Maybe one day I will be the woman who is proud of my big white girl butt, but right now I just hate it and it's incapability to not hang out of every pair of cut-off shorts I own. And this is really just a metaphor for how I feel about life in general, so could you bare with me please?
Like, while everyone else is experiencing summer romance, I'm selling nylons like a crazy woman and dealing with Brian Krakow (My So-Called life reference. Deal.) behavior from the majority of my guy friends. All while realizing that if my birthday was tomorrow, no one would really come to my party, because they are either having a great time out of the county or we've had some sort of unspoken falling out.
I'm really sensitive, and I need a lot of love, and right now I've been dealing with my continual boredom and loneliness by leaving my laundry in a pile on my floor and sleeping in until noon. Which doesn't really do anything but make me really bummed about the fact I'm living in a constant mess, and waking up crying because I just had a nightmare where my best guy friend told me I'm crazy and he doesn't want to kick it bro status anymore.
The only scenario I am happy about is the one where Tina Fey appears in my kitchen by magic and tells me that she is my quirky fairy godmother and she's going to write a show for me and take me out for a sandwich. Until then, I'm going to just sit here and mope about my unproportionate ass.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Friday, July 1, 2011
A Wolf on Friday Night
It’s Friday night. The pinnacle of debauchery, tomfoolery, and subsequent walks of shame for twenty-somethings everywhere. Am I out at a club? Am I doing lines of coke off a model’s hips? Am I in the middle of winning a dance-off between myself and the Olsen twins?
I’ll leave it to your imagination. But it’s quite possible that I’m sitting in bed with an adult beverage and a jar of pickles. That I’m listening to both a Billy Joel record, and my drunk roommate belt out Rihanna songs from across the hall. It’s quite possible I’m wearing a pair of boxer shorts stolen from the last guy I dated, and a shirt with Marilyn Manson’s face on it. That my plans for the evening include ignoring all phone calls, text messages, and knocks at my door from the huge crowd of guys outside who are begging to take me out.
If things go as planned, I’ll be asleep by midnight and hopefully dreaming about a world where Rihanna songs don’t exist.
I’ll leave it to your imagination. But it’s quite possible that I’m sitting in bed with an adult beverage and a jar of pickles. That I’m listening to both a Billy Joel record, and my drunk roommate belt out Rihanna songs from across the hall. It’s quite possible I’m wearing a pair of boxer shorts stolen from the last guy I dated, and a shirt with Marilyn Manson’s face on it. That my plans for the evening include ignoring all phone calls, text messages, and knocks at my door from the huge crowd of guys outside who are begging to take me out.
If things go as planned, I’ll be asleep by midnight and hopefully dreaming about a world where Rihanna songs don’t exist.
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