Your Heart Felt Good, It Was Dripping Pitch and Made of Wood

It's Friday, bitches!

And I am out of the funk I was in yesterday. Thanks to Bill for that...and myself I guess. I'm the only one who can pick myself up off the ground.

Sometimes I act like a teenager. (Except I got a lot more play when I was a teenager. Yeah, I was kind of a whore*. I have sense now so I guess I have moved up the ranks to slut or skank or skeez.) For example, yesterday I would have dressed all in black with black lipstick and black nail polish and I would have moped around/flung myself dramatically across my desk and sobbed uncontrollably (which almost did happen) while the douchepump in the next office kept coming over (when I was obviously in tears) to ask about flaring. Does it look like I give a fuck about flaring? Can't you see??? My life is over here!!!

Then, last night, I happened to grow balls. I did. I looked down and I was like, "Oh! Balls!"

I feel better today.



*Mom, I didn't have sex for money. In fact, I didn't have sex at all in highschool. I did, however, make out with half the city. K. Thanks.