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Probably not. I am sort of flattered, though.
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Music is so subjective. Sometimes I hate good songs. Sometimes I love bad songs. I can tell you that this particular song doesn't suit me. The important thing is: do *you* like it?
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In college I was in a play called Mirrors, and I had this fantastic monologue. A college actor's dream, really. During one of the performances, I looked into the faces in the first few rows and saw that several of them were really connecting--and a few were crying. It was the greatest feeling. Afterward, a woman I didn't know approached me backstage and told me that I'd made her cry, and that she'd really loved my performance. It was a great night.
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I think if you couch it like, "Do you know of anyplace I can go?" rather than, "Hey, Tom Selleck, what happened to the 'tache?" it will probably be okay.
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It's a big question, certainly! I'm one of those with a strong faith, though it hasn't always been so. Having seen both sides, I can tell you that it's something not easily answered. Why do I believe? I believe because I've seen too much in my own life not to. (Pretty amazing things.) And I think that we humans are so divisive that even if we all believed the same thing, or all opted out of belief, we'd find other things to fight about. Simplistic, maybe. This is definitely something I can better discuss in person; apologetics have never been my strong suit.
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My secret is that I see people for who they really are. Sometimes it's awful, but usually it's gorgeous. If you don't want me knowing stuff about you, it's best to stay away. (I don't mean to, it just happens.)
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I have no idea what you're talking about. I was born without patience. Honestly. Ask my mother, my husband and my best friend. It's a well-known fact.
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On a scale from one to ten, one being "not much" and ten being "he breathed assclowniness into existence," I would go with a fifteen.
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True friends will make their views known in a very honest way, and then step aside. Support and love needs to continue, regardless of the other friend's choice.
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Not always, but empirical evidence suggests it happens often enough to be more than mere coincidence. I have noticed, on the other hand, that whenever I accuse anyone of being this, that or the other, I usually realize almost immediately that, in fact, the reason I can call them out so quickly is because they're exhibiting traits I myself possess. So, to sum up: people in the psych ward shouldn't throw rocks.
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The egg. I am quite certain of it. No doubt.
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I like deep, rich colors: red, purple, green, blue-green. And black. A lot of black. (I know, I know: black's not a color. But there it is.)
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It's the drugs, darlin'. Either that, or they long to be close to you.
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(1) Homemade tattoo, acquired from junior-year boyfriend's tattoo gun he scored from classmate who'd been in jail. Above inside right ankle, no longer visible.
(1) Professional tattoo, covering up the paltry and unattractive homemade deal. Above inside right ankle. (Celtic in orgin. Blue, purple and black. Given as 20th birthday gift by @vickiehowell and one other friend.)
(2) Standard ear piercings, administered at six months of age like any good Mexican baby girl would have had done. Active duty.
(3) DIY ear piercings, self-administered at age 13. Mostly ignored these days.
(1) Piercing in left nostril, acquired on Melrose Avenue at age 16. Now closed up. -
Oh hellz yeah. Hard work always pays off. Not always in the way you'd expect, mind you. But it always pays off.
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Never. Not for a single moment. Though I do think that universe probably exists, and that some people would do quite well there.
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Working at a music store in the mall with my best friend. Loved it.
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Emma Alvarez Gibson’s Bio
Writer. Editor. Cultural curator. Badass.
