Earlier this week, singer/songwriter/heartbreaker Adam Levine made People Magazine‘s list and #1 in specific for Sexiest Man Alive.
While most seem satisfied with that vote, honestly Adam Levine does nothing for me. I can’t even begin to expalin why he doesn’t but just…NO.Call me crazy, I already know and am okay with the fact that I am.
Since Adam doesn’t make my cut, I decided to dish out the Top 10 hunks that do. Allow me to present the 10 sexiest men alive. You’re welcome.
With less than a week away from my birthday and upon after being asked a few times, I’ve been putting some thought into what I want as a present.
I got nothing. At least nothing of real materialistic value.
However what I did come up with was a list of crazy shit I wanted for or by my birthday that has been shortened to five things, starting with:
REACHING 100 FOLLOWERS
It’s silly, but I love celebrating little milestones–that’s what life is mostly about, right? When I started this blog, it was more of just a mental release for myself and done out of boredom because I stayed in on Halloween night. But then it actually started to become a real tool for me, and eventually a way to connect with majority other 20somethings to laugh and relate on this crazy fuck train world called life.
As my number of awesome followers, spambots, and trolls started to grow recently, I set a little goal for myself to get at least 100 followers by the time of my birthday. It might happen, it might not.
And yesterday, that “ridiculous” wish, happened.
Awww yeah! Coming from a place where 12 followers made me stand up and twerk, I’ll definitely take this as well. Thank you thank you to everyone who has been following, reading, laughing, spamming, and staying entertained with my crazy ass.
Tattoos. They say once you get one, it’s hard to stop.
Whomever the hell “they” are, were right.
I got my first taste for addiction when I was 21; I was helping coordinate a tattoo convention being held at a hotel I worked at during the time and got an offer for a huge discount on one of my choice after scoring a good hotel price for the lead artist in charge. I’d always wanted one and it had been a year after losing my grandmother, so I knew my first should be dedicated to her.
My grandmother collected crosses most of her life and during my younger years had bought me seven of them.
I lost them all. Jewelry and I will never have a lifetime of memories together.
So for my first tattoo, I decided to get a cross on my wrist–which hopefully I will never, ever lose. It’s small and dainty and sometimes I like to stare at it to remind myself of my grandmother, what she stood for and the memories of her. She didn’t have tattoos of her own but I know she would have loved it. She was cool like that.
My pops, on the other hand, upon discovering my tattoo virginity was taken, reacted like this:
He was a little more calm the time he discovered my second tattoo, which by then I was 23 and out of my first serious relationship that I had ended. This time around I chose a flying dove on my ankle, for some symbolic reasons but if anything to remind myself to not ever put myself in a relationship with the likes of someone who was controlling and verbally abusive.
Being young and naive, you make excuses for people or shield a blind eye to certain things and situations because you don’t want to face the truth. However at a certain point, you have to face the music–and the smartest thing to do is to dance on out before it’s too late.
When I first met you, I wasn’t sure how to feel about you. In every way I looked at it, you were just like the life I’ve already became to known–feeling stuck in my career, unhappy with my home and family life, back on again with my off again relationship, angry at losing people in my life to death–and really just angry in general–you seemed just like the year before. I had no real hope or expectations of anything truly spectacular happening.
As time went on with you, things went from “normal” to worse–falling out with a close friend, feeling trapped in my own mind, and to top off the icing on my shit cake–feeling forced to move away from home after a horrible fight with my family. Needless to say, by Summer I officially hated your fuckass guts.