(when i party i wear my party dress. & when i drink alone i wear nothing but a bra and jeans cos i pretend i'm in an eighties guess commercial & my tits are way way bigger than they really are...)
& that's how neighbors roll down here, they look at your recyclables, i swear, and tally them up cos they's making a list of who's gonna be lifted up in the rapture and who they might be able to ask to water their plants and let the dogs out after the second coming.
they are always planning ahead, these southerners, i swear. they are looking forward to the rapture as THE LONGEST LUNCH HOUR EVER. they love their lunches; they are always pushing their lunch hours minutes then hours then half-days longer and longer...
unlike me, in the planning and the lunching, who needs a new bra cos this shitty midnight blue one i'm wearing right now can't decide if it's black or blue and mama needs commitment from an underwire.
& as for lunch, some days i can take it or leave it. some days i come to fisticuffs with my sandwich bread cos it pretends to be that famous senor someses hand puppet and it says, s'alright? and then the mustard says, s'alright. and then the vegenaise, says, not funny, cos the vegenaise's all pc and uptight.
just like those feminists who hate the ladies who lunch.
i am a feminist cos i want to make as much money as the mens and i likes the mens and i want them to be able to cry if they wants to cos it's their party and i am a feminist who hates the ladies who lunch but i am not uptight. cos mama's got the senor wences wheat bread and she's got the bourbon's just a-singing in her veins.
the bourbon's singing about its special guest appearance here.
& i tried so hard to finish Homegirl! this weekend to enter her in FC2's contest but then there were those parties and mama wore her party dress and her party dress and other things from her closet became her gothprincesssteampunkwarriorgirl costume
cos the last time mama really tried to dress up she went as the high concept walkofshame with a bra hanging from her leather jacket pocket and bedhead and fucked-up make-up and sans panties and she had to explain all evening what she was...
yours in a party dress,