I love Mexicans. 

So the other day I was given a beautiful new nickname: Racist white trash. Why? I’ll tell you.
I was rollerblading on a trail and blasting some Spanish pop music. The next thing I knew some guy was yelling and running to catch up to me. He asked me what I was listening to and I showed him. (Danny Ocean’s “Me Rehúso” soooo gooood)
He looked at me very oddly and said, ” That’s not right. That’s just plain racist.”
I just looked at the guy. What the frick frack was he saying to me?
He just kept going. “That’s just not okay. You shouldn’t be listening to that, it’s white trash racist of you.”
I was dumbfounded; I just didn’t know what to say. I’m sorry I’m aware of other cultures and like Spanish music? He then proceeded to tell me that I needed to hop over the fence and go back to Mexico with my other Mexican friends.
Ya know what, I would love to. 1) You wouldn’t be there and (2) I love Mexicans so come at me bro.
I just explained to him that I wasn’t making fun of Spanish music or anything I actually really like it, and then I just slowly rolled away.
This man made no sense to me. What. So. Ever. I guess I’ll never understand people and their ways of thinking.


I’m Awkward

Are you wondering why I’m kissing a jar of pickles? Because I fucking love pickles. Am I pregnant? No but I have major baby fever right now.
When it comes to life, I’m an extremely awkward person. Not like the cute, graceful awkward girls you see in the movies, but the painful-to-watch, clumsy awkward. Like I’m a cow with clown feet or something. Have I mentioned yet that I love cows? I fucking love cows. And pickles. And country music. I could go on forever.
I’m also very random.
Anyhoodles, I hope there are others as weird and embarrassing as I am. Actually I kind of hope not–then I’d be one of a kind.  (Insert princess emoji)
I don’t know how to end this post; I’m just going to stop typing.
(Uncomfortable, right?)