I am literally typing at the speed of lightning right now, trying to out beat this thunder and hell-of-a-lightening storm happening outside my window right about now as the snap and crackle of wires and, what is surely my hard drive, give me pause every now and then. Seriously. I see a flash and I back away from the keyboard. Quickly.

So I was all, yeah, I’m gonna write like a mad woman. Then I was all, if I see one more girl that looks like a twig while my thighs chafe together in a heat I can only assume is Hell-like, I’m going to scream. Then I’m all, Mmm… fried chicken. Then the heat wouldn’t go away and I’ve never, so desperately, wanted to move to Alaska the way I do right now. For those living with central air, I hate you. Can I move in with you for the next three months? I should have written. I feel like a jerk for jilting my lover. I get it. Now let’s have angry break-up sex. Was it good for you?

Did I mention I got braces? Again? Do you know what it’s like to work with a bunch of people who can’t understand why on earth you would submit yourself, not only to such pain, but to such a device as wire and metal IN YOUR MOUTH WHERE EVERYONE CAN SEE IT because adults get Invisalign and haven’t you heard of this convenient yet expensive device they’re giving grown-ups who don’t want to relive the most painful part of their childhood all over again that could only be followed-up by head gear and dodge balls to the face? When I tell them the horrid disfigurement that is my face is only temporary, they still look at me crazy. And that’s cool. I like crazy. And I can deal with crazy if it makes it possible to speak without my top and lower jaw meeting in some weird, awkward first date dance as they step all over my tongue.

So I’m done with these thighs and teeth and my bitching. Promise this is my last pity party for… what month is this?

Did I mention it’s HOT as HADES? DAMMIT! Stupid thighs.