watch the clip

Dear Diary:

 

Extreme’s ass done tripped.  I shit you not.  I was talking earnestly with him about how, if he wants to find and nice female and settle down, he ought not say things like “ I want a chic who wants to be a wife”.

 

He talks like some steel town street urchin and he’s only going to attract some kind of ‘80’s perm totting steel town chic.  With his ‘fuckin’ women always get what they fuckin’ want” mixed in a little with ‘why didn’t that chick cop just clean off with my license plate for me” attitudes the white trash availables out to come a running.

 

Out of the blue Extreme launches into this diatribe about how I’m the only one who ever got him and it’s his lick that grave situations occurred but he always gets his way in the end even if it’s just coffee drives with me.  Lord Gawd.  Extreme’s ass done tripped. 

 

 

Somebody once said (oh, I know who I just can’t spell) that age will not protect you from love. But love, most certainly, to some extent, can protect you from age.

 

Big Bad’s ass done tripped if he thinks I’m not going to be immersed in a house full of Issey Miyake’s L’ Eau D’ Issey Pour Homme.  Big Bad’s ass done tripped if he thinks I’m not going to be in his favourite track pants showing a hint of his favourite g-string when he gets home.  Big Bad’s ass done tripped if he thinks I don’t know exactly how to mix his poison and how to move in just his favourite way.  And I will mix it and I will move and he will ake me to the sex shop to buy a new vibrator.

 

I’m sick of the one I’ve got and I want a less complicated, less loud  vibrator to lose and leave out in the most awkward and yet awesome places.  You know some pretty good things happen to those who hustle.

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mRmFEpl74sI

 

 

 

Wish me Luck,

 

Sin