Holy hell.

I was up late — too late — and ended up getting a whole 4.5 hours sleep.  It is now 86° at only ten thirty in the morning with not a cloud in the sky to bring some shade and I’m dyin’ here.

It’s going to be an iced coffee day.  With no mastrubation or sex and lots of cold showers. And lots of hollering at the kid for aggravating me in my already aggravated state.  And wanting to murder the dogs every time they brush against me with their hot bodies and fur.

And aren’t I just the most interesting bitch around?  *insert eyeroll here*

Something that is more interesting is Taylor is buying me a motorcycle.  A 1985 Yamaha XJ700 Maxim.  Whatever that is.  It’s red.  And I’m going to kill myself on it.  They do not call me Grace unless it’s sarcastically.

Which, yanno, is really the only time anyone calls anyone not named Grace Grace.  Sarcastically.

The heat is melting my brain.

I’m off to loll in front of a fan.