CAKE FOR BREAKFAST: literature’s own Mia Mercado
In case you haven't seen me screaming about it on every social platform or in real life, I'm writing a book! It'll be a collection of funny essays and stories, and I should be writing it as we speak. However, a crucial part of writing a book is telling people "I'M WRITING A BOOK" and then writing everything else except that book. I am very excited and proud and scared and nervous. It is brave of me to admit this and to even attempt to write a book when the perfect piece of literature already exists. (It's this Twitter thread of white people as other white people.)
SOMETHING THAT BETTER EAT AWAY MY DEPRESSION OR ELSE
If you're wondering whether making a big personal announcement on the internet helps your mental health, the answer is my counselor recommended I get a SAD Lamp. Even though! It is! Almost summer!!! I've been blasting my face with 10,000 lux for an hour every day. I don't know what "lux" are and if I need an entire 10,000 of them. Maybe it'll somehow get rid of all my pimples which, in some ways, would cure my depression.
SOMETHING I ATE WITH MY EARS
Imagine a world in which I haven't spent the past two weeks alternating between blasting Lizzo's new album Cuz I Love You and Beyonce's Homecoming. What sadness. What despair. What a life devoid of ass shaking. "Exactly How I Feel" by Lizzo is, as the name suggests, exactly how I feel. The lines "I might be a bitch/I might make a friend/Ain't I so amazing?" are a holy sacrament of a song lyric. If you haven't watched Beyonce's Homecoming on Netflix, you don't know how lifechanging a chorus of women singing "suck on my balls" can be. Also, the little horn section nod to "Broccoli" at the end of "Countdown" is just one of the many reasons I would let Beyonce punt my body across the Coachella desert in her iridescent fringe boots.
SOMETHING I ATE WITH MY EYES
Have I preached the good word about Schitt's Creek yet? It is one of the few shows I can watch before bed and not feel icky and terrible and sad. Riley does not understand the concept of a palate cleanser show before bed. When we watched Handmaid’s Tale, we’d finish an episode and he’d be like “yawn, sleep, time for night night.” Then he’d drift off soundly to sleep regardless of what kind of PTSD-induced steering wheel acting Elizabeth Moss had just given us. My brain and eyes need a sweet treat before bed. Schitt’s Creek, Catherine O’Hara’s line reads and outfits, and the way Alexis Rose says “ew David” is that candy.
SOMETHING I MADE FOR YOU TO EAT
I wrote about Japan's Poop Museum for Bustle. It’s a museum dedicated to poop but everything is pastel colored and twee and it is exactly what we need right now.
Also, I'm writing a ding dang book. So, stay tuned for more information about that.
Stay hungry, you bags of meat.
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