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Archive for July, 2011

I swear my body has more pores per square inch than the average person has in their entire body. I am not making this up. One thing I hate about summer is that everyone wants to sit outside. I hate sitting outside. If I wanted to take a bath I would do it in the bathroom… not at a table, outside a random coffee shop. I swear though, I’m the only one who suffers from this ailment. My roommate looks beautiful, glowing, while the breeze runs its fingers through her silky tendrils of hair. Not me. Nope. I’m slouched in my chair, red in the face, while little rivers run down it leaving skid marks from my mascara. I’m the before picture. This is something that is not new.

Once again…

I am Lila Spruce.

The gorgeous person sitting across from me is my roommate… Remember the Goddess? Of course. Her perfectly tanned skin stretches on for miles off of those legs. They go on longer than the Sahara desert. I don’t even see the slightest hint of liquid coming out of her. Her green blue eyes miss nothing. She discreetly hands me a napkin, which is doused within seconds of contact with my skin. Her perfect, full mouth, flashes me an apologetic smile.

Goddess is moving soon. I know you’re probably thinking that I should be rejoicing as said Goddess will not be around to remind me of how the words ‘anti-per spirant’ mean nothing to my strong willed body. However, on top of being stunning, she is also one of the most genuinely nice people I know.  

Figures.

She’s the whole package.

Her boyfriend sure thinks so.

I call him dread boy. He is as white, long muscled, and as skinny as they come. However, he insists that dread locks are his look. Truly, Mr. White. Marathon Running Man… doesn’t look so bad in his hair style of choice. I must say his knotted up locks is quite the gutsy style of choice for a manager at J.C. Penneys. He often reminds me that soon he will be promoted to the ’privilege’ of  hiring people.

Jerk.

Of course he is.

He knows I need a job.

But at J.C. Penneys…

I close my eyes

 And imagine middle income housewives asking me for a size 14 to cover their size 16 rears. Shuddering I vow I will never, ever  work for Dread Boy or his Chain Style Clothing company. I may be average but I have my standards.

I will find a job. Maybe I can be a barista at one of the coffee shops I like so well…

I close my eyes….

And imagine the frothing milk over heating, bubbling over, and somehow finding its way to my un-protected eye balls…

No.

I could never be a barista.

Maybe I could be a dog walker…

I begin to close my eyes…

And stop myself as I feel wetness on my leg. Startled I look down only to find a small pooch pittling on what he must think is a stump. Goddess is horrified but kursnuffling across the table.

No, I could never be a dog walker.

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