Of hammocks and pomegranates
the snarky manifesto of a phoenix feminist-atheist-chefwannabe-coffeeaddict-thinksshecandoyoga teacher type pesron.
other descriptions of possible interest:
werita spanish interpreter
cheese hater-wine lover
fits well in small spaces
former graywater system installer
multiple-time failed gardener
other descriptions of possible interest:
werita spanish interpreter
cheese hater-wine lover
fits well in small spaces
former graywater system installer
multiple-time failed gardener
Who I Follow
I was told once that I look at love like a 14 year-old girl looks at losing her virginity: I want everything to be clean and romantic and perfect with nice straight lines. There better be candles, I will wear my best lingerie, and I have the perfect track picked out for the moment of penetration.
I already accept that life is generally more fun when it’s crazy, so I’ve also resolved to accept that love can be messy.
Love is sticky and sweet and raunchy and sets pillows on fire sometimes, and that’s ok.
It can perhaps even include raspberries blown on the stomach at the most inappropriate romantic moments.
