Thursday, September 18, 2014

Hi..Atus :(

Greetings, nuggets!

I know I haven't updated my blog in a New York minute (which is equivalent to approximately 19  seconds -- the amount of time it takes to sigh when none of your metro cards have money on them). I've been super busy with a slew of projects: school, work, writing for CREEM, continuing work on my book, and plotting a coup d'état on the cupcake ATM that opened up on the Upper East Side. I'm also pleased to make my debut on The Huffington Post

Unfortunately, all of this calamity is usurping my attention from things I had time to update when I had, well, time. This is by no means a farewell, just a "see ya later" or as I like to say, "I am deeply committed to not taking the initiative to make plans with you." Just kidding!

But seriously.
But actually.
But Beyoncé.

I'll update this blog as much as I can, but, in the meantime, make sure to follow my general trajectory into insanity by following any of the social media links you see on the right side of this page! 

Much love always,

Sunday, August 17, 2014

What Your Clothing Says to a Retail Associate

As I prepare to start graduate school in NYC, I've been saving money (and mentally compiling a slew of observations) by working at a consignment boutique. And I know the Internet loves, I mean LOVES, lists. So, here's another one:

Toe ring: You smoked a cigarette in an I-Hop bathroom once.

Camo pants: You bought a giftcard to Applebee's at 3 A.M. at a gas station once.

Tie dye maxi dress and DIY autumnal-colored earrings: You have a WholeFoods card on your keychain and ran your own psychic hotline in college to make an extra buck.

Modest tunic: Your friends call you "Ms. Flagrant Display of Civic Virtue" behind your back.

A pastel colored suit: You've written a scathing Yelp review about a strip mall store that sells windchimes.

Linen pants and any jewelry designed by Brighton: You fucking love tapas.

Intensely hued headband: You ask a lot of questions regarding the ambiguity of an assignment's due date and everyone in your class hates you for it because class could have been let out early.

Matching athletic wear and a headband: You're fucking adamant about getting ice cream TOGETHER as a GROUP after the scrimmage.

Vera Bradley bag: You have tickets to see Ingrid Michaelson this weekend.

Vera Bradley bag with matching Vera Bradley wallet: You're going to buy more Vera Bradley.

(Menswear) Tommy Bahama: You've dropped your AMEX into a ramekin filled with ketchup once.

Brooks Brothers: You're in a high enough tax brackett to have your ketchup served in a ramekin.

A crossbody bag with a shirt that says something inspirational on it: You bought the Love and Other Drugs deluxe DVD package just to watch the bonus deleted scenes.

JNCO's: Your credit card will be declined.

Gladiator sandals: You've Shazam'd the intro song for a show on MTV.

A Talbots suit and a strand of pearls: You have an ashtray next to a rotary phone that somehow always has a perpetually lit cigarette in it.

Designer sunglasses: You can only be reached via assistant.

Tuesday, August 12, 2014

What's Behind the Punchline, and Why We Should Never Stop Talking About It

On the heels of Robin Williams’ tragic death by virtue of suicide, many are shining light on the fact that often the funniest people are also, the saddest. The unequivocal truth behind those words resonated with me in a way words won’t do justice. Humor has always been my saving grace. No matter what cards life has dealt me—good or bad—I’ve always searched for the humor in them. “How can I spin this to make it funny?” “How can I write it in a way that will deliver a knee-slapper from my readers?” This is how I’ve approached almost every situation I’ve encountered. And as a comic, that is what keeps me going. It’s not a bad thing.

The poison lies in the debilitation. When we can’t reach out. When the crippling claws of depression dig so deep into our psyche we can’t fathom functioning at a normal human capacity. As someone who suffers from depression, anxiety, and OCD, humor is my oxygen, and also my kryptonite. But when it comes down to it, it’s no joke. Depression is blind when seeking its victims. It doesn’t care who you are or where you come from or how much money you have in your pocket. As someone who had seen suicide as the panic button that was always available in the darkest of times, I had recognized how dangerous that thought was—and immediately sought help. But I’ve witnessed some who didn’t recognize the danger their own thoughts harbored, and sought refuge by pressing that button.

I’m a firm believer of no-holds barred humor. Everything is on the table. Offensive or cheesy. Witty or just blatantly immature. Laughter is one of the greatest gifts we can give, and I wish nothing more than to bring more of it to this world. No matter how you derive the punchline, the objective will always be to get your audience to laugh. But as so many use humor to bury the pain they feel, it’s important to never stop talking about mental illness. It is a fight not many are willing to admit, and even more who choose to remain blissfully ignorant until it’s too late. We will laugh, and we will cry. But we must always talk. Never neglect those whose public image seems nothing out of the ordinary. Rip the mask off. And sometimes, you have to forcibly rip it off. Yes, tweet the National Suicide Prevention hotline. Share my essay and anyone else’s. But look at those closely around you. Really look at them, really closely. What do you think they’re thinking about at the end of the day? Ask yourself, “what can I do or say that might shine a different ray of light on this person’s life?” Hug them. Tell them you love them. And laugh. Because life is funny. You should laugh.  But realize sometimes that laughter is a tool to conceal deeply-rooted a pain. I cannot make it anymore abundantly clear: mental illness IS manageable. The chemical infrastructure of your brain is NOT a hopeless puzzle. If you or anyone you know struggles with depression or any form of mental illness, realize it is not the end of your life. You have the power within to continue pursuing your dreams. You can learn to live with it. When all one sees is black, and they’re stumbling around to find door, or if they have given up on looking for it: there could be something you can do today to open it from the other side.  

R.I.P Robin Williams
Thank you for all the laughs you gave me every Sunday growing up. My dad and I would watch your movies when my mom went to work. I'll never stop watching them.

Monday, July 28, 2014

On Millennial Jargon

As a pariah of the Gen Y demographic, I'm constantly behind on slang's public birth on the digital landscape. Now, don't be mistaken; I'm an active participant in the hashtagging community. In fact, I sleep with a hashtag under my pillow in hopes the Tooth Fairy will gift me with more Instagram followers while I sleep. But as what I lovingly refer to as "millennial jargon," e.g. "bae" (before anyone else)* and "thot" (that hoe over there) introduce themselves to the Internet vernacular, I can't help but be fascinated with the perpetual need to abbreviate lingo that has made terms like "babe" and "harlot" archaic. (Ok, I know I'm dating myself with "harlot." For you millennials, "harlot" was the "thot" of the Crusades or any other Jesus-oriented wars. I'm still a firm proponent of the term and will continue to use it in everyday conversation and cover letters).

As someone with a communications degree, I can't help but scrutinize the origin of this vocabulary attaining ubiquity in our media-iundated age. I learned what "bae" a few weeks ago. Immediately I thought: "how do I qualify to become one's bae?" "What are the prerequisites to earning this title?""Is there paperwork and will my fee be waived if I have over 1,000 Twitter followers?" AND HERE I AM CALLING EVERYONE DARLIN' OR SUGAR! It's NO WONDER I'm single! It's either that or because I make everyone I date wear a Celtic cloak during foreplay. But I digress.

And then there's "thot." Who would have THOT?! HA! Please keep reading, I'll simmer down with the puns. Are we no longer deeming those with shameless promiscuous tendencies as "sluts" or "Greg Mania's"??? I don't mean to sound like a cranky parent, but what the fuck (WTF) is triggering this visceral need to amalgamate terms of endearment/derogatory intentions into a monosyllabic word whose definition can only be found on

I'm an old fashioned soul. I call those I care about "babe," I open doors for people, and I blow my date before appetizers. Is there any hope of keeping these traditions alive? How fast will words like "bae" and "thot" seep their way into everyday face-to-face conversation? When will Dateline air a special on it? DID ANYONE EVEN ASK CHRISTIANE AMANPOUR ABOUT HOW SHE FEELS ABOUT IT? These are the things that keep my mind churning and wondering. Perhaps if we remain cognizant, media literate, and THOTFUL (LOL), we can maintain proper usage and language but also have fun on the Internet and come up with new, fun terminology like "CO-ED" (Constantly Overcome with Existential Dread).

*Disclaimer: when I say "bae" I mean the term we appropriated from black culture to what is now, an acronym.

Monday, June 23, 2014

Why You Should Date Someone Who Wears an Ankle Monitor (And 7 Other Things You Should Do In Your 20’s)

1. Date someone who wears an ankle monitor
Because they will be the one who won't get away. 

2. Live in a satanic windmill
Because there's no such thing as building too much character in your 20's.

3. Delete Tinder, Grindr, and OkCupid...and download B-Keep
Find local single beekeepers in your area!!!

4. Dip your hair in blood and write 'WTF' on a college's financial aid office window, because RIGHT????
With the exorbitant cost of attending higher education exponentially increasing, why NOT raise awareness to make education more affordable?

5. Start a punk band
Call it something FUN and MARKETABLE, like The Sexual Pen Pals or the Marlboro Menthol Maidens.

6. Travel
Go see the world. Go make beads in India and meditate on the time you sported a center part in your hair freshman year. Throw your iPhone against a wall at Stonehenge. Take a blood oath on a gay cruise. The world is yours.

7. Take an adult evening computer class at your local community college
Invite your peers over for tapas and talk about how much you fucking love summer solstice. 

8. Embrace the crippling anxiety regarding the general trajectory of your future
Average student loan debt climbed to $29,400 in 2013.

Sunday, June 1, 2014

8 Easy Steps to Alleviate Writer's Block

Few things are worse, like e-mails typed in Comic Sans or anal skin tags, than writer’s block. I’ve compiled a list of eight steps to combat creative constipation when it strikes:

1. Scream

2. Read something similar to what you’re writing about by someone else and gently paraphrase what they wrote.

3. Don’t do #2.

4. Do anything you can to take your mind off whatever is giving you a block. Take a walk, read one of your favorite books, or peruse Etsy for 33 hours straight for DIY spring themed ankle bracelets. This will re-charge your creative batteries and allow you to take a breath of fresh creative air that will open your creative passageways. Google “creativity.”

5. Read Yahoo! Answers in a shrill, drunken Southern housewife’s voice and have yourself a hearty, knee-slapping laugh. “Comedy nourishes your mental capacity and allows you to think freely,” (Source:

6. Write a piece called “8 Easy Steps to Alleviate Writer’s Block” and try to stop being blissfully ignorant of your own writer’s block. Attempt to write again.

7. Still nothing.

8. Repeat #1 until the words start flowing again.

Saturday, May 10, 2014

The Language of NYC Nightlife & What It Really Means

We'll stay in touch!
I'll add you on LinkedIn and endorse you for a skill or two but other than that you won't hear from me until you see me out again in a month or so which is when I'll promise you we'll stay in touch.

I'm genuinely happy to see you!

I'm fucking ADAMANT about pushing the boundaries of my BAC tonight.

I wrote a cryptic Facebook status about you and don't know how to approach the situation in reality so I'm using this increasingly archaic social greeting.

I'm aware of the fact that I'm a breathing, functioning, and cognizant entity but don't care to look like it after the event photographer takes a decent photo of me LET'S RAGE.

I'm living for your look! 
I'm a breathing, functioning, and cognizant entity whose sensory functions seem to heighten by virtue of your wardrobe choice this evening.

She has arrived, boop! 

(A text received on the same day of each week) Hey, what're you doing tonight? 
Come to my EVENT! There will be MUSIC! And GUESTS! BOOZE! W I N G E D E Y E L I N E R

I'm an up-and-coming alt model.
Terry Richardson reblogged my selfie on Tumblr once.

Are you going to an after hours party?
I am curious about the general trajectory of your night. Are you planning to engage in a modest amount of debauchery and POSSIBLY turn down for some things? OR do you plan to go to this questionable venue, make terrible decisions, and end up sitting on your landlord's face?

Can I charge my phone behind the bar?
Can I charge my phone behind the bar?

Tuesday, May 6, 2014

Eat Pray Wicca

I'm calling this blog post "Eat Pray Wicca" because a) ???, b) I couldn't think of another title, and c) I'm a firm believer of witchcraft alleviating disorders such as social anxiety and door-to-door canvassing. I know I've been neglecting my blog but I've been a busy Burt's Bee! I was just accepted into The New School's Master of the Arts in Media Studies program, so I'll be moving back to New York for school in the fall!

In addition to going back to school, I'm working on my book Born to Be Public which you can read about HERE. I hope to have it done within the next year or two! I'm doing a lot of writing for my favorite magazine ever (Creem, duh!) and I'm excited to have my essay "Our Lady of Passive Aggressive Facebook Statuses" featured in UK erotic paperback Baron Magazine out soon! I promise to try to put out a new piece on here every once and a while, but in the meantime this domain is available for sublet!!! $900/month, utilities allegedly included, landlord REALLY into astrological star charts/sand.


Sunday, March 30, 2014

An Open Letter to Myself

I’ll spare you the archetypal intro spiel regarding how difficult life in your 20's is. It goes along the lines of how it’s a time of anxiety, uncertainty, growth, and astrological compatibility; your professional life is still buffering and at the end of the day you just want to make the people you care about proud. So, that’s as in depth as I’ll go. In case you didn’t know, Buzzfeed already explained it all in seven simple GIFs, and makes the conclusion that if we look at a picture of this precious cat and take a nap everything will be fine. That’s great, I’ll make sure to forward that to Ukraine.

There is no conclusion to this piece, no unorthodox approach to achieving clarity during this apex of emotional ambiguity you’re in at this stage in your life, and certainly offers no answers or explanation to the mental palindrome that has become everyday: feeling the same way you wake up as you did going to bed. You could reverse your day and it would be exactly the same progression of emotion; the only thing that would be different is the sun’s direction through the sky. Anything that breaks the monotony is appreciated, but never fully cherished by virtue of its ephemeral nature.

So here it is: uncertainty is the necessary evil coursing through your veins that forces you to fan the flames of a successful future.  Your emotional ineptitude debilitates you, and your heart only beats if it ignites happiness in those you love so much--but for Christ’s sake, put yourself first sometimes. You can feel the lover who was your best friend slipping away slowly, and it breaks you down because your worst fear is coming true. You’re losing someone you thought would never leave, and life without them cripples you with sadness and questioning. Realize that you can’t change people. Your sensitivity is overwhelmingly accentuated because that’s just how you are, and don’t hate yourself for it. It may seem more of a curse than a blessing, but learning to utilize this coveted quality can propel you and your craft into unexplored vistas.

You can reblog a photo on Tumblr with a modestly-lit wall that says “Make it go away” in Helvetica font all you want but doing so won’t, in fact, make it go away. No, don’t ask your psychiatrist how many Lana Del Rey songs you have to listen to in order to qualify for a prescription. And stop that. Stop that right there. Stop trying so hard to cover the pain with humor and a robotic persona.  Let it show a little. Let it bleed a little. Maybe if you let it out you’ll feel a little lighter.

I’m not asking you to believe in miracles, I’m asking you to believe in magic. It’s everywhere your look. The real beauty isn’t the intensely hued Empire State Building. It’s that filthy puddle with cigarette butts afloat and that moment of clarity you have sitting outside your shitty duplex realizing how much you love someone and the neon reflection in that puddle that sparked said thought. No matter how many times reality bites you, or how many times the truth stings and hardens you: believe in the unsaid, believe in colors that haven’t been discovered, and believe in the fantasy because that’s where life’s diamonds lie. Perhaps a healthy dose of delusion is just what we need to get by.  

Tuesday, February 11, 2014

The Student, The Star, and Their Rebirth

The Eiffel Tower, iconic in design and elysian in nature, reminds all of its role as the city’s spectacle every day--falling victim to expectation as so many hunger for a picture. 
It stands with grace and conviction, even on a cold, dismal day. It transforms into a radiating beacon aglow at night. 
But every once and a while, it sparkles. 
For a brief moment, a thousand celestial bodies explode all over. And then, as though it had never happened, they disappear. They say the glitter’s brevity is what makes the occasion special. That, if sparkled for any longer, would dimish the tower’s whimsical quality. 
But god damn, god damn how lovely would it be if sometimes it sparkled just for a minute longer?

As an undergraduate student I found myself living a double life. I was a full-time student by day and a crusading New York City nightlife spectacle at night, fervidly devoted to my academic duties but also hell-bent on carving a space for myself in the nightlife scene as so many have done before me. I created a brand for myself: a hybrid of John Sex and David Bowie with just a hint of Iggy Pop. The image I created for myself festered on the digital landscape. I faced overwhelming social pressure to capture the same moxie in reality as I exuded online, but I didn’t mind—I was born to be public. Donning a DIY pièce de résistance and altitudinous hair became my shtick (an unequivocal prerequisite of attaining attention in the nightlife circuit) and an outlet for self-expression. After many long nights, I would come back to school and hope to get a few hours of sleep so I didn’t have to look like the Corpse Bride in my nine A.M. class. Despite my reign of debauchery, I would have never fathomed the academic success I achieved as an undergraduate. From presenting my research at a prestigious academic conference to being awarded “Senior of the Year” for my department, I was on the edge of unbridled glory and passion.

Subsequent to walking across that stage, I received the most expensive piece of paper in my life. I think I can sublet a few square inches in the Vatican with it. Although the uncertainty of the future scared me, not performing to maximum potential scared me more. As I drove home after my graduation ceremony, I pulled over on the side of the NJ Turnpike and took out my MacBook Pro. I started furiously typing on my laptop as my thoughts poured out of my brain like a broken fire hydrant. I felt like Harriet the Spy if she were a gypsy, sitting there on the side of the road documenting whatever malarkey was dancing around in my cerebellum. Before I could register what I had done, I had started writing a book. In this day in age, getting published seems like a journey with quite a lot of tolls on the way. So, before concluding the preface, I had a brief moment of silence praying for a low budget e-book deal. Like waiting for your favorite Netflix show to load, my book is still buffering—and so is my life.

My schedule as a recently graduated freelance writer looks a little like this: Wake up. Coffee. “I should write.” Coffee. “What do I write?” “I’ll write something after another coffee.” Is that Elizabeth Hasselbeck on The View being shrill or is that just four Lifetime movies turned on at max volume at the same time? Ha, that’s funny. I should tweet that. FOCUS. Okay, should I submit this? Oh! My favorite Etsy shop is offering free shipping! GREGORY. I should edit it again. Is it good? Oh, just send it in. Beer. That’s it in a nutshell. In addition to writing a book, I scored a gig with art and fashion publication Creem Magazine. I was also continuing freelance work with my clients in New York City and New York City Adjacent (Hoboken, Long Island, etc). I was writing press kits and biographies for upcoming artists, bands, and creative minds alike. I loved it. However, by virtue of my status as a freelance writer my checking account, if you listen closely, would occasionally let out a hearty sigh. With that, I went back to my old job at a consignment shop in Princeton, New Jersey. While juggling work and freelancing, I rarely found a chance to engage in my usual shenanigans in New York. I missed my friends. I missed losing myself in the bevy of lights and reverberating hyper-glam dance beats. To make matters worse, I fell in love.

My insatiable appetite to shock and disturb simmered down. My flamboyant style took a turn in a more minimalist direction. With my brain facing the decision of what path to travel down, my heart sending out an S.O.S, and my hair’s questionable haircut, I didn’t know who I was anymore. For 21 years, the only thing I knew how to be was a student. For the first time in my life, I was in charge of my own curriculum. But I had never felt this way before: lost. In college, I attained the freedom I needed to become who I was. I had worked for so hard and for so long to mold my identity, to make my purpose abundantly clear and to approach life with clarity and conviction. So, I dyed my hair and slicked it back. I always thought the key to liberation was re-invention. As I perpetually re-invent myself, there is one element of my identity that will never change: I will always be a learner. I will never quench the thirst for gaining more knowledge. Now I am hoping to be reborn as a student, again. I want to feel like a star, once more. I want to sparkle, forever. 

Thursday, January 30, 2014

What Your Instagram Filter Says About You

AMARO: Maybe she's born with, maybe it's AMARO! This filter delivers the translucent, pasty-white effect you desire. You wish to regain the purity you once knew as a child. Is that First Communion getting a little bit too saucy? Recapture its purity by applying Amaro to that holy (read as: FLAGRANT DISPLAY OF BLASPHEMY!!!) selfie (read as: selfie) you took with your prepubescent, vegan-friendly cousins.

MAYFAIR: You like to live your life like it's a Folgers commercial. The warm hues of Mayfair reveal your affinity for tradition and presenting yourself with restraint and grace. You believe in values, musk, and Walmart. You love the finer things in life and hate when your petulant daughter talks over your favorite NPR segment... and that makes you ever so pissed.

RISE: You own The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants on Blu-Ray.

HUDSON: This filter tells us your Etsy wish-list is mostly filled with shitty jewelry made out of seashells.

VALENCIA: Selecting this bullshit Cracker Barrel-filter is a great way to tell the world you cried at Pottery Barn once.

X-PRO II: Whoa, whoa, whoa! Everyone watch out for Pac-Sun McMaroon 5 over here! KOWABUNGA!!!! You like to live life on the edge and enjoy accentuating your golden skin EXPONENTIALLY more with this fun filter! You don't blink once at that rash on your thigh because who gives a titty?!

SIERRA: You're a firm proponent of Dannon Activia and have a crush on one out of every three people on your G-Chat.

WILLOW: This filter tells us the questionable posters you hung above your bed in junior high are sequestered to a small space on your wall. BUT THEY'RE STILL THERE YOU UNLIMITED CHASM OF EMOTIONAL TURBULENCE!!!!

LO-FI: You are in denial about MySpace's demise. Remember the visual napalm of your Photobooth-edited profile pictures? Swoon, those were the days, huh? You have the emotional capacity of a 14 year-old cheerleader and spend the majority of your day missing the ability to custom-HTML your social media profile.

EARLYBIRD: You know what they say!!! The earlybird gets the D, you big ol' slut!

SUTRO: You pretentious prick. This filter conveys your annoying habit of telling everyone how much you love Brooks Brothers and kale. You like to scream out lengthly Starbucks orders when you orgasm.

TOASTER: Your closet is 75% Northface and you hobbies include reading, hiking, and Tori Spelling.

BRANNAN: This weird-ass filter is the Chris Kirkpatrick of Instagram. Choosing it reflects your status as a social anomaly. You gave your second grade Valentine a card made out of blood and mulch. You also probably own a graphic tee with a wolf on it.

INKWELL: This bleak filter says that your Google search history is mostly "DIY hexes" and "is the Blair Witch lonely?" You are the opposite of Amaro. You harbor aspirations to be America's Next Top Goth Holocaust Denier.

WALDEN: Life isn't a Pixar movie, you delusional dimwit.

HEFE: You're a godless heathen and your Wifi network is probably named "ugh666." The glare on your computer screen from the sun makes you forget the breathing exercises you learned in therapy.

NASHVILLE: Yee-haw, right??????!!!!!!!!

1977: Does anyone even remember 1977, I mean c'mon. You like to pretend it happened, just like "The Big Bang" and "Obamacare."

KELVIN: You know 90% of the dialogue from 'Two and A Half Men.' You tend to avoid negativity and are a strong believer in fiscal responsibility. FUCK TEENAGERS.

Thursday, January 16, 2014

2014 Horoscopes

You feel the overwhelming need to give back. Participate in a fundraiser! Join relief efforts that aid third world countries! Go to the local park and talk to teens about the dangers of YOLO.

Money is tight (read as: scarce) these days (read as: but not on Tuesdays, Two-Buck Chuck is on sale at Trader Joe's, HUZZAH!!!!!). You're not in a high enough tax bracket to have your ketchup served in a ramekin. Don't over-indulge in fine dining! Save money by renting something cute like Serendipity or Schindler's List and split a bag of fish sticks with your lover.


Your overwhelming sensitive nature is crippling you, Cancer. Act on the impulse to dye your hair black. Speak in euphemisms. Sublet the bottom of a well. Don't let it all get to you.

Refrain from social interaction with certain people. Don't trust a senior citizen with black hair because they will  FUCK YOU UP. If you have an uncle named "Ray",  bring a flare gun to that upcoming family reunion. Chances are he's feeling frisky.

Spontaneity is your key to happiness this year, Virgo! Buy that car you've always dreamed of, sleep in a creek, cry wolf!!! Why the fuck not?!?!?!

If your name is Lynette, you'll probably make cinnamon brioche french toast at some point. But that french toast will give someone food poisoning, you godless heathen!!! Also, stop emasculating your husband. Also, stop. Cufflinks and brooches, IDK.

The world is sorta decent if you don't leave the house.

Someone named Susan "Flagrant Display of Civic Virtue" Johnson wants to take you to the community blood drive. Her overbearing nature will illicit responses from you like: "maybe," "I'm not sure," and "I mean, I guess I could." Fortunately for you, you lucky Sag, your indecisive nature will make her pull over into a parking lot for a brief panic attack. Fortunately for you, you fat fuck, that parking lot is at a Friendly's! Treat yourself to a two-scoop sundae.

You desire progress in your love life. To help that impetus, you must love yourself first! Buy yourself a new, fun outfit! Take a warm bath. SPRAY PAINT THE GRASS BLACK OUTSIDE YOUR EX'S HOUSE.

Allegedly, someone close to you has been feeling blue and not like themselves lately. Buy them an everything bagel. Try to convince them that everything is going to be okay.Tell them their new hair is adorable. HE NEEDS THIS, AQUARIUS.

Yes, he saw all of those texts.