I’m a total catch. Literally, I cannot keep the boys away. I don’t know if it’s the fact that I have no schedule restrictions or the overflowing $23 in my bank account, but they just cannot get enough of my broke, jobless ass.
I don’t want to brag, but sometimes my parents go to bed and leave out half a bottle of wine and dinner leftovers. All I’m saying is that as long as we keep it down, we can probs have a really awesome date at my parent’s pad. They’re chill as long as I remember to turn off the lights before beddie bye and lock the front door. They like totally hate it when I leave the door unlocked. They like really give me a talking too. Like this one time, my dad was all like “ beata you have to remember to lock the door” and I was like “dad, whatevvvvvveeeeeeerr.” It was pretty crazy.
Sometimes I like to get up in the morning and pretend I have a really important job to go to. I get dressed in one of my many snazzy women’s business suits and sit down for some hardcore black coffee. Fuck milk. (I take calcium vitamins. Being irresponsible about the health of your bones is just gay). I need to be ready for the rigorous day ahead. I roll out the newspaper and look over at my mom and knowingly sigh about the work week we have ahead of us. “Just another manic Monday, huh mom?” (God, I’m witty). Then she tells me its Thursday. She can be real cold sometimes.
At this point in the day, I usually change into my old backstreet boys t shirt and put on the tape of my highschools rendition of “Godspell”. I was so cool back then.
4 comments:
I'm...(exhasperated sigh)... disappointed...in you.
It's called a pant-suit. Women's business suit? And you're wondering why, no job?
stop saying gay.
and get a job, sloot.
Um. So there seems to be some confusion about the comment wall.
I'm fairly certain it's not called lets pick apart Beata's blog and constantly remind her she doesnt have a job ...wall...thing.
and now I'm going back to bed. I hope you guys are happy.
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