Sleep deprivation is a funny thing especially when it is self-inflicted. Heavy eyelids at 3pm. Splash water on your face. Take a walk around the office. The knowledge that if you laid your head down on anything made of fabric you will probably be out for the next fourteen hours.
|Just look at that fucking comfortable-ass sleeve.|
Like right now. I have slept two and a half hours in two days. I’m a fucking rock star.
I have no idea what I’m writing. I will probably look back on this post without any inkling what I was trying to write about. Actually, I’m thinking that right now.
Oh, that’s right. Sleep deprivation and last night.
|Yes, the 14th IS sexy.|
So last night I wore this strapless red dress that bounced off my curves in all my favorite ways. In a dress like that you just know you’re not getting much sleep that night. I listened to extraordinarily bad karaoke, drank a really smooth white zinfandel (ugh, girl drink, I know, I know), and was led around by a really good-looking guy who took me on a date that consisted of an actual plan.
I know, ladies. You might want to sit down.
|A PLAN?? *gasp!*|
And not a neck tattoo in sight even. Heavens to Murgatroyds!
A sexy dress, a few drinks, and a man with a plan. Of course I didn’t sleep much last night.
A nod’s as good as a wink to a blind bat. Eh, does she go?
She goes indeed.
|But in waaaaay cuter footwear.|