sweat is sexy, especially when you don’t even have to work for it.

it’s africa hot.

and my phone is apparently supper pissed about it.

iphone users, have you ever even seen that? i have. just now.

oh but if you slide the bar to try and get to the home screen (which is speaking in foreign languages; that’s how pissed off it is), all you get is the option to make an emergency call.

super. so at least i know that when i start to hyperventilate, i can still call 9-1-1.

how’s that for customer service. apple has my back.

i live 90 seconds from a hospital. useful.

what i really should do is put the phone down and get in a body of water.

but the truth of the matter is, i’m writing this while pretending to “answer e-mails” in an attempt to avoid hearing my neighbor tell me one more time about his family reunion this past weekend and how his uncle bought 30 pounds of ribs. i’ve heard the story 3 times in the last 27 minutes. my neighbor is a talker.

thank you, mobile blogger app. you really know how to come through in the clutch.

call me brave (or stupid) for deliberately uploading half of a bathing suit photo on the internet (unlike when your friends tag facebook photos of you gallivanting on the beach and you think “hmm. i don’t really need all my clients and co-workers seeing me build a sand castle and do handstands while i’m 87% naked” and then you run to untag it. no this isn’t like that.), but in an attempt to show you that i am DRENCHED, well it didn’t even work out that well because it doesn’t really look like i’m drenched, save for the puddle resting between my rib cage.

trust me. i’m drenched.

i dare you to tell me sweat puddles aren’t cute. for crying out loud, microscopic ants could swim in my belly button because there is just that much liquid in there.

hey, at least i have hearts on my bathing suit.