where i get a ridiculous capacity for bullshit and for the five different types of women i talk, too often, about. motherdearest, this is ALL your doing. you. YOU. YOUUUU. omg. i have nothing to say because you can talk to leg off a donkey; you live like you NEVER have to breathe, you are THE woman of few words, a few words per nano frikkin second. no really. who are you where are you from, HOW is it i am born of you. i start to believe the stories really, the ones you used to tell me when i was little; how i was picked up from the rubbish dump. no really, i think this is closer to the truth than reality. OMG, and you're coming into the room now and i'm going to hemorrhage in both my ears. so please, please dear God why is i am the one stuck with a sore throat, and not her?
