Eff you.
And eff your limitless Iceberg shakes as meal replacements, for breakfast. Eff your reckless late nightGod-Affirmingly delicious stupid Free Wheeler deliveries. And your refreshingly cheap and delicious excuse to break up with PBR in an Urban Outfitters parking lot stupid Champagne of Beers. Look at...HEY..LOOK at me when I'm yelling about what you did. YEAH YOU, BLONDIE. Do you know how many people you've hurt with your carelessness late at night in that Crown Burger drive through? ONE. MEEE.
Eff your stupid gajillion dollars of beautiful jeans and your.....Ah, looks like we need more eff the jeans (for the interest I'm probably still paying on a couple of those). I swear I will cut you if I see you.
Unless it's in a mirror, or a picture of ourselves being the same thing. Then we're cool.
Signed, TAGGED, B*TCH,
Me.
And that extra inch keeping ME out of YOUR PANTS.
Dear Future Me Who I'll Never Become, (and the 10 pounds she brought along)
EWWWW, you're gross, someone shoot me if I ever run into you in ANY mirror, be it a fun-house or otherwi--- hey...oh please don't tell me...AW HELL NO. You were serious before? With the creepy joke about getting in my pants? This is really happening. You're seriously going to try putting on my favorite Hudsons. Over that. Those aren't rejects from the Rack and I think you KNOW THAT. They aren't stretch blend and oh dear God, the color of the denim literally FADES as you strain the zipper upward. Like the color literally changes. Girl, you just had a baby....I just buried a fiance. Two very different diets. Now peel my pants off your ten new pounds and give them to your best friend (size 2-Idgie) (and that's a 2 in kids) until I return...yes, Idgie, who has proven she can be responsible with carbs, pretty much like me obviously. Now if you'll excuse me, I just heard about this sandwich place called Moochie's. I'd invite you but I can't because, well, I don't have room in my car/life for both you AND the circumferal inch you grew, which shall not be named. Oh what the hell, we can call it Bianca. Now can we pretend we never spoke?
Unless I see you around later, like after a few more of these sandwiches and it involves that mirror or picture you mentioned. Then (and only then) it'll be like yeah no of course, totally we're cool, honest mistake before. And I'll be all "Hey, I didn't recognize you there, how you been?" and we'd talk about how we should totally go to lunch sometime, and we'd both probably be pretty pumped on that idea because we'll probably both thinking about Panda Express (UNCANNY). It's like one mind.
Until then, you and Bianca are such a cow, take care.
Your Former Self
Special thanks to the random calories I brought home with me, whom I met in the following places:
Free Wheeler
Champagne of Beers
And eff your limitless Iceberg shakes as meal replacements, for breakfast. Eff your reckless late night
Eff your stupid gajillion dollars of beautiful jeans and your.....Ah, looks like we need more eff the jeans (for the interest I'm probably still paying on a couple of those). I swear I will cut you if I see you.
Unless it's in a mirror, or a picture of ourselves being the same thing. Then we're cool.
Me.
And that extra inch keeping ME out of YOUR PANTS.
Dear Future Me Who I'll Never Become, (and the 10 pounds she brought along)
EWWWW, you're gross, someone shoot me if I ever run into you in ANY mirror, be it a fun-house or otherwi--- hey...oh please don't tell me...AW HELL NO. You were serious before? With the creepy joke about getting in my pants? This is really happening. You're seriously going to try putting on my favorite Hudsons. Over that. Those aren't rejects from the Rack and I think you KNOW THAT. They aren't stretch blend and oh dear God, the color of the denim literally FADES as you strain the zipper upward. Like the color literally changes. Girl, you just had a baby....I just buried a fiance. Two very different diets. Now peel my pants off your ten new pounds and give them to your best friend (size 2-Idgie) (and that's a 2 in kids) until I return...yes, Idgie, who has proven she can be responsible with carbs, pretty much like me obviously. Now if you'll excuse me, I just heard about this sandwich place called Moochie's. I'd invite you but I can't because, well, I don't have room in my car/life for both you AND the circumferal inch you grew, which shall not be named. Oh what the hell, we can call it Bianca. Now can we pretend we never spoke?
Unless I see you around later, like after a few more of these sandwiches and it involves that mirror or picture you mentioned. Then (and only then) it'll be like yeah no of course, totally we're cool, honest mistake before. And I'll be all "Hey, I didn't recognize you there, how you been?" and we'd talk about how we should totally go to lunch sometime, and we'd both probably be pretty pumped on that idea because we'll probably both thinking about Panda Express (UNCANNY). It's like one mind.
Until then, you and Bianca are such a cow, take care.
Your Former Self
Special thanks to the random calories I brought home with me, whom I met in the following places:
Free Wheeler
Champagne of Beers
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