Jezebels Drink Cosmos

I’m not the kind of girl who puts her napkin in her lap. Hell, half the time, they stay wrapped around the fucking silverware.  

I don’t moisturize before bed. My nails are weak and the lengths I’d have to go to strengthen them, as with most things, aren’t really worth the effort at day’s end. My hair is a few different colors and without a proper cut, but it’s still more awesome than yours.

I have freckles, stretch marks, and scars—both tangible and intangible.

I really do curse like a sailor.

I love books. Usually those about drugs or sex or, preferably, both. There’s something about a lost, strung out soul that captivates me.

I smoke cigarettes. I’m trying to stop, but will construct a special occasion to have one in the name of revelry.

Pain is beauty.

I think about my parents every day.

I don’t have many friends. Those that I do have are near and dear and can read me like no one else can. I have never aspired to be the most popular, just the most beautiful.

I want nothing more than to be right. I will always make you believe that I am.

I don’t find high fashion as important as a pair of cheap jeans that fit my ass just right.

Jezebels drink cosmos.

I heart cosmos. They make me feel sexy.

Bugs scare me. Heavy shit doesn’t.

I love to be the hero, the one who thinks of everything.

I work hard. HARD.

I love flying through clouds.

I like music you won’t hear on the radio.

I love all things fuzzy and cute. Especially when they purr.

I’ll drive; I am the master of my destiny. Plus, I’m a better at it than you.

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I just found this after having started it a year ago. I sound like the same person. This scares me.

Onward and upward.