March Fatness.

I was born too late, and now I'm letting myself go. Wait, that just sounds wicked. I might not be slothing about in sweatpants for days on end, and going to Wal-Mart with pizza sauce all over my face and getting preggers once a year, but I am, uh...should I say, getting comfortable?
My vinyl pants don't fit, I can't vaseline myself into my rubber shirts anymore, and I certainly don't feel right in those amazing red velvet platforms.
Something must be done. From now on, I'm ditching the party pizzas, laying off the beer, and I think I'll adopt a doggy to get myself out of the pad more. I guess being a raging punk rocka isn't so good on the body. Who the fuck would have thought?

Spring time resolutions:

more nice, dry white wines

waking up before 1pm

forcing those fabulous tiger print stretch jeans to fit

thrashing the drums

more running from the po-po (maaaayyybe!)

green tea

physical situations

nude beaches

no cabs, no buses, just BIKES

therapy

GET EXCITABLE!

this wicked girl needs yr support. Get me off my ass, and remind me that 25 is still considered spring chicken!