Three Reasons Women Fear Saying “I Like You”


After watching my best girl friends, sorority sisters and campies float from one guy to the next, falling in and out of love and lust, I realized a pattern. For the most part, girls don’t talk about their feelings. Or at least, it’s really hard (that’s what she said) for them to do so.

To every guy out there reading this, stop rolling your eyes. You probably think that talking about our feelings is all we do when we are with our best gal pals (while we simultaneously have drunken pillow fights wearing nothing but lingerie…yeah keep dreaming.)


But the truth is, we don’t like to admit our true feelings for a guy; not even to our besties.

There are a few reasons we don’t just come out and say we like a guy, and so I have made a list to break it down and explain our fears.

1. Our Fear of Rejection: Yes. If we confess our true feelings for a guy, we become extremely vulnerable. Why? Because we fear rejection. If you couldn’t tell from my past blog posts where I randomly rant about how much I hated high school, those four years were not my peaking moments. The only attention I got from guys was when they wanted to talk to my cooler, prettier friends and asked me if I could move down one seat. Like, how depressing is that? #OverIt #ButAmI?


However, because of this, I now doubt everything about guys. I may think a guy is super into me, but as soon as he stops texting me for a couple of days, I “logically” come to the conclusion that he is disgusted by me and hates me and probably deleted my number while fucking some hot blonde chick that’s skinnier and taller and richer than me. Guys drive girls crazy in that sense.

And so, we don’t want to tell people how we feel about a guy, because if we tell him we like him and he doesn’t feel the same, we become a version of ourselves we haven’t seen since our fat days of sophomore year, so why would we want to risk it?

2. Our Fear of Seeming Clingy: Guys never want to come off as the “relationship” type, but guess what. Neither do girls. When in a relationship that hasn’t yet been defined, it’s difficult for a girl to tell her boo thang that she has feelings for him, because she is scared that her feelings will scare him off. She is scared he will suddenly see her as clingy and wanting something more than just being casual.


This TERRIFIES US! Girls would rather be known as a bitch than a clingy, needy hook up. (Especially because similarly to how there are girls out there that only like douche bags, there are men out there that only like bitches.) For the most part, minus annoying psycho girls, we don’t want our men to be whipped. (unless she’s a kinky leather-wearing dom)

We don’t even want to be the ones that wear the pants in the relationship. (Equality. AMIRITE?) So we are careful not to bring up our feelings to our guy, because we don’t want him getting the wrong impression and we don’t want to come off as looking desperate and clingy. We don’t want him to think we’re suffocating him, and we don’t want to screw up what is already working.

3. Our Fear of Commitment (FOC): It really is true that we are never satisfied. When we’re single, all we want is a man to love us and date us and marry us and be our love slave. But if we are seeing someone, we suddenly inch away, because we don’t want to commit. The problem is, is FOCing doesn’t work if you’re not JUST fucking. In other words, if what you are with a guy is more than just the benefits, then there has to be some sort of commitment involved.


This is when things get scary. We’re in college. Just how frat guys and player GDIs want to bang a hundred slam pieces, girls (more stealthily) want to do the same. College is when we are figuring everything out. In an article I was reading on (yeah, I read more than just Betches Love This and Twitter #educated) the article stated that 80% of froshies are unsure about their major. EIGHTY PERCENT! College students don’t know which major to pick, we don’t even know if we should buy mechanical pencils or lead pencils, and we sure as hell don’t know what we want relationship-wise.


And so we fear commitment. Even if we are sure we want to use a lead pencil, we also know there are a million mechanical pencils that will also suffice. But everyone knows lead pencils are the best. They’re the sharpest, classiest, and most graphite-fying (tried to make a pun with graphite and gratifying #fail) type to write with. If you didn’t get where I was heading, what I mean to say is that even if there is this super magnificent fabulous guy who is right there in front of us, we are scared to tell them how we feel, because that means committing, and that means saying goodbye to any other possibilities.

Words of advice: Here’s the thing. In the words of FDR, “The only thing we have to fear, is fear itself.” Ladies, we have to stop being afraid to expose ourselves to the ones we care about. We are scared because once we put our feelings out there, we don’t know what will happen.


But those who say ignorance is bliss are living in a fantasy. It’s not real, and it will never become real. If you tell him how you feel, it may end things, but it may also may bring you closer together. Real, honest, true relationships are more magical than any fantasy world. So tell him. Don’t be afraid, because chances are, when you tell him you like him, he’ll give you a kiss and tell you the same. #LeapOfFaith #LOF #MyNewHashtag #ItsProNouncedLikeLaughButInABritishAccent #Trending? #ButSerisouly #TellHim



You know those girls that don’t like to eat anything except celery and ice cubes? Guess what. They’re doing it wrong, because they’re totally missing out on the best meal there is: brunch.

Brunch is the most perfect meal for Saturdays and Sundays because, well, who the fuck doesn’t like brunch?

Like yo. I HATE brunch…said no one ever.


Here’s the thing. Breakfast just doesn’t happen on the weekends, because let’s be honest, you’re either a) uncomfortably spooning some hookup at his place brainstorming a polite way of telling him you have to go home but you don’t have cash for a cab (awk), b) sporadically running from your bed to the bathroom about every 10 minutes to throw up the absurd amount of jungle juice and/or vodka you consumed last night, or c) drooling on your pillow in a cross-faded state, PTFO.

If you’re at the gym at 8 in the morning on a Saturday, you’re doing Friday night wrong. Like, Shabbat Shalom bitches. Going to bed early is for old people and doctors working the night shift.  PU-EACE


MOVING ON. Because breakfast is just not a thing, Brunch is definitely the move. Not only is brunch fuckin’ delicious, it’s also classy A.F.

Get yourself out of your sweats and into those expensive jeans and peplum top you never get a chance to wear, touch up you’re makeup from last night (if it isn’t smudged all over your pillow) and rally the ladies to re-hash the details from last night’s hash brownie adventures over fancy omelets and hash-browns.

#SayHashAgain #Hash

And one of the best parts about brunch? Bottomless mimosas. Yeah.

Everyone knows the best cure for a hangover is to drink more, (the whole cucumber water thing is totally a myth) so why not do it with a little class in your glass?

The never-ending supply of mimosas (that’s not actually never-ending because there’s usually a time limit like two hours or some crazy ish like that) can alter your state of mind in any way you choose. Four glasses per hour and your bound to be blackout by 3 am,  (shout out to SMD) or a simple two-per, if you’re not feelin’ a stupor.

Binge drinking isn’t binge drinking when it’s done out of a champagne flute. REMEMBER THAT.


And what happens at Brunch, stays at Brunch.

Gossip and #shittalking is bound to occur when a group of girls come together over egg-whites and alcohol, so make sure you trust the ladies you brunch with.

Some advice for doing brunch right?

1. Don’t keep pestering the waiter for more refills.

They get annoyed with drunk biddies and have the power to spit in your food.

2. Don’t drink like a wuss.

You are paying a set rate for your drinks, so you want to get the most out of how much you spent. If you get into a heated deep convo with your BFF Jill and forget to keep drinking, you’ll be throwin’ down $20 for two glasses of yellow drank.

3. Split the check.

There is nothing more excruciating than a group of drunk people trying to figure out how much money they each owe on their check, and it’s a pain to write down everyone’s card number and dollar amount with the tip included. Waiters hate it. Brunchers hate it. And no matter how many times the most sober one does the math, there always ends up being a mystery $15 left over that needs to be added. So divide the costs equally, because it will make the whole process sooooo much easier. #stress #SeperateChecksFoLYFE

4. Uber or metro. Do not drive.

You may think that because you are drinking mimosas, you’ll be good to drive. But guess what. You’re not. It’s legit a serious problemo amongst college students and you really have to cut it the fuck out. Like, it doesn’t matter if it’s a ten-minute ride back to campus and it doesn’t matter that you’re wearing cute clothes so if you do get in a crash, at least you’ll look good. You are putting yourself in danger, and you are putting others in danger, and I cannot emphasize enough that it’s super important that if you are planning on brunching/drinking irresponsibly, then do it in a responsible way.  Ya feel?

5. Tell the waiter it’s someone’s birthday (optional.)

Most likely you’ll get a free plate of dessert with a candle on top, and like, since we’re broke college students we’ll take what we can get. And it’s not lying if you say it’s a belated birthday celebration! #loophole

Good food, good company, and enough time to go back home and nap so you can rally later that night.

Brunch ladies and gentlemen. It’s definitely the move.


HAPPY LOVE DAY: The Mushiest Post I Will Ever Write


OK. So I have an announcement for all those depressed singletons out there who hate on V-day. Today is not a day for couples. Like, what? Could the court reporter please restate that last statement?

Yes. Today is not a day for couples.


Sure, Valentines Day is a day where girlfriends expect their boyfriends to take them to lavish dinners and scatter rose petals all over the bedroom and buy them giant teddy bears and expensive chocolates. Now I’m not going to lie. All of that is super cuticle. No girl would hate it (even the one’s that aren’t into mushy things.) But for me, I never viewed today as that stereotypical Hallmark holiday.


I want to revolutionize what February 14th really means. Am I being dramatic? Who the fuck cares. I’m thinkin big! I’m fuckin’ WILD!

Anyway. Today is a day to reflect on love. HAPPY LOVE REFLECTION DAY!

Think about your significant other and how much you love him or her, and how much she or he loves you.

But also think about all the other loves of your life.

Think about your mom and dad and how much love they have for you. Think about the little things they told you like, “I love you more than yesterday, but less than tomorrow,’ and the “kissy attacks” and raspberries you received from the rents when you were little.

Think about the love between you and your siblings. Reflect on those times when you literally wanted to rip each other’s throats out during those long-ass car rides but then 10 minutes later you were all laughing again, as if nothing happened, because love can do that. Love allows you to look past the little things, resolve conflicts in life, and forgive and forget so you can move on to the good stuff.


Think about your best friends and how much they mean to you. Think about those times you were up till 6 in the morning, literally (like literally, not figuratively but seriously) peeing your pants from laughing so much (and drinking too much?). Think about that time your friend constantly nagged you and forced you to do your schoolwork because she or he knew your grades were slipping, and wanted the best for you. Or that time when your friend came to your bad choir concert on a Friday night, just because she knew how much it would mean to you. These gestures are pure love, and today is the day to remember that.


But today is also the day to remember those people out there who don’t have a lot of love in their lives. I am extremely blessed. It seems like everywhere I turn in my life, there is someone who loves me and takes care of me. I used to think it was because I loved them all back.

But there are people out there that give so much love and get nothing in return. There are those sons and daughters out there that have never been hugged by a parent, or told how much they are loved.


There are people out there that don’t have close friends. They have their work friends or school friends, but they would never hang out in other settings, and they sure as hell would never call them if they needed a snuggle sesh.

There are those men and women who are 80 years old who have hearts full of love and no one to give it to, because just out of bad luck, they never stumbled upon the right match.

My heart goes out to those who are missing love in their lives, because love is a beautiful, wonderful, magical thing. It is more powerful than medicine and more valuable than gold. Fuck, if love were a public company, I’d buy 1 million shares, because that stock would sky rocket straight through heaven every fuckin day.

So I strongly urge you to take today and reflect on the love that you do have and how lucky you are. Sure, you can spend today sulking and drinking a bottle of wine by yourself and eating boxes of chocolate you purchased for yourself, or get together with a group of your girlfriends and complain and bitch about how there are no men out there and how lonely you are. Or you can just remember all the love that you DO have in your life and celebrate love and all that it means to you.


So really, please, I mean this with the utmost sincerity, have a happy Valentine’s Day!


HAPPY BIRTHDAY OLDER BRO (A Short Post for Arloon)


So let me just say, that I would not be the person who I am today without my big bro Arlen (or as I like to call him, Arloon!)

Yes, we are seven years apart, but that doesn’t stop us from being tighter than Sandy’s leather pants in the last scene of Grease when she goes all bad and smokes a cigarette. Arlen is an amazing brother, who has taught me to always be a good person.


Arlen will always give A Hundo P, and I admire that so much. He will never cut corners, and always does everything how he is supposed to, even if it means taking longer than if he just did a half-assed job.

He is the most morally sound person I have ever met, and is basically so kind that angels look like selfish bastards compared to this guy.

Seriously. Like, get this guy a golden harp, amiright?


It is such a blessing to have such an incredible brother to look up to, and I honestly feel sorry for anyone who isn’t related to him, because they don’t get the opportunity of having such an incredible, creative, warm-hearted, smart man in their lives.

My parents are wonderful, wonderful people, but there is no doubt that Arlen had a huge part in raising me and showing me how to be a good person.

There is no other older brother in the world that never beat up his younger sibs, even when I was being annoying (and trust me, touchy-feely, loud Leah can get preeeetty fuckin annoying.)

There is no other older brother that would make a trophy out of a lemon and paper towel roll for the championship tackle basketball game we played when he babysat for us.

There is no other older brother that would go out of his way to do me any favor I ever asked of him and not expect anything in return and do it with no complaints. The amount of times he has picked me up from somewhere or cleaned the dishes for me is kind of absurd.

No other brother would be down to jam out to our favorite songs with his little sister, or make up alternative songs on the spot with lyrics like, “This darkness, is creeping in my silhouette, and tear drops of blood crawl down from my eyes” in an exaggerated punk accent. (We should literally write this music. Like, every confused teenager wearing black nail polish and gages would buy that shit.)


To my amazing brother, Arly-bone, I cannot begin to express how lucky I am to have such a sweet, caring, honest, and unselfish older broski, and to you I want to wish you a very happy birthday, because you deserve the world and then some.

You inspire me every day to be a better person, and I couldn’t wish you to be any other way.

LOVE YA ARLOON, to Jupiter and back, and may all your B-Day wishes come true! HAPPY 27th!!!

The Post Game Post


(Dad, don’t read this…)

The Post Game. It is a term that is ubiquitously used in college culture, but what exactly IS a post game?

(Also, note that I use the word “ubiquitous” in every paper I ever write to make me sound smarter and it works like a charm. #rightclicksynonyms).

“Post Game” is an inconsistent term, as there are several meanings to the event. However, this blog post will break down the three types of post games—The Post Game Triad, the Trinity of Post Games, if you will—that exist to spread awareness that a post game doesn’t always turn out to be what you think it will be.

Post Game Numero Uno: The After Party

For those of you like me, you know that the party never ends. It’s a very Ke$ha way of living, and a great way of living at that (emphasis on the sparkles but ditch the barfing). So, if you are at a party and it’s dying down (which it shouldn’t, but whatever) then you know this doesn’t mean the night is over. I’m gonna pull out a cliché and say that we are young and we can sleep when we’re dead. So what do we do to keep the night going? We go to a Post Game, le DUH.

This is the after party post game.

It is the post game that is even crazier than the actual party. I go to a small liberal arts school, so it’s not super typs to find these, but I visited UMD and post gamed there and it was pretty much unreal. It was sweaty and packed and the DJ was BOMB. Handles were going around from mouth to mouth (so mono probably was as well) and EVERYONE was dancing, grinding on grinding from left to right. Big state schools do the Post Game right.


So go to the party and keep your heels on, and then the after party, and then the AFTER after party, and keep the night going with this kind of Post Game. You can soak your feet in the morning.

(Or at 4 pm when you finally wake up).

Post Game Numero Dos: The Chill Sesh

This Post Game skips the grinding and goes straight for the grinder. It’s the small get together with close friends where you re-HASH the details of the night, hit up the THC (not to be confused with HTC), and fulfill your munchy cravings. This little hang out is more common at smaller schools like mine. These Post Games are more intimate because they are typically pretty small. They are comfortable and allow for silliness, and someone always drunkenly orders Dominos for the whole crew.

Word to the wise: girls LOVE drunk Dominos. Cheesey bread is the manna to the DominHOE: a God-sent miracle that tastes fucking fantastic.


So naturally, when you’ve been dancing and drinking and partying all night, you are exhausted! But you also don’t want to sleep, because what will that accomplish? You aren’t going to remember those days of college where you were well rested and studious. You are going to remember those 3 a.m. hangouts where you and your friends hit the bongos and then shaved your friend’s head.

So instead of going to bed after a wild night, you do a chill sesh post game, in order to keep the night going, but not so much that you’re too tired the next day. For this Post Game, in order to make sure you aren’t burnt out, you make the wise decision of gathering a few of your compadres and just burn.

Post Game Numero Tres: Code Word, Lovin  

If a guy ever comes up to you and asks, “yo, you wanna post game?” this COULD mean that he wants you to come over and party with others, or smoke, OR it could just mean he wants you to come over and come (with a “U” if ya know what I’m sayin.) To put it bluntly, guys use the term Post Game as code to ask if you wanna bang.

I guess it is a lot easier for a guy to say “post game?” in a text than “come over and have sex later?” It sounds less grimy and harmless, but it’s way more suave than when a guy just asks to “hang out later.”

Guys who ask if you are DTPG (down to post game) have got mad moves when it comes to the ladies. They are ordinarily pretty confident, and they are confident for one of two reasons: One, they pull mad biddies, or two, they have a HUGE, ehem, ego…

So, if you aren’t interested in some guy that asks you to post game, beware that he might be trying to hook up with you. You must be aware, and be able to distinguish what kind of post game a guy is inviting you to, because like, how awkward would it be if you expected a rager and you get there and it’s just some sub par guy (maybe a 6) lying on his bed Burt Reynolds style, waiting for you to jump him. Like, Uber me home NOWWWW! However, if it’s a guy you are into, then the code-word “post game” is super beneficial because you make plans to hang out together in a totally nonchalant way.

Snaps for not being awkward!



So to recap, the Post Game can mean one of three things: it could be another party, a small get together that typically involves marriage-you-wanna, or a night of fornication.

Be able to distinguish these, and you’re set for ending the night in the way you want, and in doing so ensuring some pretty great memories and moments with your friends (unless you’re black out in which case you can just assume you had a legendary time).


I Wear High Heels, I Shave my Legs and I’m a Feminist


OK, so I know that all of you are just going to think I’m writing about this because Beyonce recently brought it up with the release of her surprise album, but I SWEAR I thought of blogging about this before that happened.

(Sorry Bey, I take full credit, clearly you’ve been spying on me and wire-tapping…also, if that’s true, didn’t mean what I said about baby Blue if you heard that convo…I’m sure she won’t get ALL of Jay-Z’s features…)

Anyway, I’m talking about being a feminist, which is what I am.

Yup. I said it. I am a feminist; hear me roar! But guess what… I also shave my legs. Is that even possible? YES!

A “feminist” has this negative connotation in our society. Many women laugh and say they aren’t feminists, but like, are you for real? Are you kidding me? If you are a woman, think long and hard (haha…”long and hard”) about what I am about to ask.

Do you believe you should share the same equal rights and opportunities as your male counterparts? If you answered “yes” then you, my not-necessarily-lesbian friend, ARE a FEMINIST.


We need to shake this idea that feminists are a bad thing.

It’s not about whether you believe in women being stay-at-home moms or splitting the check on a date.  Because I can tell you, I’m all about the guy paying for my dinner (seriously, no complaints.) But I’m talking about the real stuff. I’m talking about all those women who don’t think they should work in finance because it’s a man’s job.

I’m talking about all those people out there who don’t trust female doctors or female lawyers. I’m talking about all those men out there that have this strange theory women can’t make a good cup of coffee!

Our brains are just as capable as a men’s brains. Though both brains operate differently, and typically have different strengths, woman still have something to bring to the table, and I don’t just mean her husband’s sandwich.

From a college gals’ perspective, feminism should be all the rage.

Ladies, it’s the 21st century. You don’t have to wait for a guy to give you his class ring before you can go steady, and you sure as hell don’t have to wait for him to text you first. Shoot him a text. Assert your womanly ways.

No guy will complain about being the booty call. In fact, some men might even welcome it. Image

In Beyonce’s song, “Flawless” she features quotes by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (how the fuck do you pronounce that?!) who said, “We teach girls to shrink themselves, to make themselves smaller…we teach girls that they cannot be sexual beings in the way that boys are.”

Well if every woman listened to these rules, Chelsea Handler wouldn’t have a career and pornography would cease to exist.

Women, ladies, people with boobs (not man boobs, obvi. #Moobs): We should be able to express our sexuality and embrace it!

This doesn’t mean we have to go burning our bras or tying ourselves to trees or whatever it is those passionate activists did, but we should constantly remind ourselves, and remind others, that feminism is a good thing.

We should remember that feminists aren’t calling for women to be MORE powerful than men, but for equal power. Remember, sperm would be nothing without the egg, and the good ‘ol Pen15 would be pretty lonely without the vajeans.

We need each other, so we must accept each other. Image

It really sucks that even today women still can’t be the CEO or the boss without being thought of as a bitch. If a man boss were to do the same things as a “bitchy” female boss, most would view him as a cut-throat-yet-passionate leader and person of envy.

This just doesn’t seem fair.

Like, sorry you’re bitter that a woman was promoted above you, but like, there was a reason for that. Can’t we live in a world where it is sexy for a woman to be in charge, and not just in dominatrix movies? Can’t we be proud of a female CEO instead of angry. Can’t we finally accept that women who wear pant-suits can still be feminine? (Though penny-loafers is pushing it….)


I would be crazy not to be a feminist because that would go against everything I write about. Feminism allows for women to be heard and without feminists, my blog would probably be illegal. #ImABadAssMoFo

Guys, you can still be “the man” in a relationship with a feminist.

You can still assert your masculinity and be our strong muscle men who can reach the top shelf of the pantry and kill spiders for us. We like that. But respect us, learn from us, and let us take the reigns WITH you. If men AND women can accept that feminism is a positive thing, than we can finally live in a world where women can hold power positions without being labeled as a bitch, and men can get off their asses and make themselves a sandwich.

This post is dedicated to RG—an inspiring young woman who goes braless cause she can 😉 Image


Breakin hearts since ’93

I would just like to start off by saying that every year, on December 17, it is not my very own special day. I do not get to be the center of attention, and I do not have the final say on whether or not we are doing Italian or Asian food for the birthday dinner. Why? Because I am a twin, and I must share my birthday with my brother (not to mention our birthday falls right around the holiday season so our birthday is typically also celebrated at the same time as Christmas and Chanukah, meaning the presents are usually combined as well.)

However, even though I do not get to be the complete Birthday Princess I long to be, I much prefer what I have now—the most amazing and incredible twin brother a gal could have.

Now, William (or Squilliam as the fam calls him) is a one-in-a-million kinda guy. This blog post will not even begin to depict how incredible this guy is, but I’m gonna try. This kid is so freakin full of love it should be illegal. Like, call the cops.  He cares so much about making everyone happy, and though he is stubborn as fuck and refuses to ever lose an argument even when he’s wrong (I see a potential law career in your future) I can still always tell that he is filled with guilt whenever he does the wrong thing.


He is so smart, and without him, I would have never passed any of my science classes…or math classes…or history classes…fuck, I would never have graduated!

But seriously, this kid was the only person who could sit down with me for 8 hours (literally) and teach me an entire curriculum in a way that I would understand it (like drawing out pictures for idiots.) But seriously, his patience with me was unreal, even though most study sessions would end with him yelling at me or laughing sarcastically and me in tears. However, I know it was all out of love.

Who’s Kevin???

Willy is also protective. If he ever heard anyone say anything about me he would hate them and be mean to them. One time when we were probably in 6th grade, some boys made a comment about my bra size and he told me to stay away from them and he didn’t talk to them for like, days. If that’s not brotherly love, I don’t know what is. #brotherlylove #Iknowwhatitis

Our closeness is very interesting. Because he is a boy and I am a girl, some conversation topics are just off limits. However, as we have grown up, we have come to using stealthy phrases like “Yeah this one girl who I ‘dated’…” in order to discuss our weekend adventures. However, everything else we share like we are water straight out of the faucet—unfiltered.

We are each other’s best audience as we laugh at each other’s jokes no matter what.  We quote movies together on the regs, testing each other to see who knows more Mean Girls quotes (Thank God its me though…) And we make a great team. By that I mean that together we join up and gang up on other people. Together we are unstoppable, and un-crossable. Getting in between our twinniness is one road that should never be taken (even for you, Robby Frost.) Also, shout out to Brian The Box Head, we still feel bad about that…

So Will, you probably hate that I’m blogging about you and being kind of cute, but I love you so much and it fills my heart with so much happiness whenever I think about how lucky I am to have such an amazing twin brother. There is no one else in the world I would have rather shared the womb with (although it wouldn’t have killed ya to share some of the nutrients, ya know? #YouAreTheReasonINeededAFeedingTubeYaBitch)

But seriously, have a  happy birthday Bro. You deserve it!

P.S. to any of Will’s good-looking single friends who are planning on having a super successful job when you graduate college, hit me up 😉 #PerksOfHavingAMaleTwin

P.P.S. I only said that to make Will mad. Mission accomplished. I take my P.S. back. (no I don’t…)

P.P.P.S. Only one more year until the FUN Birthday that actually matters!! #21Shots

P.P.P.P.S You’re a fat loser and you have body odor!


LOVE YA!!! ❤