delete later

Getting stuff off my chest ok

I’m so grateful for having a platform like YouTube and I’m lucky to have an audience and influence and stuff. But sometimes shit gets to me.

I’ve been on tumblr for so many years now, I spent a good portion of that time making friends on the Internet, trying not to feel lonely etc etc. But these days making friends online - and sometimes even irl - can be a fucking nightmare.

It feels like, at some point or another most people these days will ask me for something. Friendship is about support and love and mutual gain (emotional support, companionship etc) but you don’t ask someone you met at a party two hours ago if you can stay on their couch for a week. Why is it that I make friends with people only for them to ask me to retweet something or give them a shout out or do something for them. Sometimes it’s for a friend, sometimes it’s YouTube related, other times it’s literally just retweeting something irrelevant to me or my followers? And I don’t understand.

I’m not here for people to gain from. I make friends with people in the hopes that we both benefit from talking to each other or hanging out. I don’t want to fucking promote your brothers band or be ‘your best friend’ online so you can tell everyone how impressive it is that you know a YouTuber with more than 100 subscribers.

Ugh, I don’t know. I’m just a person and I’m sick of people asking for favours when I’ve barely known them 3 months. I’m the kind of person that doesn’t like to say no to people as well, so it makes me feel awful when I know I don’t have the time or energy to help.

But lol fuck those people who don’t even realise they’re using me for like, what, 10 more likes on a picture? 5 more followers on Twitter? It’s a number, why are people so consumed by that. There’s a reason I stay away from the analytics page in YouTube. I don’t care about the number because relatively it means jack shit. It’s about the message you’re putting out there.

I don’t randomly follow people on Twitter because I’m not interested in what their posting. Meaning I’ll either end up muting them or unfollowing them later on. And when people spam me for a follow? Fuck yeah I block the shit outta them. I’m not a trophy for people to collect. Youtubers aren’t a badge or achievement. We’re people, and some of those people like their timelines to be coherent and full of things and people they’re interested in.

Wow, tangent. But still, relevant.

TL;DR : I like having friends except for when they use me for my audience.

Sorry if this sounds like privileged white boy crap.


For @hyperkaos because she wanted to see pictures of my Buckley dog. :) The first shot is fairly recent, taken within the past month or two I believe, and shows the lazy, grumpy old man he’s become recently. It’s from my phone so please excuse the crappy quality. The second image is Buckley’s first Christmas with me after I adopted him, which is why he’s wearing those dorky reindeer antler ears. XD I don’t know his age because he was already an adult when he joined my family, and the shelter I found him at was absolutely horrendous. (e.g. They insisted that he was neutered when I took him home. Spoiler: He wasn’t.) However, I adopted him in November 2007 right after my parents separated and I moved out (just a couple of weeks after my 18th birthday) so my best guess is that he’s between ten and twelve years old now. He’s been with me through so so SO much and I could seriously talk about him all day, but I’ll spare y’all. :P However, to sum up my feelings about him, I didn’t know it was possible to love a four legged friend as much as I love this guy. I adore all my animals, I really do, but Buckley has my heart.

And We Will Put The Lonesome On The Shelf [preview]

some of u guys know i went to a wedding last weekend and it was in a barn and tbh the whole thing was so wholesome and good that i couldn’t?? not?? write about it??

anyways this is a tiny snippet of what i’m working on because i’m so excited about it and i want to share. hope you guys like it!!!!!

They get married on a Saturday evening, and that morning, it rains.

Amy wakes to the gentle tap of steady rainfall knocking gently on the window just three inches back from the very top of her head. For a moment, she lays very still - her sleep-dried eyes blink lazily up at the all-too-familiar ceiling above her head, watching blankly as a dull muted light casts soft shadows that stretch from the window all the way to the ceiling fan in the center of the room. She inhales deeply, so deeply that she feels a faint pop between her shoulder blades, and her eyes flutter shut again.

Seconds later, the stillness of the morning is pierced by an all-too-familiar alarm, and when her eyes fly open, they fly open on the wings of a powerful surge of excitement and adrenaline.

She’s getting married today.

Her mind automatically shifts into list-making mode, all the Morning of the Wedding Gears spinning at hyper speed, and there’s a tiny disconnected part of her brain that marvels at how even now, on such a Big Important Day, she’s still so inherently entrenched in who she is. But it’s just a brief, fleeting thought, gone before she can really grasp it and flesh it out, because she’s already focused on whether or not they’re going to have to throw tarps up at the wedding venue to keep it from getting hopelessly muddy outside. Because despite the fact that she can still hear her mother talking about rain being good luck on your wedding day, she’d really rather not have to deal with people tracking mud inside the venue.

She sits up right in the center of the bed and her attention is immediately drawn toward the empty stretch of mattress to her right. Despite the fact that she went to sleep alone the night before, knowing full-well that she would wake up alone, it’s still a bit jarring to wake up without Jake’s sleep-slack face tucked into the side of her pillow or his arm haphazardly flung across her middle. There’s a voice in her head (that sounds suspiciously like her mother’s) that reminds her in a quiet, joyful whisper that this is the last morning she’ll ever have to wake up alone again.

It’s not true, of course. They work different schedules pretty regularly. Sometimes one of them works the night shift while the other works the day shift. Realistically, she’ll wake up alone plenty more times in the coming years. But she’ll wake up with two rings on her finger and the knowledge that somewhere in Brooklyn, her husband is solving crimes with two rings of his own.

(Nevermind the fact that one of his is plastic and has two very deep, visible cracks down either side from the time he had to punch a perp in the face at the end of a very long foot chase to subdue him. He’d spent half an hour on his hands and knees at the mouth of that alley searching for the pieces, and then spent an additional twenty minutes painstakingly super gluing those pieces back together at his desk. She’d offered to get him an actual ring, one that would match the beautiful silver engagement ring he got for her one week after she proposed with that dumb plastic ring (she’d bought at a dollar store for God’s sake, it was supposed to be a jokey reference to the ring he got her for the bet all those years ago), but he refused.)

She heaves another slow, fingertip-tingling sigh, and when her arms fall loosely against her thighs, her line of vision lands upon the outfit she’d laid out the night before. Her denim cut-off shorts hang neatly over the back of the chair, almost covering the graphic design of her loose cotton grey tank top.

Which is curly cursive black text of the word “wifey.”

It’s stupid, and cheesy, and insanely tacky, but.

She kind of loves it. 

I wish there was a way to make myself more interesting so that people would want to ask me things like my opinions or my out look on what ever. I often feel like there are so many things I would be willing to share and discuss with people, but one ones asking me to. I’m not saying that I'm any good in giving advice, but like I think about a lot stuff and try to educate myself on when I spend most of time sitting at home alone.

It’s just sometimes frustrating to deal with the fact that I’m just not that girl.