Okay, so this happened.
I don’t even have anything to say. When you can outbourgeois me, you’re fucking doing something. My skin care regimen is a car note.
Evidently, I have learned how to project across the Great State of Florida.
“How do you know this, Queen?” Who the fu- what would make you think it’s question time? Ok, first, sit down. Fuck. Routines prevent abrupt chaos from erupting.
Pay attention. The fuck is you do- just, no. Shit.
This morning I was arranging some words into the form of a paycheck, and discovered Clark Cunt texted at the ass crack of dawn.
This guy. I’m still laughing. He’s extra. He’s a lawn and leaf bag of extra. He’s a 40-yard container of extra.
I’m told he got the Lou Spikes and was thinking, “you know who would love this shit? Fucking Ape.”
Oh, you’re right about that. I very nearly hyperventilated laughing at Clark. But it was so… not missing any beats. It was SuperFuckboy changing in a phone booth. I must have cracked 30 jokes in a row. I haven’t laughed so hard since, probably, the last time he and I spoke.
Well, not the last time. The time prior.
I learned something important from Clark. Y’all know, I haven’t ever had a man in my life who was proud of me. You’ve heard the daddy issues. And all that other shit that left marks on me. I have never had anyone who actually went out of their way to care for me, just on a normal basis.
But Clark did. He actively did things, said things, planned things, that made my life better. Just the things that maybe your spouse does for you, or your parent did for you, he pops up and does those things.
It usually makes me get misty when I think about it later on. The way he genuinely just cares for me. It’s one of those things that gets in my chest and knots up and refuses to get the fuck out of the flow of traffic.
It’s empowering. Like, I’m always a fucking force. But I’m a new level of tiara and sashing when he and I are whatever you would call it.
He made me better. As a person. Like my wings were super floofy and I was just…soaring.
Because shit like this happens.
Because when I’m not afraid I’ll fail, I have my own superpowers. Nothing that would merit the Spikes, but we can’t all be Clark Cunt. Hell, even Clark is impressed by the shit he does sometimes.
Anyway, that was my day. Astral planing my thoughts over to the ocean and catching SuperFuckboys in my net. I had to cut the line in 3 places to get him out, he was fucking Mangle Me Elmo’d in it.
I have no analysis. No fabled type of wisdom. I am just cooling. Because what else can you do? Don’t plan, because people leave. They do. It’s just life. But what they do while they’re in your corner, that’s the shit you remember afterward. After the other shit fades away.
When you’re looking out over the cheap seats, and it all starts to seem like a poorly constructed arena for the highlights of the lowest times, and you see the “Amazing Job On The Glass Cleaning, Queen” sign…
Just knowing they’re out there somewhere. That you’re not completely alone.
*waves well-manicured hand in the direction of “out there somewhere”*
Well damn girl I'm super fucking proud of u & all ur achievements as well. U already know that tho bc ur a bad bitch & THE QUEEN for a reason!💪👑😏