Be warned, strawberry flavored kombucha tastes almost nothing like strawberries.
It's a wasteland out there. Crazed caffeine addicts pushing for a spot in line at Starbucks. Teenagers dramatically texting their every thought on tiny keyboards and rows upon rows of diabolically similar looking houses.
I am one of only a few survivors.
I am a Suburbia Survivor.
Be warned, strawberry flavored kombucha tastes almost nothing like strawberries.
So, there I am, chilling in the prayer room. When all of a sudden a random girl I’ve never met before walks into my line of sight. I accidentally make eye contact, and as our eyes meet, she looks at me, smiles warmly, and walks away. Total stranger. Made eye contact. Smiled. Walked away. Just like that. Oh that’s fine because MY ENTIRE PARADIGM OF HOW SOCIAL INTERACTION WORKS HAS JUST BEEN DECIMATED.
(Source: drakensberg)
(Source: danielhashtagyolo)
All my best friends are being turned into boyfriend zombies. They’re all either MIA or somewhere between Cloud 9 and and the deepest darkest depths of heart wrenching hell.
Long story.
We would, except we lost our key to our car at the Giants game and you live like thirty freakin’ miles away. And your Dad makes us feel uncomftorable enough without some random boy sneaking into his daughter’s room in the middle of the night, and we’re pretty sure you don’t even like us anyway from the way you act, even though you say you do when we ask.
(Source: imalittleteap0t)