The Naked Truth About Being A Compulsive Liar
There comes a turning point, when you’ve been so used to lying, that you start to believe your own lies and the line between fact and fiction gets maddeningly blurry.
There comes a turning point, when you’ve been so used to lying, that you start to believe your own lies and the line between fact and fiction gets maddeningly blurry.
It really is not that difficult to get ridiculously plastered a couple times a week or whatever and still be a productive member of society.
I see you, everyday I see you.
You know the age-old phrase, the mantra, the passive saying of good things come to those who wait? Fuck that. Fuck that hard.
There’s a double standard in the dating world. Or, at least, a complete imbalance. See, as many strides as we have made towards equality and women’s rights, there is one facet that everyone seems to turn a blind eye to…mating.
You can’t truly be yourself on a first date. This one sucks, because although your heart is on your sleeve, you better wear a jacket to cover it.
Buying a house? Hahaha, I can barely afford house whiskey.
For the most part, we all have at least one. At least one person whose memory is so deeply embedded in our psyche that they invade more thoughts than they should on a daily basis.
I realized there are so many lost souls, all looking for love but dealing just fine without it.
If you’re young enough, sexually active enough, and pay even a diminutive amount of attention to pop culture you’ve heard this aphorism: If a key opens many locks it is a master key. However, if a lock is opened by many keys, it is a shitty lock.