I have a knack for the mundane. Filing, stapling, separating; it's no problem for me. The same can almost be said about domestic chores like ironing, washing dishes, sweeping, except that I'm too lazy to do it on a regular basis. On a similar note, you will rarely find me complaining about something I have to sit through or attend. One, I hate complainers. Also, I'm of a generally sunny disposition (well, I used to be. I'm working on it, though).
The reason I'm good at mindless duties or boring situations is because of my active imagination and overworking mind. I am a daydreamer. I ruminate, ponder, theorize. I also remember. The interesting thing is, I remember uncomfortable things. Fights I've had or dumb things I've done can play and replay in my mind over and over, when my mind wanders.
Which, as you can see, is often. Actually, I really only do it if I'm ironing or in the shower. Since I rarely iron and only do so when I'm running late and realize once and for all that my shirt can't be worn as is, this isn't an issue. But, the shower? It's supposed to be relaxing. I could be thinking of fun things to be doing in said shower (hello like SINGING), but nooo, I replay past indiscretions. And then instead of feeling all clean and shiny I feel a little bad about whatever it was that happened. Even if it was like two years ago. Is this weird?
Does anybody else have deep thoughts in the shower? Or does the extent of your brainpower go to "did I shave my legs already?" If not the shower, then, tell me, where is your thinking place?
Monday, March 30, 2009
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Fifth Row, Center
Could you imagine a one night only concert, nay, stadium show, featuring
Duffy,
Adele,
and the one and ONLY Amy Jade Winehouse?
In my head, I've already bought tickets.
Duffy,
Adele,
and the one and ONLY Amy Jade Winehouse?
In my head, I've already bought tickets.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
I'll Look Forever if I Have To
Those of you who've been around tGitG for awhile may remember last spring, when things just weren't going my way. I butted heads with friends, school, and guys. I used to have "good days" and "bad days," often in back-to-back succession.
It's about that time again, and while certain things have tried to reappear, I am making a conscious effort to feel better, do better, and be better. I really do think that your attitude determines the outcome of your life, and believe even more in learning from your mistakes and past experiences.
Last year I just felt like I was at the bottom of this dark, funky pit...I'd try to get out but something would drop-kick me right back down into it. I went through so many emotions on almost a daily basis, but one I remember most vividly, more than the helplessness or the loneliness, was the fear. The bottom of that pit was one of the scariest places I have ever been in my life. There was this fear that I would always be down there or that no one could or would pull me out. But one of the best things that happened was that *I* managed to pull my own self out. And when I say that I mean that I let myself be pulled out with support from a few lifesaving people (you know who you are!) and God.
Looking back at my state of mind last spring, I promised myself that I would do whatever it took to gear my life so that I wouldn't ever go back to that pit again. And for the most part, it works. But the calendar goes by and I start to measure my "progress" in all areas of life, I do feel a little bit of anxiety that things will start to go wrong again. I feel somewhat content, but I remember feeling the same contentment last year, just before things got rocky. I also feel like something's missing in my life right now, and I distinctly remember feeling this way last year, so needless to say, I'm tripped out about that as well: The Smoker came in around this time and he was supposed to fill that void and we know how that turned out. I'm having the same feelings but I don't want the same results. I can't go back there. I just...cannot.
So I'd be lying if I said I'm not slightly unsettled by anything that seems to be a repeat or remnant from that time in my life. I feel like I'm just floating on by, and sometimes I welcome numbness because it's better than sadness. I'm a little afraid, but even more, I'm afraid of being just "there," of settling, of being the person who could have had so much more. I want to be happy. The search for happiness, however, doesn't daunt me. Instead, I feel like I'm going to have fun searching for happiness. Where does one start looking for happiness?
It's about that time again, and while certain things have tried to reappear, I am making a conscious effort to feel better, do better, and be better. I really do think that your attitude determines the outcome of your life, and believe even more in learning from your mistakes and past experiences.
Last year I just felt like I was at the bottom of this dark, funky pit...I'd try to get out but something would drop-kick me right back down into it. I went through so many emotions on almost a daily basis, but one I remember most vividly, more than the helplessness or the loneliness, was the fear. The bottom of that pit was one of the scariest places I have ever been in my life. There was this fear that I would always be down there or that no one could or would pull me out. But one of the best things that happened was that *I* managed to pull my own self out. And when I say that I mean that I let myself be pulled out with support from a few lifesaving people (you know who you are!) and God.
Looking back at my state of mind last spring, I promised myself that I would do whatever it took to gear my life so that I wouldn't ever go back to that pit again. And for the most part, it works. But the calendar goes by and I start to measure my "progress" in all areas of life, I do feel a little bit of anxiety that things will start to go wrong again. I feel somewhat content, but I remember feeling the same contentment last year, just before things got rocky. I also feel like something's missing in my life right now, and I distinctly remember feeling this way last year, so needless to say, I'm tripped out about that as well: The Smoker came in around this time and he was supposed to fill that void and we know how that turned out. I'm having the same feelings but I don't want the same results. I can't go back there. I just...cannot.
So I'd be lying if I said I'm not slightly unsettled by anything that seems to be a repeat or remnant from that time in my life. I feel like I'm just floating on by, and sometimes I welcome numbness because it's better than sadness. I'm a little afraid, but even more, I'm afraid of being just "there," of settling, of being the person who could have had so much more. I want to be happy. The search for happiness, however, doesn't daunt me. Instead, I feel like I'm going to have fun searching for happiness. Where does one start looking for happiness?
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Restored via Phone
It's amazing what a girly phone chat with your best friend can do to lift the spirits. Just thought I'd say.
Oh yeah, guess what? Tex has a GIRLFRIEND.
I found (via that damned Facebook) while I was on the phone with BFF. I looked at a few photos of them together and subsequently started whining, mid-conversation, about "the bad decisions and failures that are my liiiiiiiifffeee." BFF, no stranger to my "woe is me, I am single" ranting, wisely ignored me until I was through. And for that I love her.
Le sigh. Table for one, please. But I am trying to get my life right so maybe it's best that I go this one alone...plus, let's be honest, I don't have time to get through a whole magazine in one sitting and I'm pretty sure that if I had a boy at this moment he would get lost somewhere between my full dishwasher and carful of shoes.
Oh yeah, guess what? Tex has a GIRLFRIEND.
I found (via that damned Facebook) while I was on the phone with BFF. I looked at a few photos of them together and subsequently started whining, mid-conversation, about "the bad decisions and failures that are my liiiiiiiifffeee." BFF, no stranger to my "woe is me, I am single" ranting, wisely ignored me until I was through. And for that I love her.
Le sigh. Table for one, please. But I am trying to get my life right so maybe it's best that I go this one alone...plus, let's be honest, I don't have time to get through a whole magazine in one sitting and I'm pretty sure that if I had a boy at this moment he would get lost somewhere between my full dishwasher and carful of shoes.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Girl Seeking Books
A double-post! Go me.
One of the ironic things about being an English major is that you don't have time to read for pleasure anymore. Seriously. The highlight of my week was looking up interesting book titles on Amazon.com and reading the blurbs and reviews. La-ame. And when/if you actually do have time to read for leisure, your brain is so tired from all that academic mumbo-jumbo that all you want to re-read is Confessions of a Shopaholic for the 43rd time. My mom laments [talks shit] that I read literary junk food all the time, but in my defense, I read Of Mice and Men, The Scarlet Letter, and To Kill a Mockingbird all before I reached middle school.
I may have peaked.
Anyway, I need something in between, you know? Something a little more highbrow than Size 12 is Not Fat (don't hate) but that's not too heavy. Bonus points if it's a British book: they're funny. And must, MUST have a traditional plotline. No Toni Morrison. I like linear novels. Stories. Give me your basic rising action, climax, falling action, denouement structure. With preferably a love scene thrown in for good measure. Also, and this is a recent development, black characters preferred.
This is the fly in the pudding. See, I like chick-lit (again, don't hate). However, love it though I do, all of the plucky, earnest characters in said chick-lit seem to be lacking melanin. Pre-HBCU, this would not have bothered me. Now, it does. When I finally came across a black historical romance novel, I freaked out in the middle of Borders.
I'm not saying that there are no books for black women, because one, DUH that's a lie. But what I'm having a hard time finding are, say the black version of Jennifer Weiner or Meg Cabot. Stories (of quality) about contemporary, middle-class, educated black females like myself. Like a novel about a Vanessa Huxtable-type gal.
So, suggestions, anyone, on some quality literary stimulation? Maybe I just don't know where to look, point me in the right direction! And ok, they don't just have to be FUBU reading (For Us By Us, if you don't remember that horrid satortical phase); any good, moderately-easy to get through novels will do.
As if I'll have time to read them.
PS-had another internet run-in with The Smoker that I would've mentioned had it been productive/interesting, but I shan't even waste space because he has proved, once again in stunning fashion, to be a major asshat. It's my fault for [starting?] entertaining it, but damn! He is the king of Home Depot (ie, a tool). How do you forget someone who won't stay gone?
One of the ironic things about being an English major is that you don't have time to read for pleasure anymore. Seriously. The highlight of my week was looking up interesting book titles on Amazon.com and reading the blurbs and reviews. La-ame. And when/if you actually do have time to read for leisure, your brain is so tired from all that academic mumbo-jumbo that all you want to re-read is Confessions of a Shopaholic for the 43rd time. My mom laments [talks shit] that I read literary junk food all the time, but in my defense, I read Of Mice and Men, The Scarlet Letter, and To Kill a Mockingbird all before I reached middle school.
I may have peaked.
Anyway, I need something in between, you know? Something a little more highbrow than Size 12 is Not Fat (don't hate) but that's not too heavy. Bonus points if it's a British book: they're funny. And must, MUST have a traditional plotline. No Toni Morrison. I like linear novels. Stories. Give me your basic rising action, climax, falling action, denouement structure. With preferably a love scene thrown in for good measure. Also, and this is a recent development, black characters preferred.
This is the fly in the pudding. See, I like chick-lit (again, don't hate). However, love it though I do, all of the plucky, earnest characters in said chick-lit seem to be lacking melanin. Pre-HBCU, this would not have bothered me. Now, it does. When I finally came across a black historical romance novel, I freaked out in the middle of Borders.
I'm not saying that there are no books for black women, because one, DUH that's a lie. But what I'm having a hard time finding are, say the black version of Jennifer Weiner or Meg Cabot. Stories (of quality) about contemporary, middle-class, educated black females like myself. Like a novel about a Vanessa Huxtable-type gal.
So, suggestions, anyone, on some quality literary stimulation? Maybe I just don't know where to look, point me in the right direction! And ok, they don't just have to be FUBU reading (For Us By Us, if you don't remember that horrid satortical phase); any good, moderately-easy to get through novels will do.
As if I'll have time to read them.
PS-had another internet run-in with The Smoker that I would've mentioned had it been productive/interesting, but I shan't even waste space because he has proved, once again in stunning fashion, to be a major asshat. It's my fault for [starting?] entertaining it, but damn! He is the king of Home Depot (ie, a tool). How do you forget someone who won't stay gone?
Cheers...or Not
After chuckling merrily at Vittoria's epic tale of Andre-themed debauchery, I fully intended to comment, but length of said comment was enough to warrant an actual post of my own.
Vittoria's story included chicken and champagne. I think I can do her almost one better: Mine includes Doritos and tequila.
It was Spring Break.
Advice: don't kill a full bag of Doritos and then do numerous shots of tequila (Tequila? Yep, it was tequila. And I'm sure other things but mostly...tequila). Were they "numerous" in the ordinary sense? Um, no.
See, earlier in the day we went to an arcade and I of course completely rocked at Skee-Ball and therefore accumulated lots of tickets and when I went to turn 'em in for the prize, I came across these little plastic cups. Cups that, I thought, looked too small to be considered actual shot glasses, and so it stood to reason that I get two instead of one.
Do you see the impending problem? A few drinks later, my thought process (I imagine) went as follows: since the one maybe-shot glass looks like half of a real shot, DUH must then drink double.
Multiply the term "let's do a shot" by two, repeat within an average pre-gaming time frame, and what you will then have on your hands is a catastrophe. And frankly, Doritos-flavored vomitus. In a club. In a ladies' room sink.
The rest is a history which I shan't repeat here. I mean, it really isn't BAD in the grand scheme of things (I returned with all of my clothes, which is a plus) but, well, a) it's all a blur, and more importantly 2) it's mortifyingly mortifying. Like, waking up the next morning in the fetal position under the covers yelling internally "what the hell was I thinking this is not the Bad Girls' Club oh God I won't have any friends left yecch my stomach hurts I need Jesus"-mortifying.
I'm no one's prude or anything but that night put me off libations for...the time being. Except Fuzzy Navels. And even those might have to wait awhile...plus, ok, the next time we went out, I was totally sober and I met that boy. SIGN.
PS-If you meet a boy on a vacation from which you are leaving the next day and never hear from him again and he doesn't have Facebook, does he even exist??
Vittoria's story included chicken and champagne. I think I can do her almost one better: Mine includes Doritos and tequila.
It was Spring Break.
Advice: don't kill a full bag of Doritos and then do numerous shots of tequila (Tequila? Yep, it was tequila. And I'm sure other things but mostly...tequila). Were they "numerous" in the ordinary sense? Um, no.
See, earlier in the day we went to an arcade and I of course completely rocked at Skee-Ball and therefore accumulated lots of tickets and when I went to turn 'em in for the prize, I came across these little plastic cups. Cups that, I thought, looked too small to be considered actual shot glasses, and so it stood to reason that I get two instead of one.
Do you see the impending problem? A few drinks later, my thought process (I imagine) went as follows: since the one maybe-shot glass looks like half of a real shot, DUH must then drink double.
Multiply the term "let's do a shot" by two, repeat within an average pre-gaming time frame, and what you will then have on your hands is a catastrophe. And frankly, Doritos-flavored vomitus. In a club. In a ladies' room sink.
The rest is a history which I shan't repeat here. I mean, it really isn't BAD in the grand scheme of things (I returned with all of my clothes, which is a plus) but, well, a) it's all a blur, and more importantly 2) it's mortifyingly mortifying. Like, waking up the next morning in the fetal position under the covers yelling internally "what the hell was I thinking this is not the Bad Girls' Club oh God I won't have any friends left yecch my stomach hurts I need Jesus"-mortifying.
I'm no one's prude or anything but that night put me off libations for...the time being. Except Fuzzy Navels. And even those might have to wait awhile...plus, ok, the next time we went out, I was totally sober and I met that boy. SIGN.
PS-If you meet a boy on a vacation from which you are leaving the next day and never hear from him again and he doesn't have Facebook, does he even exist??
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
I Need a Hero
One glance at this video and I was rendered speechless.
I gotta apologize to you guys. One, for neglecting the blog as of late. Two, I feel like I cheated you out of a spring break post, but I don't/didn't know where to start. So, if you have any questions about what went down in the Beach of Myrtle, feel free to ask away. I work better that way.
I'm trying to get my grades where I want them, which unfortunately is taking up most of my attention, so that's why I've been MIA. Can't knock someone for trying to get a little edu-ma-cation, can you? Can you??? Well. Think happy scholarly thoughts for me. I'll try to post more often. They might be little boring-ish blurbs, but hey. Progress is a slow process, kids.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Spring Break Leftovers
Back in Southern State and detoxing from partying and junk food. Overall a crazy-fun trip; I miss the beach already!
But yay for sand between my toes.On the last night, we went out to a club to celebrate [drink the rest of the liquor--not me though!] and I met a guy. Shocker, right?
Sistah Girl, Cali Girl, Ms. Politics, and I were walking back from the bar--empty-handed, those bitches didn't yell "Last Call"--when this tall dude cut me off and introduced himself. We chatted for two seconds, he was nice enough, and he asked for my number. I didn't have my phone so he took mine. I was flattered but chalked it up to life and spring break--he's a local, after all, and we were leaving the next day. But he did call and we ended up texting the rest of the night. And a little the next day, during the six-hour road trip. Haven't heard from him since yesterday, but again, it's not like I'll be going back to Myrtle Beach anytime soon so if anything, it's a good ego boost. He thinks I'm gorgeous, dontcha know.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Lessoned Learned
Consider this the point in the college career where I decide never to drink again because as a result I may lose all of my friends after making a complete ass of myself at a club on spring break and being made to feel/feeling absolutely horrible about it.
Don't know what else to say. Stories of "drinking with pals" gone bad would rreeeeeaaalllyyyy help me from feeling like complete shit right about now. Thanks in advance.
Don't know what else to say. Stories of "drinking with pals" gone bad would rreeeeeaaalllyyyy help me from feeling like complete shit right about now. Thanks in advance.
Friday, March 6, 2009
Mama Said it Would be Days Like This
While [on Facebook] trying to finish another midterm I saw that The Smoker was online. When I saw his name the first thing I thought was "I think I hate him..."
Then, That Boy got on. I Blackberry'd Mr. GQ and he was all for FB chatting him. Torn, I turned to the trusty radio game. I asked "Should I FB chat him?" R. Kelly's "Bump and Grind" came on.
This can't be life.
But I chatted him up. Um, he didn't respond.
For real, though, life cannot be this way.
I have got too many damn love/sex/slow jam songs on my Itunes. That must be it. Now I must go slink back over to Facebook and log off.
Update: oh, never mind. He responded and I didn't see. *oops my bad-type giggle*
Honestly. I talk shit about my friend Mr. GQ being melodramatic as all get out but truth be told I'm the one having Dramatic Cunt Fallouts at the first sign of disorder and then have to backtrack and call off the hounds later.
He's not saying much...I mean, he is but he ain't, if you know what I mean...like he's...dry...maybe he's just quiet. Oh hell I can't do quiet boys because I seem loud in comparison which I am sure is grating. Oh, no. He just wrote that he doesn't really drink. We have a man down affair.
I...don't think this is working. Maybe it's the medium but our conversation feels very forced. Or maybe someone has a slow computer connection. Facebook caking/caking in general used to be fun and now it's too much work like there's too much at stake, too much to read into.
Update: end conversation. I don't see anything becoming of this, especially if I have to keep initiating contact. At best he just doesn't like talking via Internets, at worst he's not a conversationalist/not into me at all/thinks I'm an alcoholic. He hardly asked any questions; it was like pulling teeth and I got a dual-degree in Pimpology and Hustlemonics, not Dentistry (gross. As if). Methinks I'm over it.
Can someone find me a mail-order husband?
Then, That Boy got on. I Blackberry'd Mr. GQ and he was all for FB chatting him. Torn, I turned to the trusty radio game. I asked "Should I FB chat him?" R. Kelly's "Bump and Grind" came on.
This can't be life.
But I chatted him up. Um, he didn't respond.
For real, though, life cannot be this way.
I have got too many damn love/sex/slow jam songs on my Itunes. That must be it. Now I must go slink back over to Facebook and log off.
Update: oh, never mind. He responded and I didn't see. *oops my bad-type giggle*
Honestly. I talk shit about my friend Mr. GQ being melodramatic as all get out but truth be told I'm the one having Dramatic Cunt Fallouts at the first sign of disorder and then have to backtrack and call off the hounds later.
He's not saying much...I mean, he is but he ain't, if you know what I mean...like he's...dry...maybe he's just quiet. Oh hell I can't do quiet boys because I seem loud in comparison which I am sure is grating. Oh, no. He just wrote that he doesn't really drink. We have a man down affair.
I...don't think this is working. Maybe it's the medium but our conversation feels very forced. Or maybe someone has a slow computer connection. Facebook caking/caking in general used to be fun and now it's too much work like there's too much at stake, too much to read into.
Update: end conversation. I don't see anything becoming of this, especially if I have to keep initiating contact. At best he just doesn't like talking via Internets, at worst he's not a conversationalist/not into me at all/thinks I'm an alcoholic. He hardly asked any questions; it was like pulling teeth and I got a dual-degree in Pimpology and Hustlemonics, not Dentistry (gross. As if). Methinks I'm over it.
Can someone find me a mail-order husband?
The List That Wasn't
I am [watching Why Did I Get Married] completing my midterm and started thinking about this 80-20 business. If I had to narrow it down to 10 things I need in a man it would be
1. Be nice to me.
2. ...
Oh hell, I dunno. Complain though I might, I honestly can't imagine a man taking up my lifespace at this point. I have so many other things to think about that I can't come up with anything that would allow me to allow a man to get a slice of my life pie chart. Weird...
Or I could just be too lazy and worn from this week to come up with anything [other than a strong desire to make out] more concrete.
Spring break starts tomorrow, yippee!
1. Be nice to me.
2. ...
Oh hell, I dunno. Complain though I might, I honestly can't imagine a man taking up my lifespace at this point. I have so many other things to think about that I can't come up with anything that would allow me to allow a man to get a slice of my life pie chart. Weird...
Or I could just be too lazy and worn from this week to come up with anything [other than a strong desire to make out] more concrete.
Spring break starts tomorrow, yippee!
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Two Steps Back
True story: I was groggy from a nap and I turned on RuPaul's Drag Race...it gave me so much life that I am wide awake and ready to do homework.
Last Monday, I got a random Facebook message from The Smoker...followed by Facebook chat, text, and call--all within an hour. The gist of his argument was that he's changed ("maybe I wasn't as honest as I should have been") and it ended with him asking for the pleasure of my company for drinks on Saturday. I give him a hard time but finally concede.
"This isn't gonna be like last time," I say. "I'm not chasing you, if you want to do something, you set it up." He agrees, but I know he thinks I will text/call/initiate contact. Ah, but 'tis a fool who thinks that I didn't learn something from last time. And I stick to my word: no textual activity otherwise comes from me. None comes from him either.
I run into him on Thursday, slightly witty banter ensues, nothing more.
Saturday rolls around. I'm shopping with Cali Girl and Ms. Politics for our upcoming spring break trip in a mall way out in Tourist-ville. I give this boy until 7pm, then, shit, I need to know if we need to leave or if we can go out to dinner. So I cave in and text him, he responds quickly: "Who is this?"
Oh, honey, you tried to bullshit a bullshitter. Now I know you have your phone on your person and are fully capable of receiving and sending text messages.
I text back that it's me and I'm just trying to see if we're still on for tonight.
Here's the funny part, guys: NO ANSWER. It is now Tuesday evening and not a word. Did I scare him into reneging with our 3.5 minutes of chatting on Thursday? Erroneous either way. A leopard doesn't change his spots, I guess.
I knew to keep my guard up this time, so more instead of feeling hurt or betrayed or whatever, I'm slightly irritated that he entered my lifespace and dangled a free meal in front of me. But I am wondering, what was your purpose, then? You had to fuck with my head just as you were about to fade into mental obscurity, or something? Oh, and just for bonus points, let's do this right around the time when I'm already majorly stressing about midterms, spring break, and have my sights set on a boy who has ACTUALLY BEEN DECENT TO ME.**
**Speaking of which, me and That Boy passed each other on campus today and even though he was on the phone he said hi...the whole exchange dripped with niceness and recognition from him [and uncontrollable fire and desire from me]. God he is so cute.
My first thought was to call him and cuss him the hell out just for his presence on this Earth. But my good buddy Chicago Jay wisely talked me out of it. Barely.
Last Monday, I got a random Facebook message from The Smoker...followed by Facebook chat, text, and call--all within an hour. The gist of his argument was that he's changed ("maybe I wasn't as honest as I should have been") and it ended with him asking for the pleasure of my company for drinks on Saturday. I give him a hard time but finally concede.
"This isn't gonna be like last time," I say. "I'm not chasing you, if you want to do something, you set it up." He agrees, but I know he thinks I will text/call/initiate contact. Ah, but 'tis a fool who thinks that I didn't learn something from last time. And I stick to my word: no textual activity otherwise comes from me. None comes from him either.
I run into him on Thursday, slightly witty banter ensues, nothing more.
Saturday rolls around. I'm shopping with Cali Girl and Ms. Politics for our upcoming spring break trip in a mall way out in Tourist-ville. I give this boy until 7pm, then, shit, I need to know if we need to leave or if we can go out to dinner. So I cave in and text him, he responds quickly: "Who is this?"
Oh, honey, you tried to bullshit a bullshitter. Now I know you have your phone on your person and are fully capable of receiving and sending text messages.
I text back that it's me and I'm just trying to see if we're still on for tonight.
Here's the funny part, guys: NO ANSWER. It is now Tuesday evening and not a word. Did I scare him into reneging with our 3.5 minutes of chatting on Thursday? Erroneous either way. A leopard doesn't change his spots, I guess.
I knew to keep my guard up this time, so more instead of feeling hurt or betrayed or whatever, I'm slightly irritated that he entered my lifespace and dangled a free meal in front of me. But I am wondering, what was your purpose, then? You had to fuck with my head just as you were about to fade into mental obscurity, or something? Oh, and just for bonus points, let's do this right around the time when I'm already majorly stressing about midterms, spring break, and have my sights set on a boy who has ACTUALLY BEEN DECENT TO ME.**
**Speaking of which, me and That Boy passed each other on campus today and even though he was on the phone he said hi...the whole exchange dripped with niceness and recognition from him [and uncontrollable fire and desire from me]. God he is so cute.
My first thought was to call him and cuss him the hell out just for his presence on this Earth. But my good buddy Chicago Jay wisely talked me out of it. Barely.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Disgusted
Just know that I am seriously considering a Fuck Niggas Get Money tattoo.
It's been that kind of week.
It's been that kind of week.
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