Saturday, March 12, 2005


That's what the ATM told me I have. Bitches. The job, the hours, the Missy Elliott entourage almost killed me. And for what? Four dollars and thirty four cents. I need a new life.
On another note, T$ and I will be hob nobbing with the A-listers at Waller's Super Sweet Birthday Party tonight. I call dibs on all of Ands' single friends. Just don't tell them I'm only worth $4.34. That can be our little secret.

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