So, Um…Yeah.

By now you’re well aware of my annoyingly pathetic “So, there’s this guy…” story, so I thankfully don’t have to go into too many details. Which is good. I don’t feel like having to rehash them and I’m pretty sure nobody wants to read any of that simp shit.
Which, I suppose, could also be considered bad. For me, that is, not you.
What I plan to do next will probably earn me the title of Queen of all Simps. You might want to crack open a bottle of wine, stream Drake’s—aka: King Simp— new album and light a few candles before turning off the lights and hitting the jump. Remember, I warned you.

Let Me Just Say…

You irritate the fuck outta me. Actually, since I’m being honest? You make me wanna choke the shit outta you. Twice. Once because you’re so much better than this but you act like you don’t know that and again because this—what you’re doin’ right now—ain’t it.
But you knew that already.

Free-Write: 0150-0235

This is  an ungodly hour made for booty calls, fuckery and debauchery yet here I am, wide awake and doing none of the above. Not that, y’know, I’d be making a booty call or anything like that. The only piece of ass I’m thinkin’ about tappin’ lives a bazillion and four miles away from me, besides all that, I’m not that type of girl and I digress.
I was probably going to neglect this blog for another week or so while I wrote up a couple of posts for the original (Infamous) Life, but seeing as I’m up with nothing to do but search the interwebnets for porn, I’ve decided to be semi-productive and do a quick free-writing exercise.
Woot, whoo-hoo and yay.
Lawd knows what I’m about to say, so, if you’re up to it, hit the jump for more.