Life has two categories, trash and non-trash, and I like to believe I’m an unofficial expert at identifying for myself, as well as for others, which moments ought to be tossed in a Glad garbage bag that’ll end up at landfills (aka Earth’s junk drawers) and what should be held up like Simba at the beginning of The Lion King while one sings the Zulu intro to “Circle of Life.” I’m that good. Not to get all Game of Thrones on ya, but you can call me Phoebe of the House Robinson, First of Her Name, the Blerd, Drinker of Rosé and Also Chardonnay When Rosé Is Not an Option, Khaleesi of Ignorance,
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