It’s too cold. The cold has seeped into my veins and my heart and my brain. I can’t do it anymore. I’m exhausted. I’m frozen. I’m stymied. I’m holding myself back. I stay inside because I can’t bear the windchill biting at my fingers.
Am I a bad feminist because I’d rather read Cosmo than Bitch or Bust?
Doesn’t your mom ever say, “Dress for the job you want?”
I read somewhere that Kim Kardashian does 100 squats a day, so I should try that.
Rural life has always been a trope of country music; many country musicians come from small towns and sing about the people and places that shaped them. But where Blake Shelton and company get it wrong, some country stars get it right.
Emily Byrd Starr of the “Emily” books.
The woman could do it all and I, as a fledgling woman writer myself, can’t help but look up to her.
Take me away; is it such a big deal for someone to hold my hand for awhile?
You told me you loved me for the first time while you were tripping on acid.
Being blonde is like being back-lit