I’m 40 And Perfect Popular Girls Are STILL A Pain In My Ass
Something soothing for the perpetually imperfect.
I give word hugs. I can’t be there to buy you a coffee I mean a wine, and let you vent to me even though venting accomplishes very little, and I certainly can’t make the overwhelming realities of like…being alive go away. But I can write to you in a way that I hope makes you feel seen. I hope I can help us feel less alone, and give us permission to experience some ease. It’s permission that was always really lacking in my life and so I tend to hand it out like rave flyers now. Being a person is kind of a lot, and I hope for the time you spend reading my work you feel like you can relax a little.
You’re not wrong all the time. I never know who needs to hear this, but I’m always sure someone does, and given that my audience is predominantly people who went through puberty in the 90s I’m certain it’s falling on wide-open ears. We’re the “peer pressure” generation, and while drugs and alcohol and other things kids cooler than me did while cutting class always got the real attention, do y’all remember how peer pressure actually referred to everything else about your existence? I sure as shit do.
Your clothes. Your hair. Your makeup. Shoes. What you ate for lunch. Who you sat with at lunch. Your athletic ability (or lack thereof). The book covers…
