My like, Life

''OHmygod, look at that disgusting ass. How can she wear those, like, pants? I'm gonna have to stare at you all the way home aren't I, cottage cheese legs? I hate my life. Like really. Look somewhere else, girl, just look somewhere else...''

And it was then, when I finally decided to tear my eyes away from that train wreck and peer across the street that I saw...him: hunky ice cream truck boy. Clean shaven. Big guns. Tight calf muscles, like, totally working it in those tight white uniform pants as he peddled that thing uphill. Sigh.

I crossed immediately - waving and batting my long, pretty eyelashes - not quite realizing that this was a six lane high traffic kind of street at five o'clock on a Tuesday. And high heels aren't very like...mobile.

So yeah. Now I'm like, dead. Like the bad kind of dead. Y'know, closed casket at the funeral kinda dead. Like, fuck. I like...hate my, like, life!