Velouria (velouria) wrote,

  • Mood:

I dont care, I care, I really dont care.

I slammed my five-hundred pound car door into Galant as hard as I possibly could at least 3 times just now. I said, "Oh, oops" each time and glowered into the parted curtains of the apartment I presume Asshole resides in. If it's not Asshole, I hope it's an aquaintance of Asshole who gets on the phone and informes him at once.

I also noticed that whoever is in the apartment adjacent to me has a bathroom directly beside mine. I hear the water turning on and off, and other various things I really don't want to hear. I can only assume that they too can hear me. I wish I'd know this earlier. I would have exercised a little bit more grace whilst mercilessly knocking my aluminum shaving gel can around and singing really, really offensively at 11 o'clock at night.

Women at work are telling me I should do something with my hair. "You're 25, time for a style. Like the girl next door. You know how it sticks up in the back and it's real short?"

Hey. Hey. Do I tell you to drop 50 pounds? No. I don't. What business is it of yours what I do or do not do with my hair. Furthermore, I don't want a "style." It's all I can do to dry it off after I get out of the shower. I don't have the time or the money or faintest desire to put a bunch of fucking dippity doo in it and blow dry it every day. So shut up. By the way, you wouldn't even know how old I was if you hadn't asked me following our conversation about how hot the 44 year-old Parole Agent we work with is. You thought I was 12. So once again, to reiterate: STFU.
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