It makes me really happy that my phone doesn’t recognize “namaste” and autocorrects it to “mansard”.
Okay. Well. My neck actually smells like garbage, and my voice/nudity are reminiscent of whatever your greatest fear happens to be… just in case you are hiding in a bush outside my window or something.
Who are you?
You guys got that the ”effable” post was just a pun, right? Because people have been sending me poems and I don’t know how to respond. ”Thanks for the sexually-charged prose, I probably don’t feel the same way for you who are you get out of my internet”? Do I write a poem back? Would their response be another poem? Would I eventually find myself in some unbidden sexual poetry slam battle? :(
Can you imagine if I were a middle schooler right now?
Carrying my Rahm Emanuel notebook to class and spending the period putting heart stickers around his head.
Kelsey + Ed Helms 4eva sharpied on the side of my sneaker.
“Ricerco un bene fuori di me…”
I can’t wait to go to Italy and find out how Italian people translate this, because I have never been able to translate it to something that doesn’t sound like he’s singing about masturbating.
Guys are always telling me I’m so totally effable, but I’m still waiting for any of them to write a poem about me.
- Customer: How come you don't serve the bagels from next door?
- My Boss: They're not that good. Their holes are too wide...
- Me: Heyooooo!!
- Customer: Hahahahahah-
- My Boss:
- Customer: ahahahahaha-
- My Boss:
- Me: I mean.
Look, if you haven’t seen Garth Marenghi’s Darkplace you need to watch it immediately. The whole damn thing is on youtube. I don’t even want to explain it to you, just go watch it and laugh until you don’t remember what not laughing feels like.
One of the defining elements in the story of my life is the sound of people having rough sex in the next room.
I wish there were a section on craigslist for isolated Alpine tundran mountain housing, because I’m very interested.
- Recital the day after tomorrow
- Audition in NY the next god damn day, ugh.
- Come home and immediately start getting music together for Italy
- Record a video for kickstarter so I don’t starve to actual death while I’m in Italy, because I spent my life savings on the plane ticket. Yes, I’m in my mid-20s and my lifesavings was $1,500. My career has finally pauperized me. Bills n shit, son.
The point is, after the next couple of weeks, my voice is going to finally be like 
Okay, this whole time people have been talking about the game Minecraft, I thought they were talking about Minesweeper.
Had to reblog this video of my SISTER, YOU GUYS, playing one of my all-time favourite songs with one of my all-time favourite songwriters: Criminal by Fiona Apple. I feel like she has earned me the right to brag, so I’ll make sure her efforts weren’t in vain— AHEM PREPARATORY THROAT CLEARING AND HAND FOLDING— my sister is basically the best drummer in the whole world. At the concert I got to wear a lanyardy-thingy that said “band” on it an everything. I made Fiona’s brother escort me to the liquor store so I could buy a pack of juicyfruit gum. Fiona hugged me at the hotel and introduced me to a tall guy I later found out was David Blaine (huh?)… gjkshfdgjsanlfdfsemotionssssss. It took all the energy I had to play it cool and not tell her she’s kind of definitely sort of absolutely my hero. Anyway, that was my Monday.
(Source: youtube.com, via fuckyeahfionaapple)
