Kind of a bad one actually. I had to skip out on blogging and take it straight to the journal. (Ohhhhh, if only you knew how juicy my journal is.) Some of my worst anger is anger at myself for being angry. I got issues. Real ones.
I forgot to buy body butter.
My boobs hurt.
I can’t seem to shake off the problems of others.
I’m pretty sure that I want my baby daddy struck by lightening.
I will never be the person my father raised or wants me to be.
Bones is being run during perfectly good Law & Order hours on TNT.
The Fat Boys will never have a reunion.
Whenever a biopic is done about a man, it focuses on his struggle and success. Whenever a biopic is done about a woman, it centers around her love life. Yes, I’m talking to you “Amelia.”
The condescension that comes with being a woman is enough to make me slit a mofo from “his ass to his appetite.”
I want a laptop.
Sprint’s service sucks ass, and their “suggestion” was purchasing a $99 piece of equipment that costs $4.99 per month. I’ve got to pay you extra so that I can stop dropping 25 calls + a day? Fail.
I could go on, but you get the gist. I just want to punch someone.