I love Miley Cyrus.
I’m not even joking. You can sit there for a minute and contemplate whether you want to still be friends with me or continue to frequent my blog but quite frankly if you can get down with my miley lovin’ then I’m not entirely sure I wanna be friends with you either.
But why you ask? This is why … Miley doesn’t give a fuck. She’s the humanised honeybadger. She’s all teeth, cropped hair, Pilates, drugs and gyrating with strangers and it’s legit. Okay, so maybe she had a little help from her PR team but whatever. Miley is all about doing the things I wanna do.
I wanna sing, twerk with teddy bears on tv and get paid for it. I wanna do recreational drugs with Snoop dogg and wear bad ass Moschino belts and sip on my ice tea in California and have a supportive fiance who has his head screwed on but keeps letting me do my thang anyway (okay I may already have that last one.)
My point is, Miley is literally living everyone’s ‘dream’ in one way or an other. She isn’t sitting behind a desk job working 9-5 to live up to the white picket fence and 2.5 kids dream (one-up-one-down, occasionally doing Charlie ideal if you live in London) or saying ‘Man, I should really get to bed before 9pm so I can wake up at 5am for gym.’
She is spending all her hard-earned ‘hannah montanna’ bills on making music she likes, flying around the world and staying up late with her bros. Miley isn’t working for the man because Miley IS the man – BOOM.
I understand we aren’t all as financially secure as Miley, but I feel like if she were like the rest of us she’d be working in a cafe on the beach waitressing her little ass off so she could ‘pop molly’ and not give a fuck. I don’t know, maybe I am being a little presumptive.
End of the day, work what you got Miley because I got your back.