When text messages were invented, passive aggressive people around the world rejoiced and said, “THANK YOU JESUS! There’s now yet another medium I can use where I don’t have to express my true feelings to someone and can make them feel bad in a variety of subtle (and not-so-sublte) ways!”

This herd of attractive, toned young people checking each other out is an ecosystem that I have never been able to find a niche in.

Back in the earlier 2000s, in my local town, getting offered a job at Abercrombie & Fitch was essentially like winning the retail nomination for prom queen.

Go through your phone and delete anyone you no longer talk to or anyone who sucks and makes your life worse.

I want to be married and have many children, all the while maintaining my identities as child of God, a daughter, a sister, and a good friend.

A cabin in the woods is a dream. Artists I know have described their forest fantasies at length.

This song put Kanyeezy on the map and is indirectly the cause of the Kanye/Kardashian offspring (not shocking that a song called “Lucifer” would lead to the creation of a real life Rosemary’s Baby).

I was so fixated on having roots, of being tied to somewhere, that I prevented myself from accomplishing the one thing I actually wanted, which was having a home.

Because if you’re going to procrastinate, you might as well do it on YouTube.

When these nights come along, you can’t fight them. I mean, technically you can stay home and sulk on the internet, but you know that you will end up hating yourself.

“Did you hear that Ashton Kutcher cheated on his wife? What a slut.”

2. The alarm goes off and is basically the equivalent of having Judge Judy, Gilbert Gottfried, Fran Drescher, Samuel L. Jackson, and Nancy Grace leaning next to your head and, in unison, screaming “HELLO! WAKE UP MOTHERF-CKER!”