Things about Things

A 23 year-old Canadian who likes pretty things, and sappy shit about love.
bill:

Alright, let’s talk about this. Whoever wrote this trite nugget from the sweaty nightmares of Nicholas Sparks wrote it on a Build-A-Bear receipt. What’s so special about this Build-A-Bear receipt, you ask? Well, for one, our author purchased a hot pink Hello Kitty Build-A-Bear with leopard print accents, and added a few customized messages. But it’s where this Build-A-Bear store is that is the real story.
This is in Niagara Falls, Ontario, right on Victoria Avenue in Clifton Hill, which is a terrifying amalgam of Las Vegas, Myrtle Beach, and Tijuana, an unsophisticated casserole of unskilled teenagers and Chinese tourists seasoned with regurgitated Jägerbombs and baked to a limp sludge in $30 motor inns. It’s the destination for American kids aged 19 and 20 who can’t yet drink in the States, and the destination for Canadians who want a fabulous, once-in-a-lifetime chance to stare at Niagara Falls for three minutes and then spend the rest of their time drinking Al Keith’s in their room at the Days Inn.
I can only imagine that our heartbroken receipt-scrivener scrawled this after her boyfriend (who was named Bobby, no question about it) left her right outside the Ripley’s Believe-It-Or-Not to get back with his girlfriend Tammy back in Kitchener. She rushed to the Build-A-Bear and constructed this hideous monument to Bobby, which she still keeps next to her bed every night, even though she never mentions to her new boyfriend why.

bill:

Alright, let’s talk about this. Whoever wrote this trite nugget from the sweaty nightmares of Nicholas Sparks wrote it on a Build-A-Bear receipt. What’s so special about this Build-A-Bear receipt, you ask? Well, for one, our author purchased a hot pink Hello Kitty Build-A-Bear with leopard print accents, and added a few customized messages. But it’s where this Build-A-Bear store is that is the real story.

This is in Niagara Falls, Ontario, right on Victoria Avenue in Clifton Hill, which is a terrifying amalgam of Las Vegas, Myrtle Beach, and Tijuana, an unsophisticated casserole of unskilled teenagers and Chinese tourists seasoned with regurgitated Jägerbombs and baked to a limp sludge in $30 motor inns. It’s the destination for American kids aged 19 and 20 who can’t yet drink in the States, and the destination for Canadians who want a fabulous, once-in-a-lifetime chance to stare at Niagara Falls for three minutes and then spend the rest of their time drinking Al Keith’s in their room at the Days Inn.

I can only imagine that our heartbroken receipt-scrivener scrawled this after her boyfriend (who was named Bobby, no question about it) left her right outside the Ripley’s Believe-It-Or-Not to get back with his girlfriend Tammy back in Kitchener. She rushed to the Build-A-Bear and constructed this hideous monument to Bobby, which she still keeps next to her bed every night, even though she never mentions to her new boyfriend why.

(Source: fearlessknightsandfairytales, via runetangclan)

ewatsondaily:

"I decided that I was a feminist. This seemed uncomplicated to me. But my recent research has shown me that feminism has become an unpopular word. Women are choosing not to identify as feminists. Apparently, [women’s expression is] seen as too strong, too aggressive, anti-men, unattractive."

ewatsondaily:

"I decided that I was a feminist. This seemed uncomplicated to me. But my recent research has shown me that feminism has become an unpopular word. Women are choosing not to identify as feminists. Apparently, [women’s expression is] seen as too strong, too aggressive, anti-men, unattractive."

(via aphroditea)

I like living. I have sometimes been wildly, despairingly, acutely miserable, racked with sorrow; but through it all I still know quite certainly that just to be alive is a grand thing.

—Agatha Christie  (via verminunrest)

(Source: wordsnquotes, via aphroditea)

I miss your kisses at midnight and the scent of your hair against my face.

The bf to me.

Long Distance Sucks.