Indifferent Pill UFO Prophecy

Why do grown ass men always have little kid handwriting?

No but seriously, why is that?  Are they bad with their hands or is it an aesthetic perception thing?  And what does it mean that I write like one?

Awkward

Ideas for Awkward Ambushes:

1) Voicemail carriers should inform callers when the party they call hits ignore and sends them straight to voicemail.  “This party has chosen to ignore your call. Please leave a message. … WUTUp wutup my lovahs - I’m away from my phone, but I will give you a call right back if you leave it at the beeeeeeep.”

2) Requesting relationship status via facebook. With a longtime ex. Or even better, with a really fresh one. So that maybe they think that’s you’re really pathetic way of finding out if they aren’t so “mutual” about the split anymore either…

I is a perfectionist. Nom nom nom.

Who would ever want to love a perfect person?  What risk is there in that?  What could you possibly ever provide them?  Wutup world, brilliant lack of perfection seeks lover from past life, with unfinished business.

Swiss Miss

Having worked in various real estate, publishing, capital management and other corporate incaranations around New York, I have discovered a standard asset at each office: Swiss Miss Hot Chocolate with Marshmallows. Never have I seen the stand alone hot chocolate sans mallow. Corporate America pro: endless freeze dried marshmallows. Corporate America con: Corporate America. I mean, that’s almost a tie…

I’ll tell you what,

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computer screens don’t make for good friends

Wondering if the very essence of love is not that it is permanent, but that it is fragile.  It is forever in each second that you let it go and feel it flowing back to you at once.

Bullet points

• Secrets among bff - I popped a pimple on my ass today.  Man I am a laday.

• um - got diagnosed with a pimple in the betweener during a herpes panic. NTA!

• Nta?

• never tell anyone

ESCAPE TO THE BATHROOM PART !

Dear friends,

I write to you from the bathroom of a French investment bank in Manhattan. I fear being discovered by the intrusive coworker beasts and this is the only means of concealment I have found as yet. Also, this bathroom features auto-flushers that go off at the slightest movement. I must be quiet and still.

I fear I will not survive this place. That the zombie-faced analysts shall eventually resort to eating me alive. That the stacks and shelves of files upon files will continue to papercut my poor fingers until I die a torturous Death of a Thousand Cuts as was used in the ancient Orient. Or that the sheer hours of solitude shall wreak havoc on my mind and destroy what semblance of sanity I have left. This place is a test of my stamina, my strength, and my will to make it out alive.

I know not whether this letter will ever reach you. I know not whether I’ll ever see your smiling faces again, or hear the peels of your carefree laughter. I will, however, write whenever I have the chance. I intend to persevere.

With all my heart,
The Adventurer