Okay, fine. Perfect example of our relationship: I babble, and he just looks at me like I need a helmet. See, there's something you have to understand about me and the Jeem. We're going to kill each other. It's inevitable. He gets on a roll with something, starts fussing, and the next thing you know,
He's the only person in the world who can make me that mad that quickly, and I finally figured out that it's because I just love his punk ass that much more. I have a lot of really fantastic friends, but there's just something about Jeem that's in a different category. He's family. Blood. I'd do absolutely anything for him. So naturally we fight like siblings because we know that five minutes later, we'll both be over it and I'll still love him. I'll even let him think he won the argument so he can go back to his normal self.
Stop judging Jeem. You'd dance around in a tutu, too, if you only drank margaritas the *right* way. What? You don't know what the right way to drink a margarita is? You didn't even know there WAS a "right way" to drink a margarita?! My GAWD, you have so much to learn from the Jeem! Observe.
Whew. Glad we cleared that up. Always remember, there's sober children in Africa, so it's our responsibility to do it right. It's GO TIME!
Yeah, that covers the basics. In order to understand last night's antics, you must know that I love Jeem to pieces, we drink silly amounts of shaquila, and he's going to be a pretty princess. And he's leaving, which makes me really really really really really really really really really really really really really sad. Okay, actually, knowing all that in no way can explain how the night ended like this:
Take care of yourself, my friend, and don't forget that I've got a tiara and a tutu waiting for you when you get home!
