soapboxdiner

Summer Girl

I roll down the back windows (but not the front), open the sunroof, and slide on my funky shades. Then I slick my hair back and gloss up my lips, and turn my stereo all the way up as I hit the freeway.

And the sun hits my skin (mango body wash and coconut body butter), and turns the highlights in my hair a fiery copper bronze. And the air whips through the car (cherry vanilla) and tickles the baby hairs at the back of my neck.

Hit 60 (ok, really 70) and sing at the top of my lungs, kinda sorta pretending that I'm a rock star.

Right now, I am totally hooked on Her -->

I'm not sure if this little rhythm makes me an Amy or a Britney. Frankly, I don't really give a damn. Maybe it's a little of both. I could still kick your ass.

Well, maybe not yours in particular, but definitely one that looked just like yours, only more deserving of a swift kick by 30-something primadonna stuck on reliving memories of hotness whilst readjusting her droopy boobs in her push-up bra. And there ya go -- for whatever it's worth.

11:06 pm - 08.05.08
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