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I wasn’t a dog person before I met you. I made fun of dog people. Now I run across the street to hug your dog and call her “my sweet baby girl!” What have you done to me?
I wasn’t a dog person before I met you. I made fun of dog people. Now I run across the street to hug your dog and call her “my sweet baby girl!” What have you done to me?
There’s nobody I’d rather feel old with
I am writing a story about your pussy. A few of them. A collection. Novels, I’m pretty sure, will follow. I think I just write about your pussy now. It’s so good. I can’t think about anything else.
Addendum to the Pro’s & Con’s List:
Pro’s
Is really really good at making conflict feel like neutral conversation
Has so much cum
Is willing to be an old with me at concerts
Con’s
Presses the elevator button again even when there are people already waiting and it’s clearly already been pressed
Is a little too confident in my ability to walk across town in high heels
Remember when we were like, “We should do an art project called Blood Oath Daily where we take turns writing funny / pretty / meditative / horny things about life and each other. That would be rad”? And then I bought the domain and we launched it on the equinox and haven’t missed a day since? I feel like everything we do is going to be this way: a funny / pretty / meditative / horny idea, and then an insane level of follow through resulting in something that is magically, unmistakably a manifestation of the collective “us.”
My first-ever Oregon voter ballot came in the mail today. When you told me that voting only happens by mail in Oregon, I felt a pang of regret and nostalgia. Polling places have inhabited such an important place in my life. Obama was the first president I voted for and I spent the months leading up to the election door-knocking, making calls, and helping people navigate transportation to the polling places. Then, when I did political campaign management, I did the same and spent every day of early voting at the polls, campaigning for my candidate from the corner. Later, I’d vote at the polling places my grandmother volunteered at. She would look so professional in her polling place volunteer bib and she’d look so proud to see me there and have the chance to introduce me to her volunteer cohort. Walking into the private booth made me feel, briefly, like I had the ability to impact, in a very small way, the trajectory of our country’s future. I’m tearing up right now thinking about my relationship to the polling locations and also how inaccessible they were. So many votes weren’t cast because folks had to work, or had transportation obstacles, or weren’t able to leave their houses. This will be my first time voting by mail and, at first, I felt robbed. But then, after carrying the ballot upstairs, I realized – this will be the first time I’ll ever be able to vote with somebody, and that somebody will be you. A new tradition, in a new place, with the person I want to spend the rest of my life with.
Glow™ Report: Momo is a no go. We will not-try* again.
*secretly kind of try
OK, so I researched the correct way to hang the toilet paper roll and here’s what Google’s generative AI situation had to say and I swear some man in an argument with his girlfriend made this shit up. Like, it “reduces airborne micoorganisms in a room by 20-30%”!?!?!?? No, that’s fake news. I did like the part where it said that some people prefer to hang it under because it’s “easier to find in the middle of the night.” This thing is full of contradictions because one of the arguments for the “over” method is because it’s “easier to grab.” Which is it!?
When you notice me looking at your ass, you turn away from me and lean over slightly and say, “What?” and I say, “Oh my God you’re killing me,” and you say, “What… this?” and I say, “Seriously, I’m dying,” and you say, “What… I’m so confused,” and you lean over to pick some imaginary object off the ground and then I die.
If you ever decide to call a phone sex line, it had better be mine. I’m the only person allowed to tell you, “I need your cum! Ropes of cum!”