Dancing

I don't dance. I don't know how to dance. I am aware that my quality of life would be up by many, many numbers if I knew how to dance. I always fantasize about how great everything would be once I learn how to dance. In my mind, every single problem I have can be solved with a few salsa steps and a song. I could dance my way out of an awkward conversation or tango with a stranger at the mall who'll later become my husband. Life in general would be amazing if I knew how to dance. However, there's always something that stops me from going out there, choosing a partner and having a good time:

I'm an idiot.

50 shades of fucked up

I had the unfortunate opportunity to read the infamous book called "Fifty Shades of Grey". Of all the books I have read, this book has to be one of the worst in that list; including Twilight. I know it's a tough comparison, but as you've probably heard, "Fifty Shades of Grey" is just Twilight fanfiction. And sadly, those are the words that describe this book perfectly. The only thing that is different in this book is the fact that EdwardChristian Grey is some screwed up sadomasochist, but magically changes his lifestyle because BellaAnastasia, the bland, normal, boring girl he loves, can't take it.

Spartacookies

So, this sad-excuse-of-a-comic-strip is basically what my brain farted while watching Spartacus: Blood And Sand. It's an amazing show, and as I do with any amazing show, I go ahead and twist it until it becomes the following:




Truly, something isn't right with me.

Wait, what.

"Your shoes are terrible; as terrible as your personality. And your face."

"You can't just BECOME fabulous; you're born with it."