#i didntdo anything
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tahgs
#mmademe smallso i 'wouldntcause problems anymore'#ididnt ddo anything#ihateit hhere#ihate bbeingsmall and and treatedlike this#i didntdo anything#thisattempt wwasnt me thistime#i justwanna bbe big agian#-eli#donttell them this wwasme#theyllget mmad
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im being tormented
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Why does everyone hate me so much I didntdo anything to you leave me alone
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i didntdo anything
Ichiya x Bag inkling🥺🥺🥺👍👍
Fuck uou
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i need something useful to do
.badly.very badly.
what can i do.for anyone
#:thoughts#hesnot hereto see what i did itts like#.its .as if i didntdo anything#i need some thing to keep busy
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its mostly bc ive been saying for months “im gonna cosplay pearl” but i didntdo anything yet so even if the zippers i made look like Shit or w/e im still making progress
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i keep taking hauls expecting them to work when i know the last four i had didntdo anything
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Rita chuckles. “I dont know. Not sure how it works. Ive not met any other angels ir demons at all. Im not sure about that either. But i want to just cuddle you at mine. With bucky. Can we do that?” She murmurs nuzzling his neck.
Rick? Is that you?
“Yep”
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An Open Letter To The Guy Who Took My Ghosting Virginity
Dear Ghoster,
You were my first.
First ghoster, to be clear. None of the other firsts. (Except maybe my first time likening someone to Jon Snow on a first date.)
What It Feels Like To Be Ghosted [Disconnected]
To view this video please enable JavaScript, and consider upgrading to a web browser that supports HTML5 video
You were (are?) handsome. Bearded. Smart. Voting for Her. Insistent on coming to Greenpoint for our first date, despite your Manhattan address. A bona fide, borough-breaching unicorn.
We met via The League on the Internet, and at Brooklyn Barge Bar in real life. I was late due to hair bloat on a humid summer night. You were patient AF.
I liked your vibe; you liked the comedy videos I make. That was all very nice.
On our second date, you brought up what you were looking for. You werent looking to run away and get married but you wanted something legit. You had recently been given the runaround by someone. I maybe said, I feel you, man, or something equally strange.
You werent looking to run away and get married but you wanted something legit.
You asked me what I was looking for. I got cagey; I said I didnt know. I was sort of seeing other people, mostly just having trouble making myself available.
We discussed fuckboys because dinner conversation in 2016. You didnt seem like one. We still didnt go home together. (Hashtag lady.)
You trekked to Brooklyn for our first five dates.
I sassed you for it, wondering out loud if you had an apartment of your own. You did, on the cutest street in the West Village. You were just making it easier for me go to Drake yoga class and be showered at a normal, date-not-booty-call hour. You also didnt judge me for doing Drake yoga.
You also didnt judge me for doing Drake yoga.
You gave me compliments. You empathized with my late-twenties grouchiness. You (jokingly?) asked me to go to Greece with you. You (jokingly?) talked about the bungalow wed get in LA if I decided to go to school there.
You were sweet to my friends, who thought you were the hottest and nicest and told me I better not eff this up.
Once we hung out more, we had really good, er, chemistry.
You drunkenly told me that your mom would love me. I thought, Wow, boys I date are never this into me.
I shared a little, but not a lot.
I madeyou text first. When we were on dates, I textedpeople I shouldnt havefrom the bathroom. I lightlyaccused you of taking my debit card when I couldnt find it that one morning and it turned up in your pocket. (Really you had just closed my tab like a gentleman.)
Last time I saw you, we went to Red Farm and I poked a soup dumpling with my chopstick like an idiot even though,like, I know how to eat a soup dumpling. We had a blast bar hopping and ended the night with a sing (shout) along while jumping on your couch. That was fun.
The next day I left for a week long vacation. We chatted some, but not a lot. Then you went on your Euro Trip. More crickets. You got back and I had to text first, but you replied.
I asked if I was beating a dead horse. You said I wasnt at all. I asked if you wanted to go to a concert with me. You told me that it sounded fun and youd let me know once you found out if youd be on a work trip, which would be by tomorrow.
Tomorrow came without any texts. A week later, I followed up. The night of the concert came. Still nothing.
OH. So thats ghosting. Got it, cool, totally chill, no prob.
OH. So thats ghosting. Got it, cool, totally chill, no prob.
We werent meant to be or anything like that, but real talk: ghosting hurts.
I havent barraged you with angry, Titos-fueled texts yet, so thats good.
Somehow during two months of getting to know each other we never followed each other on social media, and thus, I have no idea what happened to you. I hope youre okay. I am pretty certain that you are the text says Delivered.
Ive had dating end before (a lot) but usually there is some communication, some haunting. My friend asked me the other night what happened to you.
I dont know! I dont think I did anything!
Which is true. I didnt do anything.
I didntmake an effort, didnt stop talking to other people. I didntnot give you a hard time. I didntdo a good job taking real steps to end my forever singledom. Straight up, I wouldve ghosted me too.
When Game of Thrones first came back last season, a friend joked about getting Jon Snowed rather than ghosted like when you actually dont know if someone is dead or alive because they stop talking to you so abruptly.
Well, thats LOLz now. Are you there, Jon Snow? Its me, Kimmy.
If youre reading this, the unnecessarily specific details about our dates guarantee that you know who you are. Feel free to let me know what happened, you know, so I dont spiral too hard in therapy.
Youve got my digits!
All the best (for real, not in a sassy way),
Kimmy
How To Master The Perfect Irish Exit [Gen Why]
To view this video please enable JavaScript, and consider upgrading to a web browser that supports HTML5 video
Subscribe to Elite Daily’s official newsletter, The Edge, for more stories you don’t want to miss.
from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/2017/06/04/an-open-letter-to-the-guy-who-took-my-ghosting-virginity/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/161443027867
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Text
An Open Letter To The Guy Who Took My Ghosting Virginity
Dear Ghoster,
You were my first.
First ghoster, to be clear. None of the other firsts. (Except maybe my first time likening someone to Jon Snow on a first date.)
What It Feels Like To Be Ghosted [Disconnected]
To view this video please enable JavaScript, and consider upgrading to a web browser that supports HTML5 video
You were (are?) handsome. Bearded. Smart. Voting for Her. Insistent on coming to Greenpoint for our first date, despite your Manhattan address. A bona fide, borough-breaching unicorn.
We met via The League on the Internet, and at Brooklyn Barge Bar in real life. I was late due to hair bloat on a humid summer night. You were patient AF.
I liked your vibe; you liked the comedy videos I make. That was all very nice.
On our second date, you brought up what you were looking for. You werent looking to run away and get married but you wanted something legit. You had recently been given the runaround by someone. I maybe said, I feel you, man, or something equally strange.
You werent looking to run away and get married but you wanted something legit.
You asked me what I was looking for. I got cagey; I said I didnt know. I was sort of seeing other people, mostly just having trouble making myself available.
We discussed fuckboys because dinner conversation in 2016. You didnt seem like one. We still didnt go home together. (Hashtag lady.)
You trekked to Brooklyn for our first five dates.
I sassed you for it, wondering out loud if you had an apartment of your own. You did, on the cutest street in the West Village. You were just making it easier for me go to Drake yoga class and be showered at a normal, date-not-booty-call hour. You also didnt judge me for doing Drake yoga.
You also didnt judge me for doing Drake yoga.
You gave me compliments. You empathized with my late-twenties grouchiness. You (jokingly?) asked me to go to Greece with you. You (jokingly?) talked about the bungalow wed get in LA if I decided to go to school there.
You were sweet to my friends, who thought you were the hottest and nicest and told me I better not eff this up.
Once we hung out more, we had really good, er, chemistry.
You drunkenly told me that your mom would love me. I thought, Wow, boys I date are never this into me.
I shared a little, but not a lot.
I madeyou text first. When we were on dates, I textedpeople I shouldnt havefrom the bathroom. I lightlyaccused you of taking my debit card when I couldnt find it that one morning and it turned up in your pocket. (Really you had just closed my tab like a gentleman.)
Last time I saw you, we went to Red Farm and I poked a soup dumpling with my chopstick like an idiot even though,like, I know how to eat a soup dumpling. We had a blast bar hopping and ended the night with a sing (shout) along while jumping on your couch. That was fun.
The next day I left for a week long vacation. We chatted some, but not a lot. Then you went on your Euro Trip. More crickets. You got back and I had to text first, but you replied.
I asked if I was beating a dead horse. You said I wasnt at all. I asked if you wanted to go to a concert with me. You told me that it sounded fun and youd let me know once you found out if youd be on a work trip, which would be by tomorrow.
Tomorrow came without any texts. A week later, I followed up. The night of the concert came. Still nothing.
OH. So thats ghosting. Got it, cool, totally chill, no prob.
OH. So thats ghosting. Got it, cool, totally chill, no prob.
We werent meant to be or anything like that, but real talk: ghosting hurts.
I havent barraged you with angry, Titos-fueled texts yet, so thats good.
Somehow during two months of getting to know each other we never followed each other on social media, and thus, I have no idea what happened to you. I hope youre okay. I am pretty certain that you are the text says Delivered.
Ive had dating end before (a lot) but usually there is some communication, some haunting. My friend asked me the other night what happened to you.
I dont know! I dont think I did anything!
Which is true. I didnt do anything.
I didntmake an effort, didnt stop talking to other people. I didntnot give you a hard time. I didntdo a good job taking real steps to end my forever singledom. Straight up, I wouldve ghosted me too.
When Game of Thrones first came back last season, a friend joked about getting Jon Snowed rather than ghosted like when you actually dont know if someone is dead or alive because they stop talking to you so abruptly.
Well, thats LOLz now. Are you there, Jon Snow? Its me, Kimmy.
If youre reading this, the unnecessarily specific details about our dates guarantee that you know who you are. Feel free to let me know what happened, you know, so I dont spiral too hard in therapy.
Youve got my digits!
All the best (for real, not in a sassy way),
Kimmy
How To Master The Perfect Irish Exit [Gen Why]
To view this video please enable JavaScript, and consider upgrading to a web browser that supports HTML5 video
Subscribe to Elite Daily’s official newsletter, The Edge, for more stories you don’t want to miss.
Source: http://allofbeer.com/2017/06/04/an-open-letter-to-the-guy-who-took-my-ghosting-virginity/
from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2017/06/04/an-open-letter-to-the-guy-who-took-my-ghosting-virginity/
0 notes
Text
An Open Letter To The Guy Who Took My Ghosting Virginity
Dear Ghoster,
You were my first.
First ghoster, to be clear. None of the other firsts. (Except maybe my first time likening someone to Jon Snow on a first date.)
What It Feels Like To Be Ghosted [Disconnected]
To view this video please enable JavaScript, and consider upgrading to a web browser that supports HTML5 video
You were (are?) handsome. Bearded. Smart. Voting for Her. Insistent on coming to Greenpoint for our first date, despite your Manhattan address. A bona fide, borough-breaching unicorn.
We met via The League on the Internet, and at Brooklyn Barge Bar in real life. I was late due to hair bloat on a humid summer night. You were patient AF.
I liked your vibe; you liked the comedy videos I make. That was all very nice.
On our second date, you brought up what you were looking for. You werent looking to run away and get married but you wanted something legit. You had recently been given the runaround by someone. I maybe said, I feel you, man, or something equally strange.
You werent looking to run away and get married but you wanted something legit.
You asked me what I was looking for. I got cagey; I said I didnt know. I was sort of seeing other people, mostly just having trouble making myself available.
We discussed fuckboys because dinner conversation in 2016. You didnt seem like one. We still didnt go home together. (Hashtag lady.)
You trekked to Brooklyn for our first five dates.
I sassed you for it, wondering out loud if you had an apartment of your own. You did, on the cutest street in the West Village. You were just making it easier for me go to Drake yoga class and be showered at a normal, date-not-booty-call hour. You also didnt judge me for doing Drake yoga.
You also didnt judge me for doing Drake yoga.
You gave me compliments. You empathized with my late-twenties grouchiness. You (jokingly?) asked me to go to Greece with you. You (jokingly?) talked about the bungalow wed get in LA if I decided to go to school there.
You were sweet to my friends, who thought you were the hottest and nicest and told me I better not eff this up.
Once we hung out more, we had really good, er, chemistry.
You drunkenly told me that your mom would love me. I thought, Wow, boys I date are never this into me.
I shared a little, but not a lot.
I madeyou text first. When we were on dates, I textedpeople I shouldnt havefrom the bathroom. I lightlyaccused you of taking my debit card when I couldnt find it that one morning and it turned up in your pocket. (Really you had just closed my tab like a gentleman.)
Last time I saw you, we went to Red Farm and I poked a soup dumpling with my chopstick like an idiot even though,like, I know how to eat a soup dumpling. We had a blast bar hopping and ended the night with a sing (shout) along while jumping on your couch. That was fun.
The next day I left for a week long vacation. We chatted some, but not a lot. Then you went on your Euro Trip. More crickets. You got back and I had to text first, but you replied.
I asked if I was beating a dead horse. You said I wasnt at all. I asked if you wanted to go to a concert with me. You told me that it sounded fun and youd let me know once you found out if youd be on a work trip, which would be by tomorrow.
Tomorrow came without any texts. A week later, I followed up. The night of the concert came. Still nothing.
OH. So thats ghosting. Got it, cool, totally chill, no prob.
OH. So thats ghosting. Got it, cool, totally chill, no prob.
We werent meant to be or anything like that, but real talk: ghosting hurts.
I havent barraged you with angry, Titos-fueled texts yet, so thats good.
Somehow during two months of getting to know each other we never followed each other on social media, and thus, I have no idea what happened to you. I hope youre okay. I am pretty certain that you are the text says Delivered.
Ive had dating end before (a lot) but usually there is some communication, some haunting. My friend asked me the other night what happened to you.
I dont know! I dont think I did anything!
Which is true. I didnt do anything.
I didntmake an effort, didnt stop talking to other people. I didntnot give you a hard time. I didntdo a good job taking real steps to end my forever singledom. Straight up, I wouldve ghosted me too.
When Game of Thrones first came back last season, a friend joked about getting Jon Snowed rather than ghosted like when you actually dont know if someone is dead or alive because they stop talking to you so abruptly.
Well, thats LOLz now. Are you there, Jon Snow? Its me, Kimmy.
If youre reading this, the unnecessarily specific details about our dates guarantee that you know who you are. Feel free to let me know what happened, you know, so I dont spiral too hard in therapy.
Youve got my digits!
All the best (for real, not in a sassy way),
Kimmy
How To Master The Perfect Irish Exit [Gen Why]
To view this video please enable JavaScript, and consider upgrading to a web browser that supports HTML5 video
Subscribe to Elite Daily’s official newsletter, The Edge, for more stories you don’t want to miss.
from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/2017/06/04/an-open-letter-to-the-guy-who-took-my-ghosting-virginity/
0 notes