Velouria (velouria) wrote,
Velouria
velouria

  • 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.
Subscribe
  • Post a new comment

    Error

    default userpic

    Your IP address will be recorded 

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.
  • 14 comments