confession number twenty seven

I hate protected tweets. Like, hate. I seriously get so frustrated. Just let me stalk you properly. Gahd. 

Same goes for protected FB profile pics. 

I know you do this too, so don’t call me creepy. 

confession number twenty six

Whenever my dash is dead, I like to go to my blog and make it rain sparkles with my cursor. 

SPARKLES. EVERYWHERE. 

confession number twenty-five

Weeaboos scare the living shit out of me. 

Go away. Do not talk to me about anime. Stop meowing. No, I do not think that is “kawaii desu desu~~” Gahd, why are all of you so goddamn creepy. 

Please go act like a crazed fanatic somewhere else. You make me concerned for my own safety. 

confession number twenty four

I have a huge thing for well groomed eyebrows.

Is that weird? Stop laughing. 

Seriously though. If you have nice looking eyebrows.. MMM, automatic plus one for you! 

confession number twenty three

I get worried whenever someone I know in real life follows me. ‘Cause then they would know me for the Harry Potter/Pokemon/Sailor Moon nerdy freak and sarcastic asshole that I am ;__;

And to the followers I don’t know in real life:

confession number twenty two

When I was little, my parents took me to a zoo and we went on one of those tour things. At the peacock section, the lady explained how male peacocks were more colorful so they could attract the females.

I started crying because I thought that girls should always be prettier than guys.

I hated peacocks for a while after that.

We have this on video tape somewhere.

confession number twenty one

You know how in some parks, they have those cement gutter things going all over the hills to keep the water from eroding away the soil?

Well, at least in California they do.

When I was little, I always thought those were roads and only really skinny cars could drive up them. I wanted a skinny car for the longest time.

I told Karen this on Friday, and she laughed at me. Not nice, Karen. Not nice.

confession number twenty

I hate tailgaters with a passion. A fiery passion of a thousand burning suns. 

Sometimes I slow down a bit just to piss them off. Then when they cut me off, I just throw a ^__^V face at them. 

confession number nineteen

I LOVE CHRISTINA JOHNSON AND HER TASTE IN MUSIC. 

I LOVE INDIE MUSIC. 

OMAGAHADFHGJKL<3333333

That is all. 

lolthiswasn’tmuchofaconfessionbutwhateveridgafijustloveindiemusicokay.

confession number eighteen

All of these people are spamming my facebook news feed with “I SUBMITTED MY APPS ZOMG I’M SO RELIEVED OMGOMGOMGOMGOMG”

Sorry, but I don’t care.

Plus, way to tell everyone that you procrastinated.  

Okay that was kind of harsh. I mean, I’m happy for you. Good job, you’re going to college. There are just so many of these posts that they’re getting repetitive and making me dgaf about it all. 

#kanyeshrug

confession number seventeen

I hate Romeo and Juliet. 

I hate how everyone thinks it’s the best love story of all time. I think they’re just two stupid teenagers infatuated with each other. What they had wasn’t love. 

Think about it. At the beginning of the book Romeo was whining about how Rosaline didn’t love him back, how she was so beautiful, how he would die if he didn’t have her blah blah. And then he goes to the Capulet’s party and - OH HAYYY, he starts hitting on Juliet. Next thing you know they’re making out and they don’t even know each other’s names. Unable to leave this hot chick he just met, he’s sneaks into her backyard like the creep he is. Then the two exchange vows of love? WHUT. Okay you two just met at a party. Five minutes ago you guys didn’t even know each other’s names. How the hell are you in love. Facking idiots. 

What happens next everyone knows. They kill themselves for each other because they have to be with each other forever and ever and ever and ever SHUT UP. 

This great love story happened in like what? A month? Bish, true love can’t develop in that short period of time. 

Romeo and Juliet is about two horny teenagers who are so obsessed with each other they end up killing themselves. Not love. 

/rant.