I need a date like I need to lose 20 pounds.
I need a date like I need to get “Call Me Maybe” out of my head.
I need a date like I need to start eating better.
I need a date like I need a tan.
I need a date like I need to take more vitamins.
I need a date like I need to get my bike out of the basement and actually ride it this summer.
I need a date like I need a vacation … on a beach … or in New Orleans.
I need a date like I don’t need this to be a Monday.
I need a date like I need to stop bring up Debbie Gibson as if that gives me street cred.
I need a date like I need street cred.
I need a date like I need some karaoke in my life soon.
I need a date like I need some Dragon King’s Daughter … yum!
I need a date like I need some smores.
I need a date like I need a date.
Young, college educated females that have a firm grasp of the English language should never lament their situations. Alas and alack, fuck my luck, is so Victorian. Atlas shrugged and so should you. Think ahead, move directly to Tuesday on Saturday. Avoid Sunday nights, you know the next step. Sunday afternoons should be spent dwelling on getting sooooo drunk that Monday doesn’t occur, but if it’s ugly little head should appear and must happen due to your deadline at LEO, Praise Their Name, go to your keyboard and compose an article that wins you that Pulitzer. Wear more Spandex.
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