CURRENT RELATIONSHIP STATUS:
"I should've bought this extremely unflattering sweater in a large instead of a medium..."
or…
CURRENT RELATIONSHIP STATUS:
"I should've bought this extremely unflattering sweater in a color that doesnt make me look like a black smurf (like thats even a thing thats possible)."
orrr…
CURRENT RELATIONSHIP STATUS:
"This sweater makes my farts smell better than yours"
( Whatever floats your boat)
Last night i had a dream that i was packing to go to college. Literally packing to go away to college. My mother all soft and subtle and quietsad and proud. The mini fridge and the cork board that matches the bedskirt all loaded onto the truck (no one in my family owns a truck btw). My brother all excited (he has ADD he kind of gets excited about everything) but sad to be losing his number one rolldawg nonetheless. And me…totally in awe of myself.
I mean...I mustve gotten off my ass at some point. Finished that book of "poetry" that I've been writing for the last three years. Finished that jacket i started sewing sophomore year of high school. I mean, I must have a whole collection of shit bitches be wearing. Showin off ass and titties…WITH MY NAME SEWN INTO THE INSEAMS. I must be responsible for a some brand new type of chic-hoochie! To the point where some bourgieous ass art college was like "Zamn. Get that bitch Over here." And I graciously accepted. Because thats a thing that i had in the dream…grace. Whatever the fuck that means.
Anyway…
Im packing up my shit. At the last minute of course. Which mean 95% of everything i own has been worn at least twice. And i come across my multicolored feather printed nightdress. And I'm like"college people will want to see my multi-colored-feather-printed-nightdress…college people will love that i HAVE nightdresses…CALL THEM nightdresses!" And am throughly prepared to rock this shit.
SADLY
In my very real life there is little time for nightdresses...Only blacking out. Orr...shit-faced-rip-my-boyfriends-clothes-off-throw-me-down-aand…the next thing i know its morning. The turtlenecks off but to Doc Martens are still on. Or, of course, absolute butt-nekkedness. Which I am in no way opposed to.
