So there's this girl, lets call her Legolas. (yeah, you know her.) She's a pretty little thing - actually, she's so breathtakingly beautiful I want to cry and puke simultaneously every time I see her. Yeah, that kind of beautiful.
So she gets away with everything. Being a bitch to me, being a bitch to everyone, being a complete ditz.
Me? I don't even get away with existing.
It's funny that, in this day and age, it's not what's in your head that matters, but what's on your head. I guarantee if she didn't have beautiful hair and perfect features and flawless skin she would not get away with half the crap she pulls all day, every day. I guarantee if I were as beautiful as her I wouldn't be garbaging about how bad my life is on this blog that a minute percent of the world reads - I'd be out there with a hot manbag and having a life, probably. But hey, if God exists, then God intended me to sit here and rage about bad boyfriends and the joys of coloured eyeliner.
So don't tell me it's beauty on the inside that counts, because it doesn't. Don't tell me that looks don't matter, because they do. Those little anecdotes might sound poetic and shit, but they're not farking true.
Watch Easy A. I recommend it. And when you're about to tell yourself 'Pah! That stuff never happens' trust me, they do.