I’ll be your freakazoid, c’mon and wind me up
Tiff Tiff and Melissika came up this weekend for an extended girls’ nite out, and it was more fun than a barrel. We drank in excess, dined at- and were dissed at Lori’s Diner by a waiter named Horrace, shopped at H & M (which, didn’t you know, stands for Hellish & Miserable), and I forced them to buy wares at my beloved Body Shop. Not that they needed it, but they’d previously highly dissed it, and I was hellbent on changing their minds.
Things I learned this past weekend:
1. I love taking pics of chicks doing faux lesbian kisses with hair extensions.
2. I’d previously thought champagne was the pussy of all alcohols, but have in fact discovered that the right kind rocks.
3. My fucking front door buzzer still doesn’t work.
4. Sugardaddy4me.com is no place to find a man. Nor a sugar daddy. Sugar the kitty cat is all the sugar we need.
5. I wish I had more black friends. But three max.
6. Some of my dearest friends think that, and I quote, God sucks.
7. I like–nay, love girls who include the following words in their everyday discourse:
fuck
fucking
fag
faggot
homo
bitch
screwed
penis
dick
balls
pussy
eating pussy
metro (and I don’t mean the bus, bitch)
fat
Xanax
Vicodin
Atravan
nigger
nigga
niggaaaaa
friendly
whore
prostitute
That is all.
