I Want To Go Outside And Play
I'm going to cut all of my hair off and bleach it platinum a la Susan Powter. Why not? I've been threatening this for awhile. I'm starting to become the boy who cried wolf. But one day I'll get just bored enough and walk in and say, Take it all off.
I've also been threatening for some time now to get quite a bit of plastic surgery done, but so far, I haven't gone under the knife. I was thinking a boob job, maybe some lipo here and there and if I was feeling froggy a new ass, perhaps. I kept saying I was going to do it for my 30th birthday, because I was convinced 30 was way old and that's when I would need to start the maintenance. But apparently I'm not as old as I thought it was when I was 29, and I can hold off on the extreme makeover for a couple of more years.
I always start to write new posts and then get halfway through or not even and just erase it and go on with my day. It just seems like so much work to get my thoughts across the way I need them to come across so then I just don't bother.
The other night after consuming a little too much tequila at ladies night I thought what a fun place it is to live in my head. I wish I could somehow get all this really funny stuff that floats through my head keeping my cracked up and happy all the time out for the rest of the world, or at least you, to see. But I don't have the tools, and really, I'm afraid it just wouldn't translate. Most of all, I'm selfish and as long as I can entertain myself, I'm too lazy to work hard and to get it out for the rest of yous.
I think ladies night was actually the first time I actually got drunk from tequila. And I don't remember a whole lot. I do remember being fairly rude, though. Imagine that. I told Dr. M that her shoes looked like something that a school cafeteria worker wears. And I am pretty sure I called a few people filthy whores and old bats.
The next day I apologized profusely to Dr. M because she is quickly becoming one of my best friends and she is really too good to me. And I really love her, I do, I do. So what if she wears tapered jeans and makes bad footwear choices, at least she returns the friendship, so I felt like a great big ass. When I told Big Daddy what I said he was genuinely mad and gave me a big, long lecture.
Also, at some point during my drunken tirade after everyone had left except Dr. M and her boyfriend, I confessed my love for the florist. Woopsie. I couldn't help it. I've got it bad. When I went in earlier that day to pick up my latest batch of lilies I could barely look her in her eyes. Also, I finally got her name. I'm not going to share it with you degenerates, instead I'll probably just start referring to her as some obscure constellation or planet or something. I know, Ms. XM Radio.
See, I'm cracking myself up.
Love ya'll.
I've also been threatening for some time now to get quite a bit of plastic surgery done, but so far, I haven't gone under the knife. I was thinking a boob job, maybe some lipo here and there and if I was feeling froggy a new ass, perhaps. I kept saying I was going to do it for my 30th birthday, because I was convinced 30 was way old and that's when I would need to start the maintenance. But apparently I'm not as old as I thought it was when I was 29, and I can hold off on the extreme makeover for a couple of more years.
I always start to write new posts and then get halfway through or not even and just erase it and go on with my day. It just seems like so much work to get my thoughts across the way I need them to come across so then I just don't bother.
The other night after consuming a little too much tequila at ladies night I thought what a fun place it is to live in my head. I wish I could somehow get all this really funny stuff that floats through my head keeping my cracked up and happy all the time out for the rest of the world, or at least you, to see. But I don't have the tools, and really, I'm afraid it just wouldn't translate. Most of all, I'm selfish and as long as I can entertain myself, I'm too lazy to work hard and to get it out for the rest of yous.
I think ladies night was actually the first time I actually got drunk from tequila. And I don't remember a whole lot. I do remember being fairly rude, though. Imagine that. I told Dr. M that her shoes looked like something that a school cafeteria worker wears. And I am pretty sure I called a few people filthy whores and old bats.
The next day I apologized profusely to Dr. M because she is quickly becoming one of my best friends and she is really too good to me. And I really love her, I do, I do. So what if she wears tapered jeans and makes bad footwear choices, at least she returns the friendship, so I felt like a great big ass. When I told Big Daddy what I said he was genuinely mad and gave me a big, long lecture.
Also, at some point during my drunken tirade after everyone had left except Dr. M and her boyfriend, I confessed my love for the florist. Woopsie. I couldn't help it. I've got it bad. When I went in earlier that day to pick up my latest batch of lilies I could barely look her in her eyes. Also, I finally got her name. I'm not going to share it with you degenerates, instead I'll probably just start referring to her as some obscure constellation or planet or something. I know, Ms. XM Radio.
See, I'm cracking myself up.
Love ya'll.
@ 11:25 AM
3 Comments:
Venus?
If I had seen shoes like that, I would have said something ugly too.
yeah....I couldn't have let the ugly shoes go without a comment.
That's what good friends do for each other.
...as for "Ms. XM"....Arc is gonna get you for that.
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