Because it's fine art, these chicks are classy. Just like I like 'em.
There's a lot on mind these days. Like the fact that with every episode of "The Office" watched, I grow sadder with each day we move closer to losing Steve Carrell. There's work and the knowledge that I should really be in bed right about now since I'll need to depart my place at around 415 AM tomorrow. There's the mild excitement that while my abs can't be described as a "situation", there's definitely a "mild occurrence" developing somewhere in that area. Possibly. And of course, there's women. One woman. The concept of women. Lots of women. My life as it relates or doesn't relate to a woman moving forward and who she is or who she was. I don't know. I'm a heterosexual, thirty-one year old man with an improving abdominal "situation" (giggle), a slightly upgraded wardrobe, and a sudden relationship status change. So. You know. Woman. Women. Whatever.
Having said all of that, I'm at that stage just before "full rebound" and right after "disorienting sadness" where the obvious next step is to make a playlist of all your favorite songs with a girl's name in the title. It's science. I've consulted professionals about this, I assure you. This method is found in many important books by authors whose names I can't pronounce because they're so brilliant. So come with me on the continued therapeutic journey toward recovery and love and chicks and inner peace. By listening. Carefully. Lovingly. Softly. Like the way chicks do.