…how lucky we are when we get to be alone—-together.
I pull on my black work pants with dread because I know how hot it is going to be walking in to my doom with my lime green polo and proudly displayed plastic nametag.
No power. No-how.
No power, no happiness.
This storm took away some of my resolve, and a lot of my sweat.
Off to Martin’s.. to attend to the whims of Mechanicsvillians and their grocery needs.
Love Gaga to death, but what the fuck is this choreography?
bahhaa. bananaphone? no, bananashoes.
I am really REALLY lucky that my dad is so great. He truly is.
He’s content to be exactly who he is. He’s so comfortable with himself, it’s sick.
That’s what makes him so good at being so funny. SO funny. Like, ab-workout-from-laughing-too-hard funny. My sister and I were so fortunate to have inherited some of that; I don’t know how I’d be able to live without it.
He also just loves us so freaking much. When I’m away at college they say he forgets sometimes and puts out four plates even though it’s just the three of them and he cries when he realizes his mistake. And he’s not a teary-eyed kind of guy. Six feet of sarcastic iron-man.
ANYWAY. I’m appreciative. Which is weird, for me. ;)
I just want this