I’m seeing, “Tell me your favorite memory with me” making a rotation on Facebook currently. And especially right now when people are still not as able to get together in person, I think looking back and reflecting is super good. So, a buddy of mine posts it, and then replies start. And someone commented like.. an entire story, and how anytime he hears this one artist, he always thinks of the original poster. Which is so fucking cool, right? But it gets better, because the original poster replied something along the lines of, “I don’t really remember that, but cool.” And this whole interaction is just so perfect. The replier links the entire musical catalog of an artist to this brief interaction with this person, who doesn’t even remember it. And a part of me almost feels some kinda melancholy here, but not really. Like.. a part of me wants this moment to have been significant to both parties involved, but I think I like it more being uneven. Because it holds more potential this way. It shows how, at literally any moment, you could be having a massive impact on someone – for better or worse. And that really kind of makes me want to re-evaluate some of my behaviors and habits and patterns. I fully realize I have very little control over how others view me or interpret their interactions with me. Communication is so personal and being clear is difficult at times. But.. holy fuck, do I want to try my best to ensure that the interactions I have with people leave them better. I want someone to have a new favorite song or movie because of me. I want someone to have a memory of a perfect night, or a profound conversation because of me. I want someone to chuckle to themselves every time they hear a certain word. We all have that one liquor that when you smell it or even think of it, you get a little queasy. Yeah. I don’t want to be that for anyone. I don’t want to be your tequila. (I feel like I’ve said this before. I don’t update often. If I’m repetitive, clearly I haven’t fully learned or processed my thoughts, so forgive me). My first serious boyfriend ever told me how, after we broke up, he started talking to a girl who wore vanilla perfume, and how he couldn’t bear it, because it reminded him of me. Something as simple as what fragrance I most commonly wore had an impact. Like… fuck, you know? What else? So.. As always I have no point, really, no conclusion. Merely observations. I am feeling some kinda conviction to really up my mindfulness game. Like.. who knows what people will remember, you know?

“Sometimes you will never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory.” Dr. Suess

Well, what did you expect?

Expectation is such a funny thing. I have been soul level pissed at someone for not meeting my expectations before, which is wholly unfair to them, I fully realize that now. And I try not to have expectations, but I still do. I ran into this recently, actually, on Tinder.

I matched with some guy, didn’t really examine his profile, but matched with him. He sent me a message, asking if I use to work at a certain place. I confirmed that yes, I had, and he introduced himself as someone whom I knew back then (his company partnered with mine, so he was often in my office). I was genuinely excited. He is a good looking guy. But, the thing that always stood out about him, to me, always, was how polite he was. Everything was, “yes ma’am”, “yes sir”, he was always impeccable with his speech, very kind. And I was so brought in by that, when we worked together, his politeness was captivating. So… 2 years or whatever it has been later, we match on Tinder. And I’m stoked. And then I get the message.

“Is it bad if I want to show you how big my dick is?” Except he used the eggplant emoji. Maybe he was still, in his own way, trying to be polite. I think I would have almost preferred if he had just been more direct. But.. the one thing I expected, based off my of interactions with him, had been someone who was very polite. And now he’s like.. “let me show you my wang!” And it really bothered me. Not because he offered a dick pic. I don’t really care about that. Seen one, you’ve seen ’em all.. and I have access to internet porn, and guy friends so… I’m sure yours is great and all, but overall just sorta meh with that. But having my expectations not met, that really bothered me.

I have led a fairly underwhelming life, so I don’t often feel many people expect a lot out of me. Which I truly do appreciate it. But, one of my dearest, most lovely friends was chatting with me recently about how her father is… somewhat disappointed in her because she doesn’t have a career in the field she went to school for. I guess that’s maybe fair, if you were upset because you felt your child was unhappy, not pursuing their dreams. But.. my friend, at her current, “non-career”, makes over twice what I do per hour, and has insane benefits. She, at the age of 29, is more financially stable, with better health care coverage, than most people I know in their 40’s or 50’s. She is moving into a beautiful apartment, with a lakeview, by herself, no co-sign, no roommate, no partner, just her and her puppies. At 29. And yet, because she is not living up to her fathers expectations of what her life should look like, she is feeling all kinds of ways. And that’s fucking horrible.

I saw a quote attributed to Shakespeare (probably incorrectly, but whatever… the sentiment stands) – “Expectation is the root of all heartache”

The.root.of.all.heartache. Fuck. But really dive into that thought. I thought this boy was gonna love me forever, and now he decided he’d rather be back with his ex, who he swore to me he’d have to be crazy to go back to. Cool. Maybe I should have expected him to be crazy. He was dating me, after all. I expect my electronics to work, every time I hit the power button. You expect your car to start every morning. It’s not always parental disapproval or dumb dick pics, it’s ingrained in everything we do. I expect my job to not fire me. My water to be hot in the shower. My coffee to taste a certain way. And how pissed, or at least inconvenienced, would I be if those expectations were not met?

I’m not really sure how I want to try and resolve this, in my life, personally. A part of me is like.. lower my expectations. Which doesn’t really sound right, and also, then, if my even lower expectations aren’t met, I’ll be super fucking disappointed so… I think, for me at least, the thought is going to be to expect as little as possible. Not less. As little as possible. And then allow myself to be pleasantly surprised and grateful for everything. The water in my shower is super toasty, that’s fucking rad. Even though I hated every second of it, my job didn’t fire me, and that’s pretty cool. And the things that don’t work out.. well, meh. There are enough big, important, things in the world that are waiting to break our hearts every day right now. I refuse to allow some goober trying to show me his eggplant effect me, at all. I will not allow others expectations of me to sway me, or crush me, and I will not impose my expectations of others onto them. I will try my best. And I will allow you to be who and how you are. I may not want what your peddling, but I won’t be let down when you’re selling knock off Gucci (you know where, if you look really close, it actually says like.. Guggi), I just will chose not to buy, but thank you.

Also guys… if your cock seriously looks like an eggplant, y’all need some medical help. Again, not trying to hold expectations, but.. just floating this idea out there for you to consider… maybe the cucumber/pickle emoji, depending on how honest you’re being with yourself 🙂

Independence Day Resolution

Why do we only do resolutions on New Years? I mean… I get it’s significant but, other days are too. I tend to not love going with the crowd (I know y’all are shocked to hear that) so there is something so… almost cliche about new years resolutions. Everyone going to a gym for a month. Coupons and sales everywhere for Slim Fast and vitamins. I get it’s a fresh start. But every day is a fresh start. Every.. any moment… I can make a fresh start. Decide something is no longer going to bother me. Affirm that I am going to make a change. The opportunities are endless, every day. I personally have always preferred the idea of celebrating MY new year, with birthday resolutions and goals. Maybe I’m self centered but, deciding how I want the next year of my life to be, always felt more… intimate than jumping into a habit at the start of everyone’s year.

That ramble being said… I’m kicking around the idea of a 4th of July resolution. What do I want to free myself of? What do I want to allow myself to be free to do?

I want to free myself of unnecessary worry. I am not gonna go all crazy and be like.. Imma not worry about anything. That’s not real life. I will worry about paying bills on time, getting enough sleep, self-improvement, shit that matters. What I will not worry about will be things like the wrinkles on my forehead. The cellulite on the back of my thighs. My eyebrows being perfect all the time. I want to worry more about the beauty of my soul than my face. The world is ugly right now in so many ways and it needs compassion and kindness. My waistline is not the bottom line to my worth as a person.

I will not worry about people who repeatedly show they do not worry about me. I understand people being busy. I do not demand being a priority in many peoples lives, I truly don’t. But I am freeing myself from the silly worry of… will this guy text me back… will that guy swipe right… would I get a good morning message from him if I were twenty pounds lighter. Why is that girl randomly talking shit about me, when I know I handled myself correct. I declare myself free from unnecessary social bullshit.

I want to allow myself the freedom to dive in… full head, full heart, full ass. 😉 I want to not be afraid of all the what ifs. I want to be free to fucking go for it, whether it’s a new job, a new hobby, a new relationship. I want to feel free to fully embrace all the weird and wonderful opportunities I am continually granted. I am free to live and love and fuck up and learn and move on. I am freeing myself from past trauma that I sometimes feel chained to. I am allowing myself the freedom to scrape the scraps of shit I’ve been dealt this past year off my plate, into the trash. Fuck it.. I allow myself the freedom to throw away the whole fucking set of china, to fully remove any binding influence that part of my life still has. I am freeing myself from those past hurts and pains. They no longer serve me, at all.

Also, let’s get weird… er… let’s get weirder for a moment. It’s a full fucking moon, y’all. So.. let’s talk about transformation, inspired of course, by werewolves. I am free to change, to transform, to move and shake and be fire one day and storm clouds the next. I allow myself the freedom to be unpredictable, because as this year has shown us, things can change in a single moment, on a real, global level. I am free to adapt and revise myself, daily.. hourly, if need be. I am freeing myself from the weight of other peoples expectations of who and what and how I am supposed to be.

Land of the free, home of the brave…. I encourage you to be both.

Beers and Boots and Blue Jeans, oh my! (or, why I want a life and love like a country song)

Beers and Boots and Blue Jeans, oh my! (or, why I want a life and love like a country song)

Howdy y’all. (Insert smiley face wearing a cowboy hat emoji) Sorry. Couldn’t help it.

So at my most recent workplace, we listened to a lot of country. A lot. Not hating. Listen to what you want. Seriously. It’s just not my scene. While I was kinda.. outlining this post (me? organize my thoughts ahead of time? whaaaaa? – but I legit had to look up lyrics to country songs so, ya know) I was listening to Sigur Ros. For those unfamiliar, they are an “Icelandic post-rock band known for their ethereal sound” and incorporating “classical and minimal aesthetic elements.” So a bit removed from songs about your boo meeting your momma and having your lady meet your kinfolk.

But! In the brainwashing… I mean the very casual, not at all drilled into my head ten hours a day, six days a week at work, listening to the genre… it fucking broke me. I want a life and a love like a country song. And I’m not at all sorry.

If you’ve read previous posts here, you maybe might notice a theme of my ever tumultuous love life. I do the karaoke, right, and out of all the songs I’ve ever done, there’s this one I sing more authentically and with more like… raw vulnerability than any other. “You Wanted More” by Tonic… the line… the fucking line… gets me every time… “I don’t know when I got bitter, but love is surely better when it’s gone” …Right in the God damn feels…. Truer words have potentially never been sang by me, except if you gave me a calendar, I could give you the exact date my bitterness solidified me into the Ice Queen y’all know and love. Though, I have do a ridiculously wonderful (and brave!) guy currently attempting to court me. Yes. I know. Melting me. May need a smaller crown. May have to settle for being a Slushy Princess for a while….

Anyway, country music. Like… man… there is something so kinda simple and pure about a lot of the lyrics. It’s not artsy fartsy or deep or bogged down with obscure references or heavy metaphors. It’s not even violent or offensive or explicit most the time. It’s… there ain’t nothing that a beer can’t fix, let’s slow dance in a Walmart parking lot, I’m chasin’ you like a shot of whiskey, I only meant to hold this drink now I’m tryna hold your hand, beer never broke my heart, straightforwardness. Songs praising women with their hair a mess, wearing an old pair of jeans. Songs about taking back roads, and that being literal, and not a thinly veiled anal sex reference.

I’m a city girl at best. A suburbanite at worst. The country factors nowhere into my life landscape. I don’t go swimming in the crick. I don’t have parties in barns. I’ve never driven a truck. And I’m not sure I need to incorporate those things into my life but… the energy of them… that like… just simple, (I keep using that word, and I know it might read condescending but I have ultimate respect for simplicity) like.. living. I want that. I don’t want stuffy. I don’t want impressive. I don’t want cool. I want a beer and a bonfire and people I love. I don’t want a five star hotel or a hundred dollar meal or a thousand dollar purse. I want a little bitty house and a little bitty yard, a la Alan Jackson. I want to wear outta season, marked down clearance lingerie (you know I’ll be rockin some “ho ho ho” panties on the 4th of July) and be made to feel like a Victoria Secret Angel.

I’m not traditionally religious, and country songs do a lot of giving thanks to God, but even that like… man.. I want to see the blessings in the day to day. I want to have that faith and endure the struggles with the grit and grace I find in those songs. And I maybe do legit want some boots..

You aren’t going to find me at a honky tonk (I wouldn’t even know where to go), doing the boot scootin boogie (I wouldn’t even know how) anytime soon. You’ll find me at an average bar, probably in a strip mall, singing along with whoever is on stage for karaoke. But maybe you’ll find me in beat up old jeans and a boring t shirt, instead of being decked out – trying to impress. Maybe you’ll find me being completely content with a cheap beer, instead of a complicated cocktail. And you’ll definitely hear me say, “y’all.”

To the boy…

To the boy who made a point of telling me I’m not drop dead gorgeous…

Maybe it’s because I wear glasses, but eyes like mine, that have seen some shit and still choose to see the good, are beautiful.

Maybe it’s because my arms are a little flabby, but they are always open to hug, embrace and accept a friend in need.

Maybe it’s my slightly lopsided breasts, that had a cancer scare a few years ago…

Maybe it’s my teeth, stained from years of drinking coffee, to assist me in working 2 or 3 jobs.

Maybe it’s the grey in my hair, well earned in my lifetime.

Maybe it’s the thickness of my thighs, which left plenty of room for the mantra tattooed there.

To the boy who made a point of telling me I’m not drop dead gorgeous, I don’t need your validation. I’m not a super model but I am a God damn super hero, and you can’t take my strength, or inner beauty away from me.

To the boy who made a point of telling me I’m not drop dead gorgeous, fuck off.

Find Your Bunny!

Merry Easter, y’all!

I know, I know. Covid this, quarantine that. I get it. Kinda. I’m “essential”, and still kinda business as usual. But I understand the world is beyond topsy turvy for a lot of people right now. Which is why I want to encourage everyone to find their bunny.

I’m not exclusively talking about a romantic partner, though I get rabbits do have a certain reputation for being a bit.. uh… amorous… I’m talking about that person that you can wholly go down that rabbit hole (not a sexual innuendo, I swear) with. With physical contact limited, this level of mental and emotional connection becomes that much more important.

So, everyone has gone down a wiki rabbit hole, yes? I’ll play now, just to see what happens. I started with the band I’m currently listening, The Dead South, and after a brief stop at “throat singing”, I ended up at “Quasiperiodicity”. Now, this was not a fully wiki rabbit hole exploration, it was more of a quick 6 degrees of wiki separation game, but you get my point. You end up in some weird and remote places. So.. I’m screaming… find someone who will go to those places with you. Your bunny. For life rabbit hole explorations.

I am super lucky. I have several bunnies. A fleet of fuzzies. If I wanna chat tarot cards and spells and energy, I have my guy for that. Metal music and movies and milkshakes? Got a dude. Again, connection and community. I get we’re all social distancing, but I also get we all have the internet and you can find one, if not a million, bunnies, down most holes you tumble down, a la Alice in Quarantine Land.

I don’t even know why I’m writing really. This post is… I don’t know. Even with my amazing flock of bunnies, I still struggle with feeling disconnected sometimes and I think that’s feeling… unconnected from myself. So, I write. Words for me. Maybe for you. General vibe reminders. If you’re disconnected, dive deeply into whatever weird (but legal!) shit you’re into, and look around, see who else is there. And if you somehow are unable to find anyone, dig in that much deeper and then shine out your beautiful beacon. Be the bunny that others find when they finally get there. And don’t discredit taking time to dive in, inwards. Shine your light on and into yourself, too.

I could get into an #alonetogether moment, but.. find people who are more than just that. Really take the time people have right now to figure out your passion, yourself, your community. Again, being in “lockdown” is physical, it does not have to be mental or emotional. I think people are searching, now more than ever, more earnestly and more openly than ever, for people they resonate with. But you gotta be singing to see who you harmonize with, you know?

The world is weird. So are you. So am I. We’ll get through this. But it’ll be easier as a band of bunnies checking up on each other. … happy Easter!

Multifaceted Bitch

So… this me…

(I am not posting this to be cool… I know it’s not. I’m not sharing this to show off, I don’t care. Keep reading, you’ll see it’s not a ludicrous attempt at an American Idol audition, I promise)

What you read on here, is also me. I love Shakespeare’s sonnets. I use to work 90 hours a week, between 3 jobs. I pull a tarot card every day to help my mindset.

I can happily, healthily and humorously go from having unavoidable cleavage, singing a tremendously inappropriate song, in front of a fairly crowded bar, to sitting in a quiet corner somewhere, wearing an oversized hoodie, holding space for you while you recount your past traumas. I am she. She is me.

Don’t be afraid of your sexuality. Don’t deny your sexuality. But also, and just as strongly, don’t be defined by your sexuality. Please, please, please note I’m possibly meaning to use the word sexual-ness here or… sexousity or… something. I’m 100% not talking about sexual preference or identity (though you should not deny that either!). I’m talking about being and feeling sexy and presenting yourself in a sexual nature. Embodying sexiness. Or not. Or both, on the same day at different times, or when around different people. That’s a super valid, amazing option too, if you prefer. But with that, if you like being more lowkey, less va-va-voomy, you can (and should) still thoroughly enjoy sexuality in whatever (law abiding) way you prefer.

I usually look like a librarian or an elementary school teacher. Most days I don’t wear makeup. I’ve posted many pics on Facebook because my hair was so fucked up and I simply had to share. And then I have moments in corsets and collars and flawless, dramatic makeup. Again, I’m not saying you have to do either or both, but I’m saying don’t be afraid to be the brilliant, multifaceted bitch you are!

Some people at the bar that night probably thought I was a hussy or harlot or slut or airhead or bimbo or whatever generic, ultimately meaningless, usually misogynistic, term you wanna pick. And while that’s not right – for me, personally, it’s okay. I can usually tell by how people approach me and speak to me throughout the night, if that was their impression and it makes it easier for me to weed them out. If you cannot accept that a person can fearlessly flaunt tits and ass, and still fucking own an episode of Jeopardy, you can 100% fuck off. If you think a modestly dressed, more shy person, can’t in a second be the most wicked dom, or the best God damn lay of your life, you can 100% fuck off.

Be a huge video game nerd, who is a star athlete. Be the smartest, sluttiest broad in the whole bar. Defy boring people’s expectations of what you should, or should not, be based on one shard in your stunning personality kaleidoscope. I’m sort of at a point in my life where, people can think what they want. For real. Think I’m a ho? Okay, enjoy your blue balls later while I’m not going home with you. Think I’m a prude? Hold my beer while I pull up some pics.. and vids… I’ll get you some personal references too, if you want. Because I’m all of those things at times and about a bajillion other things too, just like everyone I know. Don’t make yourself small to avoid crowding narrow minded people. Don’t use your inside voice when the moment is in a wide open space, just because it may annoy someone. Crowd ’em. Annoy ’em. There are other places they can go and ear plugs they can buy while you are enjoying every single layer of your sexy onion self.

Karate chops and kisses y’all,
Yours truly,
Tina Motherfucking K.

The emotional booty call

We all know what a booty call is. Most of us are probably “guilty” in participating (ain’t no shame, get it, but keep reading). As consenting adults, get laid. Safely. If everyone agrees it’s just sex, or kink play, or whatever y’all are into, cool cool cool. But don’t call up someone that you know is legitimately digging you, and just use them for sex.

That’s shitty. And I think most people recognize that that’s shitty. But I want to go one step further. I want to explore the emotional booty call (:: dun dun dunnnnn ::)

Okay. I’m not saying don’t lean on your friends. I’m not saying don’t turn to people in your time of need. We recently needed a tv. I posted on Facebook, literally the same day was picking up a free tv from a friend. So I’m not discouraging that, at all. I think it’s a matter of consent and a matter of intent. Is that person helping you because they can and would like to, or because they are being manipulated? Are you reaching out to them, knowing in their time of need you’d also be there for them, or are you reaching out solely to serve yourself?

I know a person who I won’t hear from for weeks, and then they’ll have a bad night and my phone is blowing up. One recent message from them said, “I just wanted to feel loved.” …. honey, I do love you, but not on command. And this person.. I’m not equally yoked with them, at all. I absolutely have friends where, if they sent me that, we’d be up chatting all night. I have friends where, when I send a message like that, we get milkshakes at midnight. But those people have a mutual love and respect situation with me. They are my healthy, mutually enjoyable, beneficial all around emotional hook ups, you know? As a (mostly) sane adult, who I fuck with – physically, mentally, emotionally, financially, spiritually – like… that shit is my life, those choices are important.

I never advocate for building walls. I never preach for anyone to close themselves off. I’m on mountain tops screaming the opposite, pretty much on the daily. Be authentic. Be open. Be vulnerable. But maybe be vulnerable in like… a turtle kinda way. I’m not an animal expert, but go with me on this for a sec. I’m pretty sure turtles, sans shell, are squishy and soft, right? But then they have like… bad ass armor. So… in the thinking about unhealthy booty calls, maybe don’t stick your neck out for those people. And I think we always know when vibes are bad, we know when we’re getting used or played, but we’re like drug addicts sometimes where the high from getting that attention or affection, overrides our knowing, or caring, about the destruction that comes with it.

I’m probably not gonna blow a guy who won’t go down on me (and most people I know hold similar sentiments), why would I pour effort and support into someone who, when they good, ain’t around for me? Basically, don’t give your heart blue balls.

Love y’all! 😘


So, building on my last post (like what you like, don’t like what you don’t like, fuck anyone is who shames you for any of it)… I saw a post today in a witch group, this person posted about how her allergies have been acting up since she started burning incense and candles all the time….


Your ancestors or godesses or spirits or enery or whatever you are working with will understand, I promise. No religious/spiritual practice should create a sense of obligation in you to continually do something that is causing physical ailments.

Not sure of the origin of the quote, but I’ve read that “tradition is just peer pressure from dead people” I’m not saying abandon them all. Some traditions are wonderful and amazing. And some we outgrow, for a plethora of reasons, allergies being one of them.

Let’s say you have a gluten intolerance. Let’s also say a family tradition of yours is a big ol pasta dinner every Sunday. Now, traditional pasta ain’t gonna work for you. So maybe you start researching amazing vegetable based dishes and you end up opening the worlds first 5 star vegetarian Italian restaurant, all because you were forced to break tradition.

For this lovely lady.. okay, fire ain’t your element. You are being urged to explore other options. Use tea leaves, use plants, use pendulums. For scent, use essential oils in a diffuser. Use supplies that are red and orange to represent the fire. You are being given such an great opportunity to be creative. Maybe she’ll explore and will go on to write a book about creating your own craft and the benefits of non traditional spirituality.

We’re so afraid of going off the well beaten path that we are potentially missing out on the most incredible scenery.

Get lost, be open, start your own traditions.

Why have guilty pleasures?

I was scrolling FB earlier and this guy has this HUGE post with a link to some Justin Beiber music video. He wrote about how he isn’t a “pop culturalist”,or something, especially when it comes to music, he always does better than the Beebs (I’m 100% rephrasing, of course) but he just liked this song.


I mean, like it if you like it. Literally nobody cares. And I don’t mean that in a rude way but like.. if you rock out to Justin Beiber every now and then, no one cares, and if they do – fuck em *maybe literally, while Justin Beiber plays in the background* **only if they consent, of course, to the fucking… sneak in the soundtrack**

Like what you like (within reason, I don’t promote harmful behavior here). Let others like what they like. I feel like I’ve written about this before but it’s always so weird to me when people feel bad or are made to feel bad for a musician or tv show or whatever that they are into.

I unapologetically can sing along to more than a handful of Spice Girl songs. I still love and am genuinely creeped out by episodes of Courage the Cowardly Dog. I sleep with my favorite blanket and at least one stuffed animal every night. If any of my friends ever tried to make me feel guilt or shame for that, or anything else like that, they can 100% fuck off.

One of my besties loves the One Direction (hey girl hey!). I don’t. Nothing against them. They are adorable boys, making catchy pop music. It’s just not my scene. But it’s hers, so while I don’t personally dig it, I’m totally fine with her digging it. Live and let live, y’all. Ain’t nobody gonna shoot you because you like a Justin Beiber bop, so this like… fear of liking stuff (usually uber mainstream, popular stuff – heaven forbid we like something that literally millions of other people like – we clearly can’t or we’ll be stripped of our cool badges….) is just so surreal to me. I’m old as fuck. Peer pressure is just like… the last thing I feel the need to entertain.

Also, don’t like what you don’t like. For me, Game of Thrones, Marvel movies, college football… I just could not care any less about these things. I don’t bash the kajillion people who do love these things. I actually use to plan grocery shopping trips around football games because I knew there would be fewer people out and about.

Life is just so much bigger than these things. I understand you can connect with your tribe, partially, because of these things. I went to an EDM show a few weeks back and I saw the community there, that came together because of the music, and that’s amazing. But I really hope every single person at that show knows and loves someone who totally doesn’t get that genre.

I don’t want my life to be just straight shots of tequila. That is gonna be boring and it’s gonna fuck me up, bad. I want my life to be colorful, tasty, wonderful cocktails with multiple ingredients. You’re the bartender of your life, play, experiment, mix it up, y’all. Cheers!