So long, squalor!
With the impending possibility of actual action on the horizon (i.e., sex), I decided it was time to ditch the mattress on the floor and move on up to the bed. Heretofore, my “DJ decks” had occupied the bed since I lack that Queer Eye instinct for posh organization (i.e., I’m lazy). But I finally cleared them away, laundered the sheets nice and good, and set up residency on da biz-ed at long last.
And I must say, it’s been pretty heavenly. Whether or not I’ll have someone to share it with remains to be seen, though.
Too does the state of the rest of the room, which resembles something like a maelstrom of porn and CDs. It’s just that when I get home from work, I don’t wanna work no more. I mean, you could hook me up to a sour apple vodkatini IV, switch on the “Laguna Beach” marathon, and I’d be one happy Jabba the Hut son-of-a-bitch just sittin’ there watchin’ and sippin’.
‘Cause perfeeect. everything’s so perfeeeect…
