It’s summer here which means it is flip-flop weather, and by “flip-flop weather” I don’t mean wearing sandals and playing on a beach or going to cookouts with friends. No, what I mean is it’s hot as hell and humid and I literally want to smack the shit out of people with a flip-flop almost EVERY. DAY.
I’ve had stomach rabies or cholera for the past few days, I don’t know which. I’m not a communicable disease scientist- though I really should be. I’ve been hot and cranky and I hate to blog when I’m all pissy but I’ve received tons of email (READ: One.) wondering where I’ve been so I decided to sit down and type this out because even stomach rabies (and/or cholera) and dreams of flip-flop murder can’t stop my attention whoreness. I’m a professional like that.
And speaking of professional, I still can’t quit my job and move to a small town and get a daisy bike and a pet goat because I still haven’t won the lottery, even with my voodoo altar and offering my soul to Satan. When I mentioned this to J he was all “Lotteries are for people who are bad at math” all hoity-toity and superior and shit and all I could picture was beating him unconscious with a flip-flop as I counted the blows. “…ten *SMACK* eleven *SMACK* WHO’S BAD AT MATH NOW, MOTHERFUCKER? twelve *SMACK*..” Then I’d like to flip-flop smack the sonsabitch at the store who keeps selling me non-winning lottery tickets when I specifically ask for “winning tickets.” God.People.
Aren’t you glad I blogged?
Go look around. She’s quite the cut-up.