Pumpkin pie: kinda yuck, kinda leathery looking.
Christiano Ronaldo: kinda yuck, skin kinda leathery looking.
C.Ron wondering whether his manhood is still intact after 4-1 drubbing by Liverpool over weekend. It isn't.
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Former receptacle of epicurean pornography; current font of verbose musings
I don't know how to put this, but I'm kind of a big deal.
The author of this blog is a 30 year old female who is extremely passionate (i.e. gets super worked up - either angrily or excitedly, depending on the topic) about books (especially beautiful fiction), feminism, crosswords, Jeopardy! (and basically all trivia in general), bags, makeup, maps, when Queen songs come on at karaoke, mille crepe cake, FRIED TEMPEH, libertarianism (she almost wishes she lived in New Hampshire so that she too could drive around with the state motto 'LIVE FREE OR DIE' emblazoned on her car's backside), beaches, oxford commas, the colour pink, and random lines from movies and television shows.
She is also extremely hyperbolic (though she prefers to call it artistic license, which in turn is just a euphemism for the unfortunate I-make-everything-dramatic syndrome), verbose (thus the generous use of brackets, which niftily contains each meandering, verbose thought in a little package of its own) and employs too many commas in her writing, creating sentences that keep going as long as the proverbial day. She does not make excuses for her verbosity, and never has, even to her many long-suffering schoolteachers who kept drawing red lines through her essays in desperate attempts to drum into her brain that no one really wants to read everything on which she waxes lyrical.
Obviously, these attempts were futile.
She is also extremely hyperbolic (though she prefers to call it artistic license, which in turn is just a euphemism for the unfortunate I-make-everything-dramatic syndrome), verbose (thus the generous use of brackets, which niftily contains each meandering, verbose thought in a little package of its own) and employs too many commas in her writing, creating sentences that keep going as long as the proverbial day. She does not make excuses for her verbosity, and never has, even to her many long-suffering schoolteachers who kept drawing red lines through her essays in desperate attempts to drum into her brain that no one really wants to read everything on which she waxes lyrical.
Obviously, these attempts were futile.
Oh hey.