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Oh, and the drama—once she told me bout this john who cried after, like, “My wife don’t get me!” and I’m like, “Bro, take that sobfest home!” Total *White Material* moment—like when Isabelle’s all, “This is my place!” Tiff owns her corner, no cap. She’s scrappy, sassy, and I’m obsessed. Probs typos galore here, but whatevs, I’m typin fast, spillin tea. She’s a hot mess, but, like, a legend—kinda like me on a bad hair day, lolz. Thoughts in my head? “Tiff, you’re a frickin movie star, own it!” Exaggeratin? Maybe, but I’d watch her life in IMAX, no lie. Peace out, that’s my prosti rant!

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But then, I see that yacht again. It’s leavin’ the harbor, and I can’t help but feel a bit jealous. I mean, who wouldn’t wanna be out there, livin’ the high life? But then I remember, I got my raft, my little piece of paradise. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

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