One kiss & I'm zapped!
A few weeks ago, I went to Starbucks on a Saturday afternoon, alone, to get a coffee (naturally). I got the coffee, sat down in my car to leave, wearing the weekend-gear: grey adidas suede & sweater jacket, tighty-marighty blue jeans, black pointy-toe boots (for killing men and other parasites)* and sunglasses. The hair was out of control poufy and with the window open, it was snapping against anything within distance. I turned on Space's "Female of the Species" full blast and began to pull out of the parking lot just when the lyrics said, "She deals in witchcraft and... yada yada yada... how can heaven hold a place for me" and this hippie-stank guy is walking his dog in front of my car, cracking the hell up at probably the most absurd image of the day - this lank-o blonde chick with big hair, slurping on coffee, blasting vixen/007 music, and almost running him over. I sped off into the distance, ready to rock and/or roll.
* Just a description of the shoes, Schmeeds. You know you ain't no parasite.
2004-03-30 | 4:28 p.m.
