I wish I had more exciting self realizations or drunken
adventures to post about, or even relationship advice. But I don’t, the rest of
my weekend was boring. Saturday night I spent it dancing to, Saturday Night by
Whigfield, except I made up my own lyrics that went like this
“It’s Saturday night and my bra is coming off. I like pizza
baby. Saturday night and my bra is coming off, Cause I am so single baby.”
I followed that up with some White snake and I can hear your
jealous moans from over here. I know, it is hard to be as fun and exciting as I
am but keep trying you may get there some day.
Seriously, that was the highlight of the rest of my weekend.
Well except I saw Kermit to retrieve the rest of my things.
It was awkward and he gave me back of shit I clearly did not want. But we
chatted, I told him I was going to Toronto to see Mathew Mchottie (which I’ve
yet to decide if this is a good choice or not), I am sure he didn’t want to
hear it, but hey, what’s a little salt to an opened wound? He also said sorry,
which really at this point meant nothing.
And that was my weekend and I can guarantee next time you
here Saturday Night, you are going to think of my version, which is better because
it’s about pizza and releasing your boobs from boob jail…and I wonder why I am
single and Kermit didn’t love me. I think I may have just found my answer.
No comments:
Post a Comment