Lyric Of The Week: “When a man lies, he pierces the very soul of that woman. I’m just telling the truth. When a man lies, he kills every reason she ever had for loving him.” – When a Man Lies, R. Kelly
Sunday: I don’t care what anyone says or how I am ridiculed. I will not have my mother’s tire-black lips as I age. I will NOT. So, me and this lemon juice sugar scrub are trying to make a dent in the damage that sun, smoking and diet have already done. And if people have a problem with the term “bleaching my lips” I’m just going to say this: yes, I love my dark complexion. If my lips stayed that color, I’d be ecstatic. But I have seen what these genes I was given can do to the color of one’s lips. Um, no thanks. To make all parties feel better, I shall call it “lemonading my lips” instead.
Monday: Girls just wanna have fun style 1983 homemade acid-washed shorts for the love of my life. Didn’t they come out great? I have always been good with tie dye and this bleach thing was no different. The rhinestone detail and pink stitching just took it over the top. She loved them. So there was no better way to spend this Monday evening.
Thursday: Henceforth shall be known as conquer your demons day. . . These very sneakers went into the hands of the offspring of HER. Why? Because I asked her on the street if she needed sneakers for him. I wanted to just swallow all that desire I had to run her over with the Black Beauty (all the while honking the horn and screaming “ding, dong the witch is dead”). I just needed to LET IT ALL GO. So, I did. Now, this whole LET IT ALL GO thing would have worked better if just seeing her pudgy, little rat face hadn’t made me angry. But, you know, one step at a time.
One thing that I couldn’t take a picture of was the conversations I had on Tuesday. It changed my whole plan and endgame. I have never felt so slapped in the face in my life. If I could have taken a picture, it would have been of the view of his hands in my face while actually spouting that BS. I’m filing this non-photo as ACT better. You want it playa, you got it.
This week I was short on pictures and time and patience and hope. I find myself asking: Where is that damn horizon? I can’t find the bitch.