An open letter to whatever gods might be listening and have any control over the weather.
“What are you thinking? Why are you doing this to me? I know I have spent the last few weeks complaining that I am fed up with the sweltering heat and sick of August. Can you blame me? Some days my hair starts to look like so much lo mein falling over my shoulders and I really want, no need, to wear my leather again!
But I actually have something to do this week. Reservations made, the bags are packed and in Foxy, all is set for a week of cruising Long Island galleries and beaches. It’s one last chance to put a little color into this pale skin of mine before thoughts turn to fall. And you choose now to send the monsoons to New York? Wave after wave of heavy rain squalls, than teasing sun, and than more rain. All I know is you gods have one sick sense of humor. But you don’t need to remind us of that fact, after all that’s why you sent us Newt Gingrich.
So now that you had your chuckles and fun could you maybe find a little compassion and tone it down a notch? Seriously I’m not asking to put the top down at this point just maybe not have me blow off the road.
Well I can hear your answer already. ‘What a bitch! She wants it all!’ Well pfft you and whatever unicorn you rode in on! If I can listen to Newt and live on I can handle whatever else you smartass gods send my way.
Oh I’m in it deep now, sorry! Seriously girls I’m sorry. Babes? Goddesses??
Oh hell, thunder …..
Eminem - Not Afraid