You know. Is it wrong to not care what people think about you? Is it wrong to leave your house with pajama pants on, a scarf on your head, and a pair of comfortable crocks? Why is it that people care so much about what a stranger in the street thinks about they’re appearance? These are questions that I’m faced with on a daily basis. Granted, if I’m going to work or someplace fancy where the proper attire is appropriate then of course I’d dress decent. But for a trip out of the house to run errands, it doesn’t really matter what I wear and trust, if I had a job where everyone in the office could wear pj’s to work I’d definitely put in my application for employment. Some people think that I look like I’m on welfare waiting for a check in the mail. Now that’s a bad generalization because what if I were just that? Does that mean I’m not a nice person?
Now, theweighicyit, there is no need for me to get all red carpeted to leave the house because no matter what I dress in no one cares. And I refer to “no one” as the opposite sex. Of course I think it’s nice to have a boyfriend or companion or whatever but it is NOT necessary. A man is not air. A man is not oxygen. A man is not food. A man is not water. These are things I NEED. A man? I don’t. Maybe if I believed there was still some hope left for me then I might care a little teeny bit but for a long time now I’ve been fine with that.
Let’s revert back to the fucked up shit that happened, when, for the first time in a long time I slipped up and imprudently let myself think that there was actually someone interested in me.
“I wasn’t really feelin’ you”
Ahhh yes…that’s it….that’s what the young lad said. That he wasn’t really feelin’ me.
So that incident only proved me correct when I say who the fuck cares!!!
I mean shit… you can have a package all wrapped up in fancy paper with satin ribbons and bows and its pretty enough to sit under the tree at the Macy’s Christmas Parade. But when you open that pretty packaging you reveal the Huge Pile Of Human Waste on the inside. So why bother?
Now, theweighicyit, there is no need for me to get all red carpeted to leave the house because no matter what I dress in no one cares. And I refer to “no one” as the opposite sex. Of course I think it’s nice to have a boyfriend or companion or whatever but it is NOT necessary. A man is not air. A man is not oxygen. A man is not food. A man is not water. These are things I NEED. A man? I don’t. Maybe if I believed there was still some hope left for me then I might care a little teeny bit but for a long time now I’ve been fine with that.
Let’s revert back to the fucked up shit that happened, when, for the first time in a long time I slipped up and imprudently let myself think that there was actually someone interested in me.
“I wasn’t really feelin’ you”
Ahhh yes…that’s it….that’s what the young lad said. That he wasn’t really feelin’ me.
So that incident only proved me correct when I say who the fuck cares!!!
I mean shit… you can have a package all wrapped up in fancy paper with satin ribbons and bows and its pretty enough to sit under the tree at the Macy’s Christmas Parade. But when you open that pretty packaging you reveal the Huge Pile Of Human Waste on the inside. So why bother?
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