Pleasure and Ire, Fire and Spite
I would like to thank the God of New Boots, from the bottom of my patent leather heart for having a gine-normous sale at Macy's at 50% off, I would like to thank the God of New Boots, Stewart Weitzman and my Brit Boss who-kissed-me-somewhat-inappropriately-but-I'm-not-sure-that-I-minded for the gift card for my faux aligatory boots that I am sporting as I write whilst sitting in my knickers.
I would like to thank my little heater that could for making my apartment into the tropics ensuring my comfort as I sit in my knickers and write.
Check with me tomorrow on the boots as I break them, like horses! They are awfully tall, but soooo shiny, if at any point I require stitches, well, the internets will be the second to know.
I would like to take umbrage with the 71 Haight Street bus, as I hate you with my hate~o~rater. Every time I board you, you are full of crazy people, adolescent girls yakking on cell phones, and aged Chinese ladies in mixed knits bound for the outer avenues. The other morning I boarded inbound for the financial district and I swear to God the ratio of crazy to sane (and that's deceptive) was three to fucking one. I actually said, outloud, sweet jesus, I'm on the crazy bus again and moved to the rear. After 12 years of being the reticent MUNI rider, I know from experience that the crazy people congregate in the front, it's the servile adolescents with bad grammar who gravitate to the rear.
I would like to sing the praises of my claw foot tub, it is deep and resides above the stage of Club Deluxe. Not everyone can have a tub above a stage, if I hold my breath and lie still the water vibrates with the band.
I would like to take issue with the weather, that's nice, you can stop now. We've had our quota of water from the sky and to compensate for fog that comes in June and stays through August I would like my sunny, placid January back, thanks.
I would like to spit fire at the asshole who nearly ran over me in the red Mercedes this morning, slow down fucker, I predict a keyed paint job in your very near future.
I could go on, but I'd rather stew in the tub, hold my breath and watch the water vibrate.
I would like to thank the God of New Boots, from the bottom of my patent leather heart for having a gine-normous sale at Macy's at 50% off, I would like to thank the God of New Boots, Stewart Weitzman and my Brit Boss who-kissed-me-somewhat-inappropriately-but-I'm-not-sure-that-I-minded for the gift card for my faux aligatory boots that I am sporting as I write whilst sitting in my knickers.
I would like to thank my little heater that could for making my apartment into the tropics ensuring my comfort as I sit in my knickers and write.
Check with me tomorrow on the boots as I break them, like horses! They are awfully tall, but soooo shiny, if at any point I require stitches, well, the internets will be the second to know.
I would like to take umbrage with the 71 Haight Street bus, as I hate you with my hate~o~rater. Every time I board you, you are full of crazy people, adolescent girls yakking on cell phones, and aged Chinese ladies in mixed knits bound for the outer avenues. The other morning I boarded inbound for the financial district and I swear to God the ratio of crazy to sane (and that's deceptive) was three to fucking one. I actually said, outloud, sweet jesus, I'm on the crazy bus again and moved to the rear. After 12 years of being the reticent MUNI rider, I know from experience that the crazy people congregate in the front, it's the servile adolescents with bad grammar who gravitate to the rear.
I would like to sing the praises of my claw foot tub, it is deep and resides above the stage of Club Deluxe. Not everyone can have a tub above a stage, if I hold my breath and lie still the water vibrates with the band.
I would like to take issue with the weather, that's nice, you can stop now. We've had our quota of water from the sky and to compensate for fog that comes in June and stays through August I would like my sunny, placid January back, thanks.
I would like to spit fire at the asshole who nearly ran over me in the red Mercedes this morning, slow down fucker, I predict a keyed paint job in your very near future.
I could go on, but I'd rather stew in the tub, hold my breath and watch the water vibrate.
posted by emma at
10:55 PM
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