breaking up

Not even the gentle, soothing humor of an autocowreck can mend the hole where his heart used to be.

What I'm saying is that you can leave me if you must, but the xbox stays.

Writing a message out is always classier than texting one. It's like the difference between sending an invitation to a fancy dinner party on a crisply embossed cream-colored card vs. an email featuring comic sans and clip art.

I still remember how he let his urine sit in the toilet bowl until the bathroom smelled like rancid cheddar... its color a varying shade of yellow, depending on how many cups of cherry kool-aid he'd had that day. I MISS HIM SO MUCH.

You're not even going to fight a little bit? Just to make me feel more desirable? Eff you.

That awkward moment when you realize you've been on The Bachelorette this whole time...