...walk around the City in THAT outfit and expect me to not put you on blast. You were clearly looking for a reaction, so here's mine: BARF...PUKE...GROSS!
...ask, "Where is my Barack Obama" if you are not a Michelle. It's simple math, really.
...expect me to be in the mood if your breath smells like dirty monkey ass. I *will* dry up like the Sahara.
...speak to me while I'm watching LOST or HEROES, dammit! These storylines need my full attention so your chatter needs to pause for like 42 minutes.
...convince me that Denzel Washington is gorgeous because he's just not. He's not FUGLY or anything, but gorgeous is really pushing it.
...touch my hair. Period. Don't even ask.
...put yourself in the public eye and then complain about the attention. Please get over yourself.
...ask me questions you already know the answers to, and then get mad because I tell you the truth. I'm not here to sugarcoat shit so deal.
...be me, so just accept it and move it along. Nothing more to see here.
*smooches...giving you food for thought for the weekend*
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sooooo... Sunday is the big day, my reading, and I'm trying not to freak the hell out.
hopefully spending the day with Mari in DC on Saturday will help me relax.
peace, bitchezzzzzzz!
Friday, February 20, 2009
You Cannot...
Labels:
Humor,
Lady Estrogen,
Musings,
Ramblings,
Revelations,
Soapbox Blues