Unibrows Are So 2000

I am way too busy to be doing this but....
I can't resist.

Check it out:

I've been listening to Don't Stop Believin' on repeat for two days because it's my Power Song.

I thought my best friend was horribly angry at me and that we were going to be not speaking for awhile, which for us in the past been known to bring things like stealthy messages that say "I hate you and all of your STDs." or "You smell like crotch-rot."
I don't know why things get crotch-centered but the only thing I can think of is that we both are pretty aggressive and maybe that's like the male side bieng all like "My dick is totally bigger." Execpt there are no actual penii here which... that' a whole different essay for a whole different day.
We used to have terrible fights. Not many but when we had them, they were pretty much like you would expect any fight to be when two alphas cross each other. We havenít had a fight since before I moved, THANK GOD. I can't take that shit.

I have had to direct my aggro tendencies into a contact sport, I cannot imagine what fighting with her would be like if I really let loose and shined out in every way the way yoga taught me to do.

There's a point here and I'm far from it right now so let's circle back, huh?

I was listening to my Power Song because of Chips and because of the random meanness here and because it's going to be really hot when I get home from work and when I turn on Swampy, 8 tons of dust will blow into my floor and my couch. Since Slummy hasn't serviced the SOB, it will probably smell not un-like crotch rot. But my Power Song helps me stay grounded and not worry too much and the sun does feel good, right?

The last time I got a pathetic comment about body hair, I had emailed the Most Likely Suspect, our beloved former hero Estaban and he snarked out and I probably deserved it. He asked me to never contact him again, mentioned an engagement.
No problem, dude.

This time?
Nada from me. Not one, even remote provocation.
I'm hanging out in the heat, I'm busy with friends who I love a great deal, I'm skating almost every day, I've got my d-o-double-g who is so adorable that I can't even stand it anymore. I have something due or something that I have to creatively solve before I go to bed every day, even on the weekends.

I'm totally cool with the fact that Steve can't talk to me, ever. That's his choice, his business, and I respected it.

I can't prove that the comment hate has anything to do with him. It could be some totally random person, it could conceivably be a gay bash (but you would be a little late on that one), it could be someone who pretends to be my friend and secretly loathes me.
I will probably never know for sure.
I will say that the tone and content are familiar to me and they have a distinctly Midwestern flavor to them

But I digress.

STE-phen or not, it's a cryin' shame that someone out there who only references things that bothered me years ago... it's a cryin' shame that there's someone out there who has to say shitty things on my website without letting me know more personally how much of a fuck he or she thinks I am.
Or at least, I wish that whoever it is would say the shitty things to me personally, in CONJUNCTION with anonymously spewing in my space.

I'm also going to go ahead and take this all the way and say that perhaps we were all wrong to hate Arizona Chris when the real ex-boyfriend to feel so strongly against is the one that so many of us wanted to be so strongly in favor for.
I will say that this week?
I sure as HELL don't question any part of my decision to move that I based on the mens around me at that time.
Time is showing that I was right after all, about who was a more organic and more honest person.

I'm driving around in my car and listening to my Power Song
"Don't stop
hold onto that
And generally really happy that Chips isn't mad at me, that itís a long weekend, and that I am getting my laundry done right now.
I'm wrapping up a big huge work project this afternoon and I'm headed back to the office for half a day tomorrow to take the week out nice and slow.

You can't take me out, brah. You can try and try and try and try and you can't do it.
You hurt me, sure.
You give me pause to have to think about stuffÖ.

Not so much the unibrow because thatís been gone forever and not so much the big legs because roller-skating everyday and living in average 85 degree temps will force a reluctant fat-ass like me to be in better shape than most people who spend their winters drinking at Happy Hour in Springfield, IL before stumbling home and playing on the computer all weekend.

As for lying, that one stung a little. it made me think. But then I remembered what my best friend said so many times that I not only beleived it, I started to profess it.

People hear what they want to hear.

Iíve never, ever claimed that everything here is fact. You should be able to figure out that I donít hate babies and that my neighborhood isnít a wretched pit of hippies and skin-heads who manage to coexist because of the perpetual cloud of smoke in the air.
You probably do get that.

But you don't get that your actions are pointless because of their ineffection.

That's too bad.
If you really wanted to say something to me, it's too bad that you still can't do it even though I am literally thousands of miles away and never going back.

arizonasarah at 1:41 p.m.

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