I hate blogs
I hate them because I never have anything interesting to say, also most of the people who see my entries talk to me on a regular/ semi-regular basis anyway, so there isn't much new and exiting stuff to say.
Oooh... I have to be up at the butt crack of dawn tomorrow.
I have to be at work by 7:00 and I work about 30 min-an hour away depending on traffic, and I still need to shower.
Taylor is out with Layne, so I am in that ,exhausted, but not able to sleep yet mode.
I know it wrong of me to be bitter about him being gone, because I am gone far more often than he is, but I can't help it , I am bitter.
That is pretty much how I roll. I ain't sayin it's right tho.
so, don't you go worryin your pretty little heads tryin ta take relationship advice offa this ol pruney bitch. Cuz she all dried up homey. Du- ryyyyyyyyyy.
And apparently I have been incarnated by the soul of Nick. Because as I type, instead of hearing my normal voice, I am actually hearing Nick. That is fucking wierd, and I probably shouldn't admit things like that. Too late though. Oh well.
Ok, back to Jennifer . The real one, not the one that was actually not her at all, but was in fact NICK!
If someone could please come to my apt and fold and put away my laundry that would be TOPS! JUST TOPS!
I am so mutha fucking serious. It is ridiculous. A playpen sits in my living room. But it has no one to play with, no one can play in it. No one can be penned in it. It doubles as a laundry basket. and it is full. And it has been for like.... months. I mean, we take stuff out. But then we wear it, and I wash it, and it goes right back in. My closet is an unorganized storage space and my playpen is my laundry basket.
I just need a little direction.
Oooh... I have to be up at the butt crack of dawn tomorrow.
I have to be at work by 7:00 and I work about 30 min-an hour away depending on traffic, and I still need to shower.
Taylor is out with Layne, so I am in that ,exhausted, but not able to sleep yet mode.
I know it wrong of me to be bitter about him being gone, because I am gone far more often than he is, but I can't help it , I am bitter.
That is pretty much how I roll. I ain't sayin it's right tho.
so, don't you go worryin your pretty little heads tryin ta take relationship advice offa this ol pruney bitch. Cuz she all dried up homey. Du- ryyyyyyyyyy.
And apparently I have been incarnated by the soul of Nick. Because as I type, instead of hearing my normal voice, I am actually hearing Nick. That is fucking wierd, and I probably shouldn't admit things like that. Too late though. Oh well.
Ok, back to Jennifer . The real one, not the one that was actually not her at all, but was in fact NICK!
If someone could please come to my apt and fold and put away my laundry that would be TOPS! JUST TOPS!
I am so mutha fucking serious. It is ridiculous. A playpen sits in my living room. But it has no one to play with, no one can play in it. No one can be penned in it. It doubles as a laundry basket. and it is full. And it has been for like.... months. I mean, we take stuff out. But then we wear it, and I wash it, and it goes right back in. My closet is an unorganized storage space and my playpen is my laundry basket.
I just need a little direction.