july

she's a market girl, she'll take it right after you. so dance. and dance. and dance. and dance. she loves those sad sappy sucker songs. well, hey! elliot smith, we love you. seriously though you should trust me. its so hotttt in here, its hot as hades, ladies. maybe we should just turn the fan on. i doubt i told you but i love your graphic tee and scraped up skateboard. its too bad that your phone stopped working. bop, bop, bop, bop, bop, bop, bop bop. what?!?! i know you have a heavy heart. i can feel it when we kiss. those freim-emies will be your undoing. and please, please change the channel before the pitchers give up any more home runs. hopefully one of these days, i'll get a real job, one that actually pays. like my dad did. you know if you stand on that chair, it'll probably break and you don't have money to buy a new one. i like that you only write pseudo-love songs or at least aspire to. is this cryptic? no. probably. my upstairs neighbors are being super loud. and they dance. and dance. and run. and dance. i don't want to take you home. please don't make me sleep alone. if i could i'd only want to make you smile, if you'd stay with me a while. seriously though, lets just kill them with kindness. if you read this whole thing you're a better person than me.

tomorrows july. drink some sangria and watch this:



or my new love: