OMG, my boobs. They’re killing me. No reason why. It’s all gravy I guess.
That’s a rude way to start a post right? I’m the worst. I just want to stay in the habit of posting, rather than falling off for days and weeks at a time. I need to retain a sense of obligation to my blog, so that I will not allow myself to not write.
There was a whole bunch of snow…that did NOT come to the DMV. Hay-soo Kree-sto! We have had more than enough. I think if I had someone to put in some quality snuggle time, it may have been different. However, there is no such snuggle buddy, so cold weather is just a bit of a chore. Usually I dont’ wish bad weather on other folks, but uh…yeah.
I’ve found myself turning into my mother. When I see my kids step on or over something, I go ballistic. “So, you’re just gonna act like it’s not there? That’s cute.”
I’ve been saying this everywhere, but I’m gonna say it here:
Amber Rose: absolutely not. You are not Grace Jones. What do you do? What have you done? You’re smokin hot, I’ll give you that, but what else? There are a lot of smoking hot chicks in the world. Soooo…what else ya got for me? Ok, you’re bisexual. Oooh. Is it the 40s, and nobody called me. I know more than a few beautiful, bisexual women. So…what else you got? Nothing? Remember in Boomerang, when Grace Jones rubbed her undies in old boy’s face? Yeah, you’re not even fit to have that happen to you. You’re not fit to hold Grace’s glittery dildo. (I don’t even know if she has one…of course she has one…but in my mind, it’s got glitter encased in it.) So do us all a favor, stay in your lane and go back to *snicker* fucking Kanye West. Yeah…because…you know…you and Ye have sex. Hot Star Jones, Al Reynolds sex. *muttering* Fuggouttaheah.