the time right now is 230am. despite our proactive attempts at health, wealth and a normal sleep schedule (an 11pm lights out) we are blindingly awake and updating the blogette under the white light of the laptop. how romantic.
it is not our misaligned internal clock that incited wakefulness, oh no. not even a bad dream did it this time (caddish visions of an xlove tend to dance in our green-eyed imagination). tonight, bras and ranties was called awake by what only can be described the total ignorance of our friends.
blackberry (as bedside companion) tinks beside us, then proceeds to continuously shrill. something’s either gone very wrong or very right. big stories rarely keep their secrets until daylight.
the subject matter so pressing that it was worth three redials ends up being total nothingness – by no coincidence also the scent of a girl’s favorite vodka. and as we boredly listen to convoluted and nonsensical tales of men who’ve never mattered less, we check out our inbox. here awaits us even more annoyance, as we read a (straight) male friend’s unsolicited critique of the application of our eyeliner this evening. are you people fucking serious?
bras and ranties needn’t be informed of the goings-on of anyone’s business besides our own; most especially when it comes to a man who is quite purposefully in our yesterday. nor do we care what our buddy has to say about our attempts to rock us some edie sedgwick. and we most certainly should be subject to none of this whilst in the middle of our rem-mode.
rather, bras and ranties thinks you should worry about your own xboyfriends, your own appearance and your own lives. consider it a gracious and timely hint from us to you. you’re welcome.