On Sunday, I celebrated my birthday. It was almost uneventful. I went shopping with my mom on Sunday and on Saturday, I went to 125th street in Harlem with my dad because he was busy on my birthday. We left the house with $100. The roundtrip train ticket to 125th street cost $22 each. That left $56 for clothes and lunch. I get my legs, eyes, smile and crassness from my father. Everything else was either my mom or just me. I look exactly like my mom but I look exactly like my dad at the same time. It's the weirdest thing. I love it and I hate it. I love it because it's proof I'm not adopted but I hate it because whenever we're with family and friends, they always say things like "You look like your mom's twin" or "You're the spitting image of your father." My dad is never afraid to speak his mind. He practically says fuck it about everything. I get that from him. I honestly don't care. Like, for graduation, I want to wear sweatpants, an aeropostale tee shirt and my brown knee high uggs. Like, really, who gives a flying fuck? If anyone has something to say about it, that's their problem not mine. It's really adorable how some people feel that their opinion actually matters.
On my walk with my dad, we stopped at a tattoo parlor. He tried to talk me into getting a tattoo of a ladybug or stars or something. He didn't care what my mom would say about it. I did. And I have a fear of needles. And pain. And I want to be and organ donor and a blood donor. He said I didn't have to get one now but maybe later on in life. You should've seen my face. I looked like I was gonna shit a Frisbee.
That's all I have for now. Don't get a tattoo unless your heart is in it, don't give a fuck and plan a day with your dad, father's day is soon. Until next time, peace out girl scout.
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