It All Comes Back To The Biebs


The Muse: Shh. We’re watching Entertainment Tonight.

Me: No! You have to help me! It’s time for writing and I don’t know what to say!

The Muse: Sigh. So don’t write.

Me: No. No way. I talked all about how important it is to write every day and I’m not going to be a hypocrite.

The Muse: Um, I’m really trying to watch TV right now.

Me: Dammit, you just lounge around all day and I ask you for one simple favor…

The Muse: Cry me a river, diva-girl.

Me: Why are you so nasty today? You’re supposed to be the good, creative, HELPFUL part of me.

The Muse: We can bitch about the American Music Awards. Look at Bieber. What a disgrace to music.

Me: I absolutely refuse to write about Justin freaking Bieber.

The Muse: Why not?

Me: Because I am not 12 years old, that’s why. And let me tell you something.

The Muse: I smell a rant coming on.

Me: Damn right. Let me tell you this for free. When I was 12 and everyone had New Kids on the Block posters in their lockers, what did *I* have in my locker?

The Muse: Aerosmith.

Me: AEROSMITH. Because even at 12, I knew good vs. bad music.

The Muse: Get off your high horse. You totally would have made out with Donnie Wahlberg.

Me: …


Me: *mumbles* He was the bad boy.

The Muse: Ah HA! J’accuse!

Me: Oh go to hell.

The Muse: And you would have made out with Sebastian Bach, Nikki Sixx and Slash.

Me: Shit, I STILL want to make out with Baz and Nikki. Not much has changed there.

The Muse: You wonder and ponder and bitch and moan about your sorry excuse for a love life and yet you will not let the damn bad boy thing go. You know what the secret is to bad boys?

Me: I don’t want to hear it.

The Muse: THEY’RE BAD.

Me: How did we get on this topic? I don’t want to talk about my non-existent love life.

The Muse: It all comes back to The Biebs.


The Muse: Yes it does. We went from the Biebs to Donnie to Nikki Sixx and now we’re here. And that timeline is more than a little disturbing, by the way.

Me: I’m an enigma like that.

The Muse: You’re a huge weirdo, more like it.

Me: Listen, let’s get off the topic of boys, okay? It’s depressing.

The Muse: So what do you want to talk about? Oh wait, don’t tell me. You want to talk about your hair.

Me: Well it’s time.

The Muse: Time for what? You had it perfect like, one week ago. You want to ruin it now?

Me: Now it’s too long.

The Muse: In the nano-millimeter it grew from last week to now? NOW it’s too long?

Me: Too long.

The Muse: You’re just going to get it cut and hate it. You do this EVERY TIME.

Me: And I need to dye it. I’m thinking fire engine red.

The Muse: I’m thinking you’ll hate it in two days and dye it black again.

Me: You’re so NEGATIVE.

The Muse: You’re so PREDICTABLE.

Me: This is going nowhere.

The Muse: I have one more thing to say.

Me: Great. By all means. You have the floor.

The Muse: If you don’t spike up your hair? You totally look like The Biebs.

Me: I hate you.


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