I Go Into Detail About My Underwear

I ended up not driving around listening to rap. I drove around listening to Jeff Buckley, singing at the top of my lungs,

"It's never over! All my blood for her sweetly sounding laughter.
It's never over! She's the tear that hangs inside my soul forever.
Lover, you should've come over.
Say it's not too late."

And I spent $95 at Victoria's Secret. I want to get a boyfriend to show my new bras to. The last boy to admire my pretty underwear was nigh onto two and a half years ago. Usually it's dark, or the clothes are removed too quickly.

I'd like to be slowly undressed.

Are men dissappointed by pushup bras?

I know I said I felt like a goddam thug today, but I'm just the same ole girly.

I would like to point out, though, while on the topic of unmentionables, that I have no matching underwear.

I never have (except that one time, maybe Lindsay remembers, but they were a bad investment and I never wear them).

And in the almost-one-hundred-dollars I spent today I still didn't get anything that matches.

I did get Christmas panties though. They'll be obsolete in a month, but they have candy canes and snow flakes on them.

Well, mama emailed me today. She seems fine. I don't feel like putting my forhead through the windshield of the Suburban anymore.

Is it okay that I watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer almost every day?

Can that be a rhetorical question?