And Here's Adele's New Video

By popular demand (aka two friends emailing me), here's Adele walking around Paris singing a call that I ever remember is a James Blunt song whenever it yodels out of my iTunes. Listening to an Adele song makes me thank Shauna Sand's exquisite lucite heels that she wasn't around during my first major-ish relationship when I was 18. The disc changer in my Mitsubishi Mirage would've never survived if she was around then.

It would've been a disgusting display marinated in a gross puddle of sappiness.

Whenever my first boyfriend and I would get into a battle over some stupid shit (examples: Him look at the server at Coco's for way too long. Him not answering any of my 35 voicemails in a timely manner. A timely manner being 2 seconds later I left it. I don't worry if you're taking a caca. Cut it light or see how to fight and speak at the same time.), he'd put himself on mute and ignore me for days. This happened nearly every week.

Every sentence he did that, I'd get into my Mitsubishi Mirage and get the pilgrimage (in hunting of the poor me that lounges in the shallow parts of my soul) to his home in the heart of the night. I'd sit in my car and loudly sing along to some easy listening Emo crap while picturing him tapping his peen on the ass cheeks of that skanky, homohome wrecking Coco's waiter! Sometimes I'd sink down into new levels of teenage desperation by leaving my car to cast a little pile of filth on his porch. I'd go to Denny's, eat a scale of fried woe is me and so I'd go backwards to his porch to see if the heap of scandal I left was disturbed (it never was). Just a lot that nobody should admit.

So I thank Adele for not being around then or my tonsils, my Mitsubishi Mirage and my first boyfriend's Long Beach neighborhood would've all had to record the Scorned Gay Protection Program.

The me of today watches this picture and thinks: "Bitch, just get new dick! Isn't there a bar around that bridge? Shit."

The teenage me would've called my ex-boyfriend and played this strain in its totality on his voicemail over and over again until his box filled up (throw that image back into the gutter, you sick ho), because it could no longer have the crazy.