Everyone should have a "Mysty".
"Her hair is a voluminous writhing entity within itself. She's wearing purple eyeshadow and black lipstick. She has on mis-matched striped socks a'la the Wicked Witch of the West. Her white ballet flats have wurds such as "Anarchy" and "Life" splashed across them in angry black lettering. Her nail polish is black, and mostly chipped off. She has on a sexxxy, low cut french maid top with blood stains clinging to the lacy white hem. It's the end of December and this walking work of art is holding my hand and laughing with wild abandon. People sneak glances or stare openly at her as she walks by. She is riveting in her exotic beauty, but has no idea of this fact herself.
She's my DIY dolly. Free to be her true self and encouraging me to be mine. She is the most important thing that has happened to me in 2008. I need this. More than she knows."
Not because this was about me, but because she blows me away when she DOES make the time to do this:
Mysty should quit her fucking day job and do what I'm aspiring to do instead.
The writing gig suits her.