Soul-Searching Rants, Witty Rants

Lost Fox. If Found- Please Proceed to Nearest Cliff and Toss.

Oh these awkward “restarts”  when it’s been SO stupidly long since you’ve seen or heard from eachother that neither really knows how to break the ice or how to do anything really…except fidget around uncomfortably trying to avoid the inevitable eye contact…until (fuckk) there’s that split second of inevitable eye contact so you both shadily giggle it off and are like “soooo……

and one of you (typically the female) will press your lips together while half-rolling your eyes while the other rhythmically taps the table with the palms of (typically his)  hands and says “so yea what’s uppp how’s lifeee?!” (And lets’s be fuckin real- he does NOT want to know about her life and she’s probably going to start ranting FOREVER but I mean…it’s too fucking late because it’s happening and here they both are right?!)

Well there. That whole fucking run-on sentence of a short essay was our writer-audience suck-ass eye contact followed by our “sooo….” moment. Ok? Ok. Perfect. So let’s get saucy bitches.

I obviously revamped the blog.::flips hair like Selena Gomez in a hair commercial::: (except I have hair more like-hold on I’m googling celebrities who meet my hair qualifications-fuck I couldn’t find any and now I’m WAY off topic but I think this works out for my whole “raw and reckless” style so I won’t delete any of it). So I killed and buried Diaries of a Defective Mom with some poor hope of starting with a fresh perspective on life, which is simply put “giving zero fucks”.

I mean I never actually gave any fucks-but I kind of did. Like I gave a fuck about my content and my audience (or lack thereof). But ya know. Not anymore. All outta fucks folks! Because really- I need to write now more than ever and I’m sooooo bitterly exhausted of not meeting my own expectations of being the “writer” I once thought I’d aspire to become. The truth is I’m just fucking NOT J.K. Rowling or E.L. James. I’m E.L.Y. bitches. And the raw fuckin truth is that maybe I’m not ever going to be a legit, respectable writer or blogger. Shit. I’m pretty sure my grammar is awful because I mean, fourth grade was that long ago. But maybe I don’t even wanna be none of that and maybe fuck perfect grammar.

Maybe. Just maybe I REALLY wanna say illiterate shit like “wanna” and “bougee” and “so lit” and “fiyahh” and maybe I really just wanna give no FOX and spit intentional puns after puns up in this motherfucker.

I’m done world. I’m done succumbing to your bullshit standards. I’m here to relentlessly fuck shit up and if you think I never had any self-restraint prior to this post, then brace yo-selves. I’m unleashing the SHIT out of my inner beast with all of her dark glittery glory and my FOX are an extinct species of the fucking past.

Unapologetically Yours,


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