Shut up, biznatch.

My sister, who is alternately known as Princess, Shmoopsie, and Magpie has just returned from a lovely island vacation in St. Maarten. One might ask how a 25 year old who makes no money might afford such a thing, and the answer is simple: my parents. While I was stuck in Chicago teaching children well and showing them all the beauty they have inside, Princess was sunning herself and throwing back umbrella drinks with Mums and Dads.

Princess returns last night, at 11:45 PM mind you, making all sorts of bullshit noise while I'm in my third cycle of REM sleep. I walk out of my room, and in the darkness of our apartment I can already see her sunkissed glow. Her only remark was, "Wow, it's dry in here. This is going to kill my tan." Really? Seriously? You're going to complain that you just had a vacation that someone else paid for. Hi, welcome back. How are you? Me? I'm fine, thanks. I'll tell you what's killing me: it's mid-March and we have storm watch until midnight and my skin is the color of a bottle of fucking Elmer's Glue. To that I say, "Shut up, biznatch."