I can't get writing jobs to save my soul because the Internet wants to read the following kinds of riveting things like:
This.
This too.
Your loss.
(It is. I can't imagine being the type of person who actually felt as if I was rebelling by not putting polish on my toes! The freedom! How cheeky! WHAT CAN I DO NEXT TO STICK IT TO THE MAN?!)
(Or the type of person to actually question whether or not my pizza meal might be formal enough to require anything other than my hands to eat it. I live in a commune. It's mostly men. You grab the pizza as fast as you can or you don't get any. In what scenario is pizza fancy enough to require a third party implement to bring it to my face? )
It's just to hot to understand this place today so I'm out. I'll tell you all my stories tomorrow. Tonight I have a date with a window air conditioner. Going to wrap myself around it and hold on for dear life. Maybe tomorrow I'll talk about the rebelliousness of doing it naked! Or maybe WITH A FRIEND!
Lol.
