I almost hate myself for this. But ever since that stupid boyman from Scottsdale...Baron de Intercontinental if you will...bought me that stupid plane ticket...I've been waking up every morning and doing pilates out the wazoo.
It's odd to me that a booty call boyman is whipping my butt (abs, thighs & arms also) into shape more than any other type of external motivation. I mean...what?!?! Who cares. It's not like I was firm and healthy looking when first we hooked up in Austin. Geez.
Moreover, in case you haven't heard, the bastard is loaded. I'm also hating myself bc I find myself uncharacteristically attracted to things like, Marc by Marc Jacobs tops, fake sun tans, and Charles David wedges. Excuse me, Susan, but you're supposed to be this free thinking, independent, quasi liberal twenty something that if she could afford to live the organic lifestyle...she would! What's wrong with you?!?!?! Life is NOT about BMW's and Tiffany's rings! (Stripper V...stop rejoicing!)
But, God, I wanted those $115 sandals...They would look so nice in the Scottsdale sun...walking next to my loaded booty call boyman.
I don't even know who you are anymore.
=)
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Just get drunk and sing some random, cheesy 80s tunes. It makes everything all better.
Trust me.
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