My Sistah

She came, she saw, she shopped like a mad woman and she finally got her sorry ass out of my bed. After she left yesterday, I was so forlorn that I had to order pizza, watch "Dude, Where's My Car?" and spend three hours on the phone trying to hear the difference between ouelette and toilette (which, btw, there isn't any...sounds exactly the same.). As usual, some funny stuff happened: while whacking her with a pillow and calling her a butthole, she thought I said, "Get up, you mole!" as if I were playing the Whack-a-Mole game... she strutted around in Nordstrom Rack wearing a pair of big ass J.Lo style Gucci sunglasses, a fluffy scarf and a big hat and wanted to try walking out of the store like that so she could say, "What? These are mine..." when the alarms went off... driving back to my house after lunch and shopping, she tried repeatedly to sing part of the Avril Lavigne song "I'm With You" in tune and failed miserably... she argued with me as I was telling the now infamous "studio story" about whether or not she was coming out of the shower wearing a towel and mooned me or dropped her pants and mooned me (as if one way was less bad than the other?!)...

If nothing else, she's entertaining. The biznatch is always making me wait around for her sorry ass, but she's still my homie and she can come back and visit anytime...