.”

I have asked my boyfriend why he loves me, and he has asked me the same. And the question rarely feels like a desperate scratching at a hidden truth, more a moment of genuine curiosity that might finally be answered.

We all know pumpkin pie is delicious — we have spent the better part of the 21st century so far trying to cram that flavor combination into as many products as we possibly can.

It’s not that a fake apology is just unsatisfying; it’s insulting. It’s saying that not only are you not going to dignify the person you wronged with an actual admission of culpability or remorse, it’s that you’re also presenting them with a facsimile of said admission that they now have to respond to as though it were real.

And what’s more significant is that “best friend” is often a title that comes with its own profound implications. Calling someone your best friend is not easy, and it’s certainly not a title we give out lightly.

Not all fries are created equal. Some are soggy, some lack the crucial fluffy interior, while some are like looking into the face of God while He’s having an orgasm.

It’s a very hard thing to hear, but someone who isn’t like you may be exactly what your recent ex needs, and they may be better than you — not in some objective, ultimate way, but for your ex.

Ray Ban sunglasses, striped t-shirts/wifebeaters, enough money for weed and not too much else, a smartphone, and a gaggle of women you hope to impress with tales of your cultured escapades.

We didn’t speak; we didn’t keep in touch. For a long time, I remained convinced that this period of distance was a strange emotional coma from which you would suddenly awake.

I can make chicken breast and quinoa only so many times before I want to drown myself in a sea of teriyaki and vinaigrettes.

There is a deep need for strength within us, for someone to reassure us that things are okay when everything is crumbling. We can’t all lean without something to lean on, and if we each hold our heads high just a little bit, everyone has an easier time.

You want something that says “I have a spare 150 dollars to spend on boots, but absolutely no taste.”

Aren’t we all constantly in conflict with the person we show on the outside versus the sexy-androgynous-tomboy person we see in the reflection of our father’s awesome sword collection?

Ordering a coffee at the end of your meal and side-eyeing your server, as you are greatly suspicious that they did not, in fact, give you decaf.

Why are you going to subject yourself to scrolling through Perez Hilton while muttering about what a misogynistic pile of soggy hairballs that man is — what is that bringing to your life?

It’s as though life could be divided into two distinct categories: the time when you’re willing to experiment with unknown but potentially awesome things, and the time you’ve decided that everything unfamiliar should be side-eyed into oblivion.

You know your hometown intimately, and it knows you. It seems that no matter where you go, you are always running into something that you don’t want to see, something that reminds you of how much you’ve already done here.

Let’s be honest, Ezra looks like he’s constantly got an eighth of seriously good weed in the pouch of his various droopy sweaters. I’m sure you would be kept in fine California Kush for as long as your little heart desires.