~Never Tell Me The Odds~Dream a Little Dream of Me~You are my Sunshine~
Future MD. Present Crazy Cat Lady. Proficient in Sarcasm. Queen of Awkward Silences. Inappropriate-Timed Laugher. Proud Nerd. Lover of Weirdness. Narcissistic Photo-Vomiter.
The Quirkiest Person You Shall Ever Encounter.
I’m falling apart… literally.
My allergies are destroying me so my eyes are constantly itchy and bloodshot.
The last few days I have slept weird so I’m tired, cranky, and achy.
My tendinitis flared up so I have my beautiful wrist brace on 90% of my day.
And I somehow hyper-extended my jaw so now I’m wearing a grind-guard at night.
I AM THE SEXIEST BITCH EVER.
Sexy sleepwear…?
Is it weird that I think that stuff like this:
is sexier (and more comfortable) than stuff like this:
I’ve decided that I’m putting aside all of my ridiculous requirements for that “perfect guy”.
He just has to be old-fashioned. I want my own Frank Sinatra, Marlon Brando, James Dean, Sean Connery, or Clint Eastwood…
Is possessing the capability to sing lovely music OR looking damn fine in a fitted suit so much to ask now?
