My New Year’s Eve was spectacular. And my New Year’s day hangover was spectacular. (Fun fact: drinking a flask full of mystery booze in an arcade bathroom then going home to gorge on semi-reheated week old enchiladas is the worst idea of all time.)
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The books I read, and the things you said, and the fruits I was fed bred the thoughts in my head. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Want to see the Tumblog documenting my unhealthy obsession with painting curse words and little penises on my fingernails? It's over here: Pretty Fucking Fancy Nails
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