so for valentine's i went out for vodka, video trivia, and fried pickles.
i love my body. my body does not love me right now.
as i was driving home, i tried to wrap my mind around love. this is always a good idea after three drinks. in a review of the people i have loved (like loved with a capital L) i came to two. these two are buffered on two men i have obsessed over.
like an obsession/love/love/obsession appetizer.
literally.
high school obsession.
college love.
adult love.
adult obsession.
it's kind of like a fried pickle. i mean the greasy outer layer is in no way good for me, but it's so damn enticing. i chase it around the plastic basket, suck it off the pickle and ruin my tongue on how
way
too
hot
it is.
inevitably, the freaky batter screws my stomach up and kills my taste for pickles- which really is the part that i love the most. i mean, i love dill pickles. like a jar at a time love.
and, i love these men. but the obsessions before and after are fucking up my gut.
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diggin for brass on shady lane
2 comments:
I would rather know the fleeting feeling of passion and obsession with a life time of gut rot, then go an entire life time with a perfect stomach and never knowing a moments passion.
as well would i.
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