Imported from MySpace blog
I rocked my own ass this morning. Or was it this afternoon? There I was, chillin’ in my pad, making myself a playlist to shower to (yes, I need one, and no, it’s not weird. Really.) Or perhaps I had just showered and was continuing to enjoy my awesome selection of tunes while I went about my post-shower business, when, all of a sudden, a particularly dance-able number came on. I was ambushed.
I looked at cat number one. I looked at cat number two. I busted a move. I busted another move. I danced around the kitchen like a woman possessed. I shook my ass like it was going out of style. I seduced the toaster. I danced myself over to the fridge. I danced myself into the living room and hit repeat. I danced like one of those nights out when you dance so hard your thighs hurt when you wake up in the morning. I was sweating. I was keeping the beat. I was singing along. My imaginary audience was floored. They began throwing flowers and room keys. Groupies began swooning. I blew kisses to my fans, the lights dimmed to the sound of their screams and I walked out the door and went to work.
Damn that was good. No better way to start a day, I say.