>Ooh la la.
What the hell am I going to write about here? Bollocks.
I suppose I could just do the usual, “so, today I…”
I went to work. I came home. I went to the gym. Came home again. Watched “Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” and ate a nectarine. And some sushi. Bryan came home, hugs and kisses. Popped chicken in oven for Bry. Fed and walked the dogs. Took a bath. Now here I sit.
Damn, I suck. This is a “why bother” entry.
Oh! Wine! I cracked open my Syrah! Que Syrah Syrah…
You know what? Screw y’all. I ain’t writing anything today. Whaddya think o’ that?
voulez-voulez-vous why bother.
2 thoughts on “>I’m rick james, bitch.”
>*sniff* I think it may be a little sad, but I’ll get over it. If it takes a couple days for the Superfreak to surface, then so be it.
>I had practically the same day.My nectarine was a peach.My dog was a cat.My Syrah a Shiraz.You are my blog alter-ego.So, do me a favor and have sex tonight. Because, I’m aching.Oh, wait. Would that mean that if you *do*, I don’t?Ack!Alternate realities are so confusing!