JD wants me to blog. Everyday. When I don't because I was busy vacuuming every carpeted area in his 3 bedroom house, cleaning every toilet is his 2.5 bathroom house, walking each dog for an adequate amount of time so they stop being so batshit, or accidentally watching 2 hours of Cold Case because I forgot to turn the TV off when the first episode ended THEN he tries to tell me what to blog about.
JD: write about this new flashlight I bought you!
"This new flashlight [he] bought [me]" was a free rape light he got for purchasing a real flashlight.
More importantly, it's hot today and the floozies are afoot.
Kind of.
There is a path behind JD's house and you can see it from every window. This afternoon, 4 teenage girls were rollerblading in 2 inch shorts, tank tops, jazzy tall socks, and penises draped over their vaginas. Bein' all loud and prostitutey while I'm trying to do my yoga belly 7. When JD rode past on his motorcycle, they waved and giggled at him. WAVED AND GIGGLED. They might as well have ripped off their American Eagle shorts flopped around on their backs.
I wasn't super cute in high school. Let's just say strangers weren't envious of my youthful beauty. I spun a flag in a >50 person marching band and ate chocolate frosting people off my fingers on the weekends. I didn't own shorts. 1. because my mom required they have a 6inch inseam 2. because they didn't make shorts that long in 2000 3. because even if bermuda shorts could be found in the juniors section at Kohls, I was too fat for them.
If I want to judge hot barely legal teens rollerblading on the path, I will do so. From the comfort of the couch, and then my car later on because we saw them again on the way to dinner.
Hussies.
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