Deuces up, June.

The rant below sounds more depressing than I actually feel but I just really like this picture for its implied hyperbole of angst.  Also, her hair is so shiny I can't stop staring at it.

A crop of 'The Dining Room (Francis Place) I' by Sarah Jones

I'm just going to pretend that this past week didn't exist because I didn't like it and I'm pouting in full on blonde glory.  (I got fresh summer highlights so there's a lot of hair tossing going on lately.)  But other than that I think I've killed a plant I was really excited about growing, the Hobby Lobby-induced rage is starting to exhaust me and I got verbally abused on a date by a guy claiming to be a stand-up comic.  

Well, that last part was actually absurdly funny and not depressing at all.  I try to keep super personal stuff super private but maybe I should start a new blog for all that kind of dating shit called "Properly Punctuate Your Sexts, Please."  #PPYSP.  

I'm kidding I would never sext someone who couldn't properly punctuate a regular text first.  I'm not a disgusting animal!  Unless you want me to be and use the proper punctuation...?

So I'm just gonna go ahead and take a time out through the Fourth.  I've got a bag of Biscoff cookies and some vodka that I might mix with La Croix - a recent discovery - because I might be drunk already and that sounds like a good idea.  

You know what else is a good idea?  MOAR DRUNK TWEETS RANTING ABOUT RELIGIOUS FREEDOM.  And Robin Thicke just for good measure.

Please blow up something this weekend like homemade bottle rockets or the patriarchy.