Ya girl is wireless now... quake the fuck in fear and such.
Verily I say unto thee: there shalt be a plethora of blogging going down. I have been very remiss in the prior days. Spank me - if you can catch me.
I've been going through quite a bit in the last few weeks. Not all of it good but all of it a lesson in one form or another.
Folks are dropping out of my life like flies. It could be taken as a bad thing if it were not for the fact that no one likes to be beset with flies. Unless, of course, they are a pile of shit. Or a toad.
I'm still facing the issue of dealing with the idea that everything that is wrong cannot be fixed overnight. Trust me, I wish it could be because the alternative can be a slight pain in the tukus.
I'm at war with Sprint yet again. I need to just cede the damned battle because it is more than apparent that I SUCK at fighting them. This time it's because I was unaware of my plan lacking roaming coverage. So I let my phone travel with a friend and it came back to me with a whopping 299 roaming minutes at a ridiculous .40 cents per minute plus tax. I don't even want to do the math. So it's off. And it's gonna stay that way. For now at least.
Speaking of my traveling amiga, she's put out with me and I'm none too sure why. Sure, we've had some history that we had to work out plus I'm a self-centered cad with a bad memory. I didn't think it was enough to be given a boot in the ass for, yet I'm getting an unpleasant tingle in my trap door from the leather lodged therein. I don't have much in the way of patience for these sorts of things so I'm quite sure sooner than not I shall be forced to extract the offending foot from my bottom. Ouchie.
My old partner and I exchanged words. Well, it's more like she cussed me the fuck out. Let me just put it out there. We made a deal that fell through. I owe her a SHITLOAD of money. You can't squeeze water from a rock though. Hi, my name is Stone. We parted ways some time ago (not because of the moola, but more so because of a choice I made). Occasion came for me to contact her and I did, attempting, erroneously, to be cordial. She, in turn, vented her entire spleen. I, in response, made the silly "O" face (because I don't dislike her). Let's just say that I had to acquiesce to the assertion that cordiality was not in our future. Besides, I didn't want my mind to pigeonhole her as yet another dame that needed to be dragged hither and fro by her tresses.
My homegirl ran into the erstwhile Pretty Noose and its beloved Ball-n-Chain. For some insane reason, my girl thought I would want to know the details. Instead, I threw up in my mouth a little bit and berated myself for not carrying a portable toothbrush for just such moments. Thank God for Dentyne Ice. Lesson learned? Getting over it is one thing, getting sick of it is quite another.
I just came in from the first part of my portfolio shoot. Hmpf. While I am a picture whore, I still find it odd to be the focus of such an endeavor. I'll get over it though, and soon 'cause them thar pics are gonna be hot! Anyhoo, my digits are nothing short of fingersicles and the acrylic contraptions attached to my nail beds are not helping me type much. Sheesh. Where was I going with this? Oh yeah. I waltzed in the building doing my Mala-walk and ran into mi Negro clomping down the stairs with the force of all 13 of his shoe sizes. He takes one look at me, says "jour hand... why it look so empty..." and then with a disdainful sniff, clomps right out of the building. Like I signed some kind of Wear It Always contract. Men. You can't live with 'em and you can't hoist 'em all on their own petards. God bless their tiny brains.
Well, let me go forth and be somewhat productive. I've got to get a new micro-cassette recorder since I lost the last one rushing out of Leopard Lounge on Wednesday night. I've got countless tapes full of notes that I'd be loathe to lose. Funny, recording on micro-cassette was done to alleviate the heartache of a Treo gone unwholesomely wrong, but losing the damned contraption and not being able to replay my recordings, is just as painful as a blasted treo. I'll be "acting" this week so I think reviewing my lines would be wise. It's CMJ week and I've got about a gang of shows to attend, (AfroPunk's shows are sure to kick ass minus the name taking). Also, a copy Faust by von Goethe is laying on my bed flapping its pages (that are being blown ever-so-gently by my ever-so-slightly open window) saucily at me. Books! Oh how they do flirt.
- vrrrrrrrrrrrooooooooooom (the sound of my mind revving up)
P.S. I've said it before, I'll say it again: Dao-Yi is one of the most beautiful men in creation. Period. Full stop. I drooled all over someone's keyboard looking at him. Sheesh.
P.P.S Before you even start Mr. Negron - STOP!
Verily I say unto thee: there shalt be a plethora of blogging going down. I have been very remiss in the prior days. Spank me - if you can catch me.
I've been going through quite a bit in the last few weeks. Not all of it good but all of it a lesson in one form or another.
Folks are dropping out of my life like flies. It could be taken as a bad thing if it were not for the fact that no one likes to be beset with flies. Unless, of course, they are a pile of shit. Or a toad.
I'm still facing the issue of dealing with the idea that everything that is wrong cannot be fixed overnight. Trust me, I wish it could be because the alternative can be a slight pain in the tukus.
I'm at war with Sprint yet again. I need to just cede the damned battle because it is more than apparent that I SUCK at fighting them. This time it's because I was unaware of my plan lacking roaming coverage. So I let my phone travel with a friend and it came back to me with a whopping 299 roaming minutes at a ridiculous .40 cents per minute plus tax. I don't even want to do the math. So it's off. And it's gonna stay that way. For now at least.
Speaking of my traveling amiga, she's put out with me and I'm none too sure why. Sure, we've had some history that we had to work out plus I'm a self-centered cad with a bad memory. I didn't think it was enough to be given a boot in the ass for, yet I'm getting an unpleasant tingle in my trap door from the leather lodged therein. I don't have much in the way of patience for these sorts of things so I'm quite sure sooner than not I shall be forced to extract the offending foot from my bottom. Ouchie.
My old partner and I exchanged words. Well, it's more like she cussed me the fuck out. Let me just put it out there. We made a deal that fell through. I owe her a SHITLOAD of money. You can't squeeze water from a rock though. Hi, my name is Stone. We parted ways some time ago (not because of the moola, but more so because of a choice I made). Occasion came for me to contact her and I did, attempting, erroneously, to be cordial. She, in turn, vented her entire spleen. I, in response, made the silly "O" face (because I don't dislike her). Let's just say that I had to acquiesce to the assertion that cordiality was not in our future. Besides, I didn't want my mind to pigeonhole her as yet another dame that needed to be dragged hither and fro by her tresses.
My homegirl ran into the erstwhile Pretty Noose and its beloved Ball-n-Chain. For some insane reason, my girl thought I would want to know the details. Instead, I threw up in my mouth a little bit and berated myself for not carrying a portable toothbrush for just such moments. Thank God for Dentyne Ice. Lesson learned? Getting over it is one thing, getting sick of it is quite another.
I just came in from the first part of my portfolio shoot. Hmpf. While I am a picture whore, I still find it odd to be the focus of such an endeavor. I'll get over it though, and soon 'cause them thar pics are gonna be hot! Anyhoo, my digits are nothing short of fingersicles and the acrylic contraptions attached to my nail beds are not helping me type much. Sheesh. Where was I going with this? Oh yeah. I waltzed in the building doing my Mala-walk and ran into mi Negro clomping down the stairs with the force of all 13 of his shoe sizes. He takes one look at me, says "jour hand... why it look so empty..." and then with a disdainful sniff, clomps right out of the building. Like I signed some kind of Wear It Always contract. Men. You can't live with 'em and you can't hoist 'em all on their own petards. God bless their tiny brains.
Well, let me go forth and be somewhat productive. I've got to get a new micro-cassette recorder since I lost the last one rushing out of Leopard Lounge on Wednesday night. I've got countless tapes full of notes that I'd be loathe to lose. Funny, recording on micro-cassette was done to alleviate the heartache of a Treo gone unwholesomely wrong, but losing the damned contraption and not being able to replay my recordings, is just as painful as a blasted treo. I'll be "acting" this week so I think reviewing my lines would be wise. It's CMJ week and I've got about a gang of shows to attend, (AfroPunk's shows are sure to kick ass minus the name taking). Also, a copy Faust by von Goethe is laying on my bed flapping its pages (that are being blown ever-so-gently by my ever-so-slightly open window) saucily at me. Books! Oh how they do flirt.
- vrrrrrrrrrrrooooooooooom (the sound of my mind revving up)
P.S. I've said it before, I'll say it again: Dao-Yi is one of the most beautiful men in creation. Period. Full stop. I drooled all over someone's keyboard looking at him. Sheesh.
P.P.S Before you even start Mr. Negron - STOP!
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