Oh, Put a Lid...I Mean, Ring, On It

MERRY BELATED CHRISTMAS, YE MERRY BLOGGERS. I thought about you all, I really did. Hope everybody had a grand-slam of a Christmas, I sure did (LAL 92, BOS 83, for starters). But for the record, young, attractive, happy couples are not allowed in my house [presence] anymore. It's depressing.

Why did I not get out of bed until (I'm ashamed) 5:28pm??? Blame it on my fabulous new One Tree Hill Season 5 box set, which kept me awake long after guests had left...what did everybody get? Spill in the comments, I'm curious!

Sad news about Eartha Kitt, though. She did the damn thing...even though, I have to be honest, "Santa Baby' is my least favorite song on Earth. I feel bad about saying it now, but I truly hate it. Still, she was a legend.

A black female legend, you say? Wait for it, wait for it...aha, of course, Miss B-Day herself is slated to play Eartha in a biopic. *Blank stare followed by exasperated sigh*. Beyonce. GIRL. If I have to, as Luvvie hilariously puts it, watch as you wear a bad wig, cuss awkwardly, and choke on smoke, I will lose my damn mind. This is not coming from a place of hateration, but Bey can't act like that. And certainly not at the level where the first name I think of to play a legendary female and knock it out of the park is Beyonce Carter (nee Knowles). I mean, there's even sort of a taboo in Hollywood that people only really star in more than one or even two biopics. Even still, starring in several and doing so successfully means that you are a certified high-roller. See Washington, Denzel as Hurricane, Malcom X, or hell, Herman Boone. See also Smith, Will as Muhammed Ali, that guy in The Pursuit of Happyness, and, let's take an honest look into the future, Barack Obama. These are acting heavyweights who take on the task of "becoming" someone else, doing it well, and turning around to repeat that feat. And here comes Beyonce's non-acting ass. I admire her hustle but this has got to stop. I'm just saying to me, she belongs on my Ipod, not in my DVD player**.

OR MY CLOSET.

**Ok, ok, not including The Beyonce Experience, 'cause that sh*t was wondrous. Peep my favorite part:

Happy Christmakkuwanzaa!

Finally, right? Pulled in a seriously good haul so far...as you see, liveblogging did not happen. It probably will not happen--cut me some slack, 'tis the season. Actually I'm only on here because only my weird-ish relatives have arrived and I'm in my room waiting for the more normal folks. Especially Little Cousin. Then the real party can begin.

Now bring me some figgy pudding, a shot glass of good cheer.

Festivus, Revamped

If it seems that I am swag-jacking Vittoria with "Post-Festivus" post, it's because I am.

-Thanks for repeatedly putting up with my drunk arse.
-Come to think of it, thanks for keeping all of my bad thoughts. I would've had a nervous breakdown a long time ago if it wasn't for you! *cue Marvin Sapp*
-Even though we're years apart, thanks for being an all-around roadie. I can't believe how cool you've grown up to be.
-I appreciate you gossiping and talking sh*t with me in corners-together we are fabulous and snazzy people!
-Thank you for your kind words. I never saw you again, but what you said and the fact that you said it at all really touched me.
-Thanks for being a great mentor, great teacher, and for not judging me when I cussed him out in front of you. You give me confidence as a writer.
-Sometimes I wish I had your independent confidence.
-Thanks for telling me my jeans are too big.
-We always have SO much fun in the car on the way home!
-I have no idea why you still like me enough to be my friend, but I love you and am glad that you are.
-You're the most poised and classy lady I've ever met...I'm glad you got married and started a family like you've always wanted.
-Because of you, I found a career path--when I start my own magazine or business, you're the first person I'm hiring.
-You two are the best parents a girl could have.

I feel all merry inside. Which is good because I still have shopping and Christmas-y things to do and need that extra sprinkle of holiday cheer--at this moment, teeth are unbrushed and pajamas may be still on. Maybe I'll liveblog Christmas tomorrow (ha ha, Christmas is tomorrow, yay!).

Pre-Holiday Rambling

Grievances:

-Sometimes you are a selfish brat who deserves a good, hard, pinch.
-Please, just...be quiet and let me do me.
-You did that just to fuck with me, didn't you? You smarmy, hateful bastard, you.
-We take you for granted and kind of treat you bad, but I love you more than words can say.

Okay. Glad THAT's over with. Because today was a good day and airing out my grievances is just a small part of it. Let's see...Youngest Sister, my mom, and I got our hair done today which...took awhile. Freshly blow-dried, my hair takes on an unfortunate mullet personality. Also, I realized all of my jeans are about a size too big. They were loose even before I lost five pounds--which, by some Christmas miracle, I totally did--because I have a habit of buying clothes, especially pants, a leeetle too big. They fit adequately in the store, then as I wear and wear and wear them, they start to droop and get baggy. Like, there is one pair I can put on without unbuttoning them. Jeans are supposed to be a bit tight when you try them on 'cause they stretch, but because I have a fear of Dunlap's disease, when I try on a pair of pants I suddenly get a whatiftheyshrinkandIlooklikeasausage panic attack and go up a size, which means I have a closet full saggy jeans. The next time I go to Old Navy I'm going to have to force myself to get a pair that fits fits. Clearly my issues extend far and wide, even into purchasing denim. This is why I like sweatpants.

Perhaps I lost those five pounds trekking through the neighborhood [ok, I took Precious the dog for a walk last week], which is less like a friendly subdivision and more like evil, mountaneous, snowy terrain these days. It won't stop snowing! It has snowed every day since Thursday night--which makes driving or walking outside a nice [dangerous and kind of scary] adventure worthy of only my Ugg boots as suitable footwear. But secretly, it's kind of fun to walk/lunge/jump/stomp through 2 feet of snow. Plus, it's so pretty outside, from the warmth of a house, to look out and see houses lit up against the fluffy white backdrop like a snowglobe.

A few weeks ago, I guess my dad started reading Magic Johnson's book about how he makes his money (here's the key, people: ownership. Think big.) and really liked it. Dad's always been a Magic fan--they were even at Michigan State together (at the signing, Magic had on a MSU sweatshirt). This evening, Dad and I braved the snow and went to Barnes and Noble where No. 32 himself was signing books. Well, the newspaper said he'd only sign books, but Magic was such a good sport that he signed shirts, magazines, basketballs, etc--seriously, some people had like 12 books, and Magic signed them all. I told him I was a Sports Journalism major, and he was impressed (like every other male is when I tell them that) and he posed for a picture with Dad and I. It was funny because both him and Dad are super-tall so I stood in the middle. He's cool people--add him next to Mark Texiera (how about those Yankees?), Gayle Sayers, and Joe Torre on the list of Really Nice Sports Guys. And yes, I am name-dropping. Deal with it.

Sidebar: a lot of people were wearing Pistons gear like, "especially" to meet Magic, and I was just thinking, um why? It's not like he played for Detroit. And I mean, come on, Pistons vs Lakers is a CLASSIC rivalry. Derr.

Speaking of the Pistons, I cannot effing wait to go to the game. If I think about it too much I'll pass out from excitement. Even though they have work to do in this nasty transition period. But here is the mark of a true fan: you don't disappear when things get tough. And right now, things are tough.

Sidebar: I'm watching the Pistons game right now (we won, thank God), but why does the camera follow a player until RIGHT before he takes his jersey off as he heads into the locker room? Just to mess with us, that's why.

Last night, I stayed up until 5am browsing shirts, jackets, underwear, nightgowns, and jewelry that I can't exactly afford at the moment. Why I torture myself, I have no idea. I actually kind of hate buying clothes, to be truthful. I think I might start buying clothes online and get the twofold bonus of a) saving myself a headache and 2) getting packages in the mail. The idea of clothes makes me happy but I am soooo not a fashion girl. I'd rather buy books, makeup, bargain bin DVDs, or, um, food. Oooooh...food...like bubble tea and chocolate cake, yum...

In case you haven't noticed, I'm going through a bit of a snit with my writing (the snit being that I think it sucks) so we'll just have to make do with these posts until I Find Myself. I think I've been lost for awhile.

All in the Family

I can't write. My words look stupid when I read them. I was going to write a filler post with a handy-dandy meme lovingly hijacked from Eb at RBW and One Ten, but as I started to fill it out, unbearable sadness flooded me. The first question got me: "10 things you wish you could say to 10 different people." My responses were more like confessions, no doubt fueled by the annoying fuckery going on at my house at the moment, therefore making them excessively negative. I just feel...low. Going to school far away did more good than I would have imagined; made me see how sheltered by the desire to please my parents I was. When I'm at school I think that I'm taking steps towards some liberation, but every time I come back home, I end up under their thumb once again. I was the good child so I don't know how to rebel properly. I feel trapped here, especially watching my parents argue with my sisters--that's the worst. Like I said, I was the good kid, but aside from getting me a scholarship into a fine institution, following the rules got me nowhere. I can't go into a store and buy something without first wondering what my mom will think. We can all gather that 95% of the time I absolutely love my family and I know how lucky I am to have such a close-knit one, but I can't help but feel crippled by its expectations sometimes. Almost like I have this inane "fear" of speaking out against my parents; I'll think something like, "you're nagging!" or worse, "you aren't here enough" and then immediately feel this unimaginable guilt--it's been made this horrifying sin to think ill of my parents at any given moment. Do you see how much pressure that is? And the fact that I end up forsaking my own will to avoid argument and succumb to my parent/mom's will so much scares me for the future--what am I going to do when it's time to plan my wedding or decorate my house? I hate that every decision I make that my mom doesn't agree with is equated to "you're just doing this to spite me." I guess I'm seeking independence. The knowledge that I'm allowed to be angry at my parents without the world stopping or me being a horrible, ungrateful child.

The next time I come home, I'm staying in a hotel.

The NBA, Where Cliches Happen

10. "...they/we just have to find a way to win."

9. "...I can't take anything away from [opponent]: they played a great game, executed well."

8. "...we were able to finish strong and get/come through with the win/get the job done."

7. "...it was a dogfight/heckuva basketball game!"

6. "...with a COMMANDING 3-1 lead."

5. "...in this PIVOTAL game 5."

4. "...a double-overtime thriller!"

3. "...Lebron James with NO REGARD FOR HUMAN LIFE!!" (Note: Gag me.)

2. "...we just have to take it one game at a time."

And of course, the post-game press conference staple:

1. "Both teams played hard."

The Blog is Mightier Than the Pillow

Let it be known, I seriously have a BOMB-ASS blogroll.

You guys are poignant. You guys are funnyistic. YOU GUYS ARE KEEPING ME AWAKE AT 5:03 IN THE MORNING WITH YOUR HILARIOUSITY.

So knock it off. Damn.

Except don't. Seriously, keep up the good work and sh*t.

Winners of the "Stupid Ass Parents" Contest

Sometimes, people shock me with their stupidity. But, in doing so, sometimes the dissenters shock me in a good way, too. That was the case with this whole "dumbass parents who named their kid 'Adolf Hitler'" drama. There's not a WORD to describe how I feel about the fucked-up-icityosityness of those parents. Little Alfie might get his ass beat once he starts school, even though he didn't choose his name. And I bet when the class covers WWII the teacher will be throwing her parents a MEAN side-eye in spirit. Sigh. Ramifications, people. Just...wow.

Here's my opinion on all this (key word: opinion).

Racism is still alive and present, contrary to popular belief. I've been lucky enough to never have been outrightly discriminated against, but I still get the *side-eye* too much for comfort when I'm in certain parts of Southern State, and it's not because I'm a snazzy dresser. And it seems sometimes that when there's outward or newsworthy racism, an annoying few commenters ('cause I gauge public opinion from the internet, natch) are all "well, why CAN'T black people act right?" So when this happened, I almost expected commenters to be all "well it's free speech" or "he said he has black friends" or even still, "but for real, for real, why CAN'T black people act right?!" But I have to say I was pleasantly surprised to see that there are still some lines that shant be crossed in terms of race, white supremacy being one of them.

'Cause I have to be honest: skinheads/that Aryan shit/supremacists scare the HELL out of me (seeing as I'm black and all, lol)...has anyone seen Higher Learning? Fun Fact: Ty Ty Baby was in it.

And what a scintillating performance she gave.

Anyway, in this age of free speech and whatnot, where the KKK is allowed to have rallies and has the gall to ask BHO to speak at its convention (for reals, google that shit. Update: scratch that, don't google it. You'll just get mad. Trust me), stuff slips in through the cracks every now and then on a technicality. I don't think about it often 'cause these people are extremists (hopefully/probably) in the minority, but it's still scary. But the public outcry from this story gave me comfort that, yes, there is still racism, but no sir, y'all are on another level of "that shit is NOT okay."

Not today, not tomorrow, not on payday.

And also, someone cyber-asked if anyone's ever seen like, well-to-do white supremacists. Like, ones with a respectable-to-profitable occupation, decent taste in clothing, or decent dental care (seriously, click on that link and get into those teeth. Pause for effect.)? I think not. Even the guy in Higher Learning had an unfortunate ponytail/pasty skin situation. This answer exacted the conclusion that white supremacy is a good example of, actually, an inferiority complex! Or Bottom of the Totem Pole Syndrome, where, essentially, they have literally NOTHING else going in any aspect of their sad lives, and only have "well, at least I'm white, therefore I'm better than most in my own way." Um, not really, but do you. Just keep that shit on your side of the farm, sir.

The journalist in me wants to interview these sad, sad people and kill them. With my intellectualosity, and poignant questions, of course! Again, I'm lucky, during the elections, a lot of my friends at My College were like, "I never knew how racist my people back home are!" and I was all, "Really? Damn. I know some slightly ignorant but well-meaning people, but they ain't outright** racist. Sucks to be you, let's go get some food." That said, I don't know what I would say if someone was outright racist to me. I don't mean saying something rude with underlying racial subtext but like, "you blacks sure are [insert insult here]." Especially now, with my HBCU-state of mind, which is quickly any "acceptable Negro" leftover from high school.

**Some make the argument that there are many "dinner table racists" who act tolerant but really are as racist as the day is long. That may be true, but I can't worry about that--I consider that paranoid and plus, I like to give people the benefit of the doubt. When you make your prejudices known and it affects me, THEN we might [will] have a problem.

I wonder if I'll ever have to interview an Aryan Nation-supporter or something, though. Truthfully, it'd be kind of fascinating--in a sick way. I really want to know the mindset of a racist person, want to know why they think they way they do and think it's ok. The first thing I'd ask would be, "you know you're probably going to Hell, right?"

Ok, maybe not on-camera.

But in this case, I would ask, "What reason would you give a Holocaust survivor who wanted to know why you named your daughter after the man responsible for what was probably the worst experience of their life, 6 million others' lives, and brought shame to an entire country?"

Eh, the parents are probably the type who think the Holocaust numbers were exaggerated, that Hitler had his attractive points, or even, more infuriatingly, that the whole thing never happened. On second thought, I couldn't interview them for too long; I would probably jump across the table and there would be slapping involved.

Ugh. I cannot think about this anymore. These fucktards are messing up my chi, when I should be thinking happy holiday thoughts. And about the Sloppy Joes I just made. Plus, I had good news but I had to call foul on this one. A double "eff you" goes to the Campbells for pushing back my good news. See what you've started?

And I thought naming your kid "Bronx Mowgli" "God'Iss Love" or "Audio Science" was bad. Or Shaniqua.

PS: there were more than 72 celebrity babies born this year. Got-dayum!
PPS: Cedric the Entertainer named his daughter Lucky! Go off!
PPPS: On second thought, I don't mind the name Bronx Mowgli. I like New York and I like The Jungle Book.

Train Wreck (followed by happier holiday post)

I am home, folks. Praise Jeebus.

A lot of you (ok, nobody) asked how that thing went, and, to put it mildly, it was disastrous. I showed up 15 minutes late to the interview--thanks a bundle, inept drivers and pouring rain--and she basically was unimpressed from there...you know how PR people are. Not quite friendly except when they have to "network" and even then they don't exactly give off raging tides of goodwill towards mankind. So, yeah, even though I gave what I thought were amazing answers to her questions and having secured a great word-of-mouth recommendation from Hot Boss, I still sulked out of there embarrassed, forlorn, and probably without a spring internship, thinking, "I suck." What a way to end my semester...thank God a few hours later I was on an airplane headed home.

I have, then, resolved to use this time off to resolve the gaping holes in my career strategy. I'm going to work on things like being aggressive and proactive, following up, making and keeping contacts, and figuring out, once and for all, just what the bloody hell I want to do with my life after college. I feel like Bridget Jones, except I already have a diary (and you guys, of course).

I still feel rather slacker-y and dumb being here without any prospects on the horizon. Even the fact that the holidays are my favorite time of year can't keep me from feeling like a partial, if not total, failure. Like I'm behind or something, like I'm not legit...sometimes I think that I don't really have the chops to make it in the business and all my previous gigs have just been luck. Sigh. It's the end of the year, I suppose, that's making me all reflective of the past year, and how I wish some things could have gone differently in order to yield a better outcome or at least make me feel better about myself now...does that make sense? I want to be better, of course, I just can't quite figure out how. It's a control thing--figuring out what I can change and what I can't. Maybe I'll get a self-help book; I tend to wander around aimlessly with nothing but an idea and a song in my head, instead of actually having a solid game plan.

Ooh, speaking of games, here's how I can cheer myself up: I'm going to a Pistons game next month. I haven't been in years. God I can't wait...

Have we been making our Christmas lists and checking them twice, dears? A digital camera, both Kanye West's and Fall Out Boy's new CDs, and either season 5 of One Tree Hill or season 1 of the "Bernie Mac Show" are all on mine...please share! I'm doing Secret Santa with my sisters, like we do every year (yes there are only 3 of us. Shut up), but this year, we're thinking about adding Little Cousin to the circle. Could be fun. I always cheat on SS anyway, and buy both my sisters gifts. I can't help it, I absolutely LOVE giving gifts...

What could also be fun is spending hours at the mall, picking out presents, then driving through the snow, wrapping them up, then debating whether or not to put them under the tree now or wait until the 24th, and seeing my fam's faces when they open my (yet to be bought) super-cool gifts...OMG someone just put on the Temptations' Christmas CD, and the other day at CVS I heard "Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays" from N*SYNC's*** Christmas album, which I totally had, back in the day, ON CASSETTE, no less. I even had a dream that Justin (curly-haired JT, not buzz-cut JT) came home with me for the holidays. I HAVE to find that CD.



***Oh, God, I love N*SYNC...

Things I Cannot Wait For (besides the aforementioned, and besides presents)
-Hey Arnold Christmas episode
-the Rugrats Christmas epsode
-the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air Christmas episode
-Gossip Girl season 1 Christmas episode
-pecan pie
-Santa hats
-parties
-Celtics @ LA Lakers on Christmas
-annual family party games (don't hate)

I am so in my happy place right now.

PS: to any of our Jewish/non-Christmas celebrating brethren, my holiday greetings extend to you as well. Come one, come all, I say :)

Roll On

By tomorrow afternoon I could be a high-roller or a bummy college kid. I don't want to jinx anything, of course, so you'll have to wait for deets. Either way it goes, by tomorrow evening I will be en route Back Home to the Midwest, where it's, oh, probably 25 and snowy. And Christmas is coming! And my one-year blogversary! Oh, yes. I will miss, however, Southern State's cute boys and abundance of gay men. There aren't nearly enough of either where I'm going.



I. CANNOT. WAIT. When I first saw this video I just about died...then yelled out "I've been there!" to almost every landmark that came onscreen. Say what you will about him, but I fucks with Kid Rock, especially after this vid...

Sheeza, I've got a lot of packing to do. I never remember what I need for my month-long stay at home, so I end up with sweatshirts, my entire underwear drawer, and barely any real clothes. Lord.

I was reading Amy's like list (adorable, btw), and one of hers was "goodnight texts." Sigh. I adore those, even better when accompanied by a "good morning, babe" text the next morning. It's the little shit like that I miss (I have to be slightly vulgar, see, to keep from being overly sentimental. These memories are tryin' to test my gangsta, and I won't have it). So I don't sink into "slightly depressed mode," throw me a lifeline, ye merry commenters. Give me some good things about being single. Sleeping in the middle of the bed, eating the last piece of cake, burping for the world to hear, you know, stuff like that. God bless in advance for keeping my soul intact.

Tag, I'm It!

Both Jayne Dough and Vixen Chick tagged my lazy arse, so here we go:

1. I get my best work done late at night.

2. Sometimes I feel like I'm the one taking all the pictures in life, so much that I'm not in any of them. (figuratively and literally)

3. Being kissed on the neck is my favorite feeling in the world.

4. I think I'm a silly girl wrapped up in a bad girl disguised as a good girl.

5. When I have other people in my car, I get really paranoid about my driving ability (or, ahem, lack thereof).

6. I find unpolished toenails grody.

7. I have a song in mind that, if a man were to serenade me with it out of his own volition, I will marry him.

8. Sometimes I get this idea in my head that there's a glamorous quality to my bad decisions. I should work on that.

Bonus: Being alone with a basketball game on TV armed with pizza and my laptop is probably my favorite way to spend a Saturday night.

Daily Double: I'm weirdly fascinated by, and will have many a long discussion about, all things sex-related. Makes for snappy dinner conversation, let me tell you.

I could go on and on, but let's see here...if they're up for it, I tag and implore to write 7 random things about themselves...

Amy
Bobby2010
Dbaby
Luvvie
Eb the Celeb
Molly
Vittoria

My Own Best Friend

I don't quite know where this is coming from, but...

Sometimes I feel like the decisions I make aren't my own. Like a lot of my actions are determined by so many other things besides what I actually want. I feel like I'm censored to the point where I have to manipulate myself into thinking that the things I do are what I want when sometimes nothing is farther from the truth. I recognize this because the moments that I do what I really want are so joyous and precious and just...free. Before I have to deal with the backlash that unfortunately seem to go along with doing whatever the hell I want, by myself or in whoever's company in which I choose to be. Really and truly doing what I want is harder than it seems, or maybe I'm making it that way. I don't know...the non-ability to decide what I really want has plagued me for awhile, and I guess this particular insecurity is rearing its ugly head once more, just in time for final exams.

I'm stressy...I have papers to write and tests to study for and I just really want to go home, away from these people and this...place. I'll keep you posted on whether or not I lose my mind.

PS--I'm starved for affection [horny]. Fuck.

Someone Enlighten Me

While talking about sex (what else is new?) with Top Chef, Motown, Sistah Girl, and the Artist, I learned that one tactic for muffling the woman's loudness during fuckey times is to stuff her panties in her mouth (!!!!!!!!!!).

I have to ask...

DO PEOPLE REALLY DO THIS?!?!

My soul needs to know.

I Don't Even Have Leftovers

I meant to "post" yesterday from the Almighty Blackberry, but, well, you know how it is. My thumbs can only take so much. We're on official Computer Watch..it's supposed to be ready soon...it better be; I have final exams coming up. Cyber-yell at Geeksquad for me.

I kind of like finals and midterm time- it means we're about to get a break of some sort, hallelujah!

Ok, typing really does suck so only a few things to be elaborated upon later:

Thanksgiv: I ate a frozen turkey pot pie on the couch, read novels, and watched football. No, I didn't leave the house or put on a bra the entire day. Don't feel sorry for me, though. I'm going home soon..

Speaking of football, I am thankful, nay, eternally grateful for wonderfully muscle-y arms poking out under football jerseys.

Books: "Zane" is supposed to be this hot, steamy novelist, but I read 2 of hers today and was left staring-at-the- ceiling-afterwards unsatisfied. In one of them, after this cute love story, right before the wedding the girl DIES! After I read the word "murder" I was done. I threw the book against the couch and actually said, "Oh HELLS no, I rebuke that!" So I don't know the actual ending..

I am on a book fetish (even more than usual) but nothing seems to really pull me in. A dry spell, of sorts. It's like looking in a full closet with nothing to wear: I have tons of books with nothing to read. And no computer.

I think I may be a little grumpy. A thousand pardons. Hopefully good news...oh! I finally sucked it up and got my cartilage/upper ear pierced on Tuesday! I did it, yall, I'm not just all talk! It hurt my wallet more than it hurt my actual ear, though. Still, it's cute! Details later, can't wait to surprise Mom and Dad. Especially after the fake tattoo fiasco, which was kind of, well...oh, dear...

Things I Like

There are
A lot of things
That I like
I like Pink. Yellow. Green. Gold. Purple. Lions, Tigers, and Bears. Hershey's Chocolate Bars. Amaretto Sour. Blackberry Curves. Madea. Long hair. Short hair. Betsey Johnson! Laptops. Michael Jackson. The LA Dodgers. Yoga. William Sledd. Fuzzy socks. Spooning. Skirts. Hoop earrings. Swimming pools! Honda Accords. My sisters. Scarves. Laughter. Kisses. Writing. Candy! Ponytails. Lingerie. Black t-shirts. Pepsi. Lip gloss. Rainbow flags. Make up. Crushes. Being happy. Ballet. Amy Winehouse. Wikipedia. Rihanna. Blue jeans. The idea of sex. Escalades. DListed. Cupcakes! Purses. Dirty Diana. The idea of love. Babylon Sisters. Kimora Lee Simmons. Carol's Daughter. Hugs. Dogs. My daddy. The Pistons. Big beds. Gap ads. Broad shoulders. Precious the dog. Louis Vuitton. Titanic. My Ipod. Sexual innuendo. Rainstorms. Hooded sweatshirts. Boys with tattoos. Waffles. Perfume. Weddings. Chocolate! Converse sneakers. Glamour Magazine. Air Jordans. Little girls. Amethysts. Ugg boots. Dairy Queen Blizzards. Writing about lust. My mommy. Tulips. Christmas. Victoria's Secret. Princess Diana. Being called "cutie-pie." Infinity on High. Road trips. Pink Panties. Pink panties. Blankets. Facebook. Pearls. Sunflowers. Four-leaf clovers. T-shirts. Pet names. Blogs. Sunglasses. Gofugyouself. Bamboos. Being half-dressed. Flip-flops. Croissants. Hats. TV. Get Me Bodied. Fancy pens. Post Secret. Bikinis! Verysmartbrothas. Nail polish. Men's shirts. Margaritas. Flirting. Sparkly stuff. Legally Blonde. Singing. Black people. Showers. Songs about sex. Songs About Jane. Peacoats. Diamonds. Cake.
Before I go
I just thought
I'd tell you
Some things
I like
You?

I'm Freaking Out

Classic college conundrum**: I just found out that I have a 15-page paper due on Tuesday. Your eyes do not deceive you, it is indeed Saturday evening. Please join me in a memorial service for my weekend/sanity. I'm kicking my own ass right now for not realizing. Fuck. Pray for me long and hard.

**I am so glad that even in these trying times I manage to alliterate. I amaze myself.

Update: It's Sunday, and I have about 9-10 pages done. Applaud my strength! That's pretty impressive, considering I keep getting distracted by Facebook, random blogs, and music. Jazmine Sullivan's "Lions, Tigers, and Bears" and Usher's "Love You Gently" are officially My Shit. Even though I'm a public school computer, somehow I got ITunes to work and currently have a nice little playlist going. My awesomeness is unparalleled. Just...wow. It should be illegal.

Memories in the Air

This morning, I was walking through Big Sports Network's picturesque campus when a familiar smell filtered the air around me. It was bitter but sweet. So bitter. So sweet.

Somebody was smoking. Black and Milds, I think they're called. The ones that come in a white box with a gold diamond on it. The ones that he'd keep in his nightstand. The ones that he'd smoke while leaning on the balcony. God, that balcony..

He thought it was cute that I pouted when he smoked. He tickled me because I hid his lighter. I hated those little brown cigarettes but he'd look so good as he smoked them that I didn't care. I just tucked the hate away and leaned in for a kiss instead.

So bitter, so sweet.

I used to like the smell. If someone's wearing Tex's cologne, I giggle. If someone's smoking the ones with a gold diamond on the white box, I...pause. I can't figure out if I like the smell or not.

It's so bitter, but it was so sweet and...I'm kidding myself. It was bitter.

My Favorite Dirty Mistress

If I go to bed now, the weekend will be over, so I'm still perched on the couch watching Grey's Anatomy. Speaking of which, today (well, yesterday) is McSteamy's birthday. Gotta loove those Scorpios (listen to "Signs of Lovemaking" by Tyrese. Our reputations preceed us). Yum-o. I'd take some OR time with him any day of the week...

More later, my comp hopefully comes back all bright and shiny tomorrow. I haven't forgotten about being blog-survey tagged by Vixen Chick, so look out for that. Also, is anyone tatted up out there? I want one but my chicken-shit side is coming out. I'm thinking of getting a small four-leaf clover on my shoulder...because I'm Lucky, get it? What do you think? Happy Monday, yall!

11...7...8...8...L-Day

Ohhh my giddy-God I forgot to post on my birthday (yesterday). I suckity-suck. But I am 20 years old now so boo-yah. I also can barely move/type because I am so very full on waffles and, you guessed it, cupcakes!! Thanks in particular to Sistah Girl for making them and Ms. Politics to trekking to the grocery store in the rain to get the fixin's. I got most of my list, too. Yay. Seriously I'm stuffed and sated so suffice it to say I had a mm mm good birthday.

TTFN, mon amies!

A Computerly Update

I am having a cruddy day.
I kind of can't stand the other interns(s) at Big Sports Network, for example. That, plus a host of other annoyances have steadily plagued me since I woke up on this day that the Lord hath made. The most prominent being my poor computer needing a new hard drive. Now, I don't know that much about computers, but a hard drive seems like a Pretty Big Deal in the big scheme of computers. If the cost is any indicator of importance, a hard drive is waaay up there. But here's the gag: all my stuff will be lost, huh? Tell it to me straight, I can take it (not). Has this ever happened to anyone? Any encounters with that blue screen o'death? What happened, was it a huge hassle to get all your info back? I don't think I put everything on a flash drive (it was way upstairs and I was way downstairs, ok? You know how it is). I'm basically screwed [fucked] huh?

On the plus side, the other night I had a dream that I was about to get a massage (and probably more than that, who am I kidding) from a male escort. I kid ye not. Of course I woke up before we got to the good stuff (damned sunshine). I can't get any in my own dreams!

This can't be life.

Don't Know About Yours, But My President is Black

I am fighting back tears, been fighting them since last night. Last night, when Barack Obama became the first black president of the United States of America. God, I lurrrve him. God, I'm so happy. God, I can't believe this. God, thank you so much.

History CanNOT Repeat Itself

Where I should be excited that I am at the taping of my favorite sports TV show (it's good to be an intern, yo), I am instead having a silent freakout.

This post is written from the Blackberry because my computer is having a severe case of PMS. Long story short, I was being a brat to poor Savion and now when I restart her there is a hateful blue death screen with scary words like "BIOS" and "SAFE MODE" and just...oh, it's awful. My old computer did the same thing. Towards the end of her life. Which is why she is no longer with us!! Well, she's at my parents house, barely alive. So I guess she's in ICU or hospice. Not quite dead.

But anyway. By the grace of God, the assignment I thought was due today wasn't (I had church right in my driver's seat), but I NEED my computer to work!

Plus I've had a long day/week/life and I now I can't even unwind by watching a cheesy p*rno!!

I can't believe I just wrote that. But we're all adults, here. And you can't tell me laughing hysterically to some stupidly-titled, low budget flick doesn't warm the coldest of hearts. And if you say "ick no I've never watched 'Beverly Hills Bordello' and laughed mightily" then you are a liar and should be experiencing flames from the vicinity of your pantaloons.

FFUUUUUUUCCCCKKKK!!

PS--I hear Charles Barkley and I see Chris Webber! OMG my dad is gonna be so jealous! I love my life (this last post aside, of course).

What a day, What a Day

The grand list of Lucky's Favorite Holidays goes a little something like this:
1. Christmas
2. My birthday
3. Thanksgiving

The list is longer, but in this case the rest are really irrelevant.

Pay special attention to that second one, because it's coming up soon--November 7. **Yes, on this day that the Lord hath made, I was born almost 20 (gasp!) years ago. If I haven't said this before, birthdays are a huge deal to me. It's partly because I started school early, so I'm always the last birthday--even now all of my friends are older than me. Age before beauty, I say.

If you're wondering whether or not my age has ever kept me from partying with my of-age friends, rest assured that no, it has not. Well, I was turned away from a club freshman year because I was only 17, but I was also so very, very stupid: I'd forgotten my ID anyway (it was my first time, okay?). Me and Ms. Politics had to ride the train and then walk back to campus in the chilly [cold and unfriendly] fall night. One of us was wearing a very short skirt. And it wasn't Ms. Politics.

Celebrating birthdays isn't immature, either, it makes total sense: your birthday is the day you came upon this very earth! Basically I'm a total kid when it comes to birthdays. It's funny because my birthday usually falls on Election Day, and this year, ironically, it doesn't. When I was little, I used to think that people were making a big deal about Nov. 7th because it was my birthday, not voting day (secretly I still think so).

**I giggle every time I say "November 7th." It's the 5-year old in me, okay?

I also reserve the right to be incredibly self-serving on my birthday (everyone does, in my opinion, so it's okay). And especially with the tough time I've been having lately, a little self-indulgence is the order of the day. So without further adieu, we have Lucky's Birthday List (non-comprehensive):

1. Kimora: Life in the Fab Lane on DVD
2. a digital camera (my old one broke)
3. Zoolander and Transformers on DVD
4. "I Love Black People" t-shirt
5. A birthday kiss! (a. negotiable, 2. cyber-kisses from the blogosphere are totally accepted and invited, FYI)

As I said, it's a work in progress. I'm not sure if I want to have a party or anything, or even go out to dinner. I wouldn't mind a quiet evening with me, my DVDs, and, well, chocolate cupcakes with pink frosting (ahem, Motown Lover, Sistah Girl, and Top Chef, y'all know y'all can throw down in the kitchen!) would be nice. I have to think of one totally extravagant and girly thing to do for myself, though. A movie-marathon? Mini shopping-spree? Help, dear readers! What should I do for my special day? Share your brilliance. And for kicks, spill: what was your best birthday so far?

I'll [show] tell you mine if you [show] tell me yours. Ha.

What It's All About

"Step Out on Faith" by Kevin A. Williams



"Power of Love" (K.A.W.)



"The Future" (K.A.W.)

Because I just can't get enough of that black love!
Next, I'm gonna get one of these shirts...

What's Going On

We know that cooking is not, nor has it ever been, my forte. I am just too lazy. For the first month of school, I begged Top Chef to make me food so I wouldn't waste away to nothingness. Imagine my pride, then, when I whipped up some Hamburger Helper the other day! And corn! So there I am, playing music (for ambience, baby) and taking a picture of my cuisine, when Roommate's BF (henceforth known as RBF) comes in with an armload of groceries.

"You cooked!" he said.
"I know, right? And I didn't burn the house down!" I said.

Then Roommate comes downstairs.

"You cooked!" she said.

Honestly. I made all those chicken pot-pies, didn't I?

Anyway, after bemused appreciation of my efforts, Roommate and RBF proceed to go all Iron Chef on me and whip up this...feast. Putting my poor salisbury-steak flavored, Hamburger Helper-y goodness to shame. I slunk out of the kitchen, recognizing defeat. I felt like Jazz on the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air after Trevor prepares creme brulee for Hilary: "I guess no one wants the Pop-Tarts I made!"

I had to laugh, though. And I didn't leave, either. At first (we're making progress, yes?) Instead I sat my ass (with my food, thanks) on the couch and watched Fantastic Four 2 while they prepared their romantic dinner for two. I don't know what they made (potatoes were involved), but anything can be a romantic dinner when the couple making it is SO FREAKING CUTE YOU WANT TO DIE. They are. She's so petite and has a tiny little chipper voice and he is tall, dark and absolutely positively fuckable. And nice. And walks around in--I kid you not--wifebeaters. The first time I walked in to that sight my heart almost stopped. Every time I see him I probably have lust in my eyes. I just know it.

Moving on. I just realized that there are a few people who are dear to me that I barely acknowledge here. It's partly because our antics are too long to transcribe but deserve a mention nonetheless. Dr. Argentina is a main character in the story of mi vida. He is...a lot, to say the least. He goes to Brother College and we've been friends since freshman year. Literally a party in a bomber jacket, he's a really good listener, and is smart as hell to boot. He's crazy and I love him. And yes, insert Will and Grace analogy here--applicable to me, Cali Girl, Ex-Roommate (henceforth known as Ms. Politics/Ms. Politician/or similar), and Sistah Girl, especially him and CG.

Take last homecoming, for example:
Me: Should I wear Spanx tonight?
Him: What the hell are those?
Me: (I explain this marvelous invention)
Him: (Without hesitation) Yep, put 'em on. You may get into a fight tonight and we don't want your ass hanging out: (Imitating, presumably, me raring for a fight): "I wore Spanx for bitches just like you!"

So yes. Welcome Dr. Argentina to the canon of crazy.

CG, Ms. P and me saw The Secret Life of Bees yesterday. Loved it. I had to read the book for class, and although it didn't match up to the text (movies never do), I loved it. Yes, probably could have been better actresses, blah blah, but whatever. And Nate Parker was in it, formerly of The Great Debaters fame. Yum-o.

Ugh. I'm sitting here in classes listening to psuedo-philosophical discussions that are slowly breaking my spirit, honey. Here we go. "Beyonce is too sexual in her new video blah blah." These fucking puritannical collegiates make me nauseous. It's like any type of sexuality or, hell, bare skin is shamed and thought to be Destroying the Black Community. Get over it. The dance team at Brother College is WAY sluttier than Beyonce's choreographed, trained dance routine done wearing a--ohmigosh!--dance costume and high heels. College teaches you to critically analyze, but I hate when people take that for blowing every single thing the fuck out of proportion.

Maybe I'm just not enlightened enough. Ha. It's just probably my dirty mind justifying its place in an academic setting. Well shit, if that's the case, I'd better make my filth-ridden mind a drink 'cause its here to stay, thank God.

*PS-will add links later, when I should not, in fact, be doing other productive things.

Flashback Quote

I just erased a post. It was about a past sort-of, almost removal of underwear.

Have you ever looked back on a fake relationship and felt nostalgic, mortified, embarrassed, an anger that, left unchecked, could turn into hatred, and relieved to be "rid of that asshole" all at once?

It's been happening a lot lately. Please tell me I'm not the only one.

City Love

I'm going to bed soon, I swear.

I just had to comment on the momentous occasion that today (well, yesterday) was John Mayer's birthday. As one of my All Time Favorite artists, I wouldn't feel right unless I marked the day. John's (I call him that because we're tight like that) first album, "Room for Squares" reminds me of high school. I was just starting to come into my own and that CD got me through. I remember the first time I heard "Your Body is a Wonderland." It was a Thursday evening. I remember the first time I saw him in concert--it was outside, and I still have the t-shirt. I remember staring at my ceiling, playing "Love Song for No One" over and over, singing with the music that said "I'm tired of being alone/so hurry up and/get here." My favorite quote is from "Why Georgia Why" that goes:

So what
So I've got a smile on?
Well it's hiding
The quiet superstitions
In my head.
Don't believe me
Don't believe me
Don't believe me
When I say
I've got it down
Everybody's just a stranger
But that's the danger in
Going my own way
Guess it's a price I have to pay
Still everything happens for a reason
That's the reason why
I ask myself
Am I living it right?
Am I living it right?
Am I living it right?
Why, Georgia, why?

Anyone who has figured out the album "Room for Squares" has, in turn, figured me out. In which case he (hopefully it's a he) should marry me immediately because John Mayer has managed to take almost every insecurity or looming, wondering thought I've ever had, twist it around to make perfect sense, and put it against his acoustic guitar.

And for that, I am eternally grateful.

Pit-Stop on the Road of Life

Don't cast me to the wolves, y'all. I'm still here. Just am busy as hell and I wouldn't feel right half-assing my blog posts just to say I filled some quota. Once the world has been set to rights, I will be back, in dramatic tang fashion.**

**The correct term is "in dramatic c*nt fashion" in reference to The Gays among us. But, try as I might, I cannot type that word, let alone say it/use it/call anyone it who is not a Gay. Cindy McCain I am not. And for that I thank--on bended knee--the one we call J-E-S-U-S.

Speaking of Jesus, I recently compiled a list of My Favorite Men (besides my guy friends) and He was on it. The list goes:

1. Jesus.
2. My dad
3. My godfather, Uncle C
4. (tie) Barack Obama and Jose Cuervo

Now before you say anything, to me, Jose Cuervo is, indeed, very, very real. Anyway, stay tuned because, as we've been studying binary opposition, I will probably make a list in the very near future of my NOT-so-favorite men. This you won't want to miss. Here's a hint: John McOldFart will probably be on there somewhere.

And that's just in the politics category...

Gold Digger's Lament

I'm starting to think that money really does make the world go 'round. Was it supposed to be love? No, I'm pretty sure it's money.

There's just never enough of it. I'm not quite struggling by any means (I don't think), but sometimes it just seems like I'm supposed to have more money that I do. A lot of it has to do with my environment. For me, there's a lot attached to money and asking for it. I'm not going to get into it, but money problems have affected me way more that I let on. And the problem with that secrecy is that I can't keep up. I can't just ask my parents for money. What's more, I don't want to. That's the part people don't realize. I very well could just keep asking for Mom to put more money in my account, but again, for reasons I will skip over at this moment, I choose not to, unless I really, really need to. Contrary to popular belief, going out to dinner or a movie does not qualify as a "need."

What I'm inarticulately saying is, I'm not cheap by choice. I am, but I'm not. Things like guilt, memories, responsibility play a large part in the decisions I make when it comes to money. I just wish I could tell people that without telling them.

I guess I just did, huh?

Awww

I'm still here, folks. Enjoy this video while I try to get my life together...



Cute, right? But get into her face at the 0:33 mark. She's like, "Who the fuck is...now I KNOW that is not...ok for real, somebody please tell me what the fuck is goin' on..."

I'm Not Bitter I'm Just Sayin'

I am nothing if not a staunch perpetuate of that highly coveted "Black love." I think it is a beautiful thing. And I love my roommate as much as someone can love a roommate they barely see but is still somehow slightly jealous of. Honest-it seems like I complain about her a lot but she's a great person to live with. I have issues, not her.

But. When I am trying to relax at the kitchen table and watch Youtube videos of sex songs, I need to do so alone. I was, in fact, doing so alone, until I heard the front door open and had to snatch my 'do-rag off quickly, forgetting that the jumbo-sized bag of Tostitos on which I was snacking was, uh, hers. I thought Roommate and BF would go upstairs and screw or something, seeing as they hadn't seen each other in like three days after her business trip. Oh, no. They sauntered around on the couch in front of the TV deciding what they wanted for dinner. Except the TV was OFF. THE CABLE IS BROKEN! I wanted to scream. SO WHY ARE YOU STILL DOWN HERE?!?

If you think I let us dance around in semi-awkward silence, you know nothing about the art of survival. I chose the least romantic music on my Itunes, ergo, Lil Wayne.

To cap it off, after losing an entire post dedicated to Lil Wayne last night because of bitchy Comcast, I spent a dramatic two days trying to install the stupid wireless internet. After I finally succeeded, Roommate comes home and asks if we can move the router upstairs into the office. Hold the hell on. I slaved over this internet connection. I forged a path through about a thousand different cords (how many fucking cords do you need to get ethernet? DSL? Whatever it's called) to set up Linksys. I yelled at the automated and completely useless tech support lady to put that thing up. Putting it together the first 50 times was traumatic enough. That router is staying right the hell where I left it. For now, at least.

Breathe. When they come back downstairs, I need to be safely in my room. I hate leaving while they're down here because every time I try they say something like, "Oh, you don't have to leave!" while they are giving each other back rubs or something.

To which I say, oh, but I do.

Watch and Learn

All things considered, Usher's song "Trading Places" leaves a bit to be desired. The lyrics **are, well, pedestrian and cliche ("Gonna pay for dinner/take me to a movie/And whisper how bad/you really wanna do me"? Lord, have mercy). As for the video, it's raunchy, racy, and riqsue. And guess what?



I love it.

I can't even talk about it. It's just...wow. I'd like to...boy, oh, boy. And of course I totally watched it in class today.

**Except for this line: "You order Chinese food right before you do me." Pepper steak and a poke? Oh, if only.

Why I Cried

I cried today.

I cried because I'm tired. I cried because I'm hungry. I cried because I got into two "fights" with Sports Editor about not being able to do my job. I want to do my job well, so I cried because he thinks I can't. I cried because of course females cry when arguing with males in the workplace, right? I cried because females can't cry when arguing with males in the workplace. I cried because I have papers due. I cried because I'm not weak or incapable, I'm just busy. I cried because the only lady to ask me why I cried was the parking attendant. I cried because an old friend hugged me when he saw me cry. I cried because on my iPod, Lloyd cried that he wanted to "Treat U Good," and no one was there to treat me good. I cried because I was afraid of crying while driving on a dark freeway. I cried when I called my mother because she could tell that I was crying.

I cried today.

Worth Looking at NASCAR Footage All Day For

Work wasn't bad today. Don't you hate it when someone teaches you a process, and you think you understand it until you have to do the whole thing by yourself and you're all, "Derrr...wha?" That's how it was today. I was in the corner of the room, silently freaking out that I couldn't get the stupid machine to work and hoping that someone, anyone, would notice me sitting there like a dumbass and save me. Then I swivel around in my chair, and in walks Hot Boss. I swear I saw a halo of light surround him when he walked through the door. He comes over, pushes a few buttons, and boom, we're in business. The best part is, he didn't know just how much I had no idea what I was doing! Whew. I can't keep having close calls like that. Hopefully Boy Intern can break it down to me Monday morning...

You know how sometimes you think that even though you're in a room full of people, you haven't really interacted with anyone all day so you figure that when it's time to leave you can just slink out unnoticed? Well, that's what I thought today at work, too, until I actually got up to leave for school and sweet dulcet tones caressed my ears:

Hot Worker: "Ah, [Lucky], you're taking off?"
Me: "Yeeahh, I have to go to class..."
My head: "HOLY MOTHER OF GOD HE IS SPEAKING TO ME! HE KNOWS MY NAME!"
Hot Worker: (Laughing slightly) "Sorry you had to hear us argue about baseball all day!"
Me: (Attempting relaxed chuckle that hopefully doesn't sound like Fran Drescher) "Oh, it's ok, when basketball season starts I'm going to be all up in it, too, so get ready!"
My head: "Complete sentences! Way to go, L!"
Hot Worker and other guys: (Laughing in agreement) "Sounds good! Have a good one!"
Me: (Walking in what I pray is a graceful manner) "Byee!"
My head: "Must get out before you faint or trip on your kitten heels. Walk with a purpose!"

5 minutes later:
Car radio: "My mind's telling me noooo/but my body/my body's telling me yessss..."

Yes, yes, and three times YES!

Later that evening, as I left Brother College, a girl passed by me wearing a Pistons sweatshirt. Eager to fellowship with another fan, I said, "I like your sweatshirt." And she said, "Oh, it's my boyfriend's. He's from [same city as me] and he really likes the Pistons." After a little small talk, I got in my car and thought: Hold the HELL on. There is a boy somewhere at Brother College who's from my state and is a Pistons fan? Such a creature exists? And more importantly, why isn't he with ME?!!?!?

If for no other reason than for the sake of the team.

Dipping My Nib in the Company Ink...I Wish

HAHAHAHAHAHA, those piteous souls.

While my fellow countrymen are droning on and on about The Wasteland, the boringest piece of crap "poetry" on the face of the Earth, I am reading...THE OVER EDUCATED NYMPHO!! And guess what her new boyfriend's name is?

TEX. He must be sexy, then. You can't not be with a name like Tex. Trust me.

Yum: I've been surrounded by hot guys all day. At work, while the super-duper fine man who works there (besides my boss--he's cute too) spoke to me (for once), here's what happened in my head:

Him: "Blah blah press this button blah entry point blah video..."
My dirty mind: "What nice hands you have! Better to throw me around the bedroom with, my dear."
Him: "Yaddy yaddah tape deck yaddah timecode..."
My dirty mind: "Let's make a baby/let's do something crazy/let's reach out/and love one another..."
Him: (bending over to get something under the table--not a FOOT away from me)
My head: "Lucky, do NOT caress his back and/or ass. You will get FIRED."
Him: "Did [my boss] teach you how to [complicated video thing]?"
My dirty mind: "I bet you could teach me a lot."

I have to go now. I'm blogging in a semi-public place and can't risk my cover being blown...

I Date Above the Mason-Dixie Line, Thanks

Dear God. I feel like I have the mother of coke-bloats. I think my hectic schedule is starting to take a toll on my body, because I haven't been feeling too hot in the past few days. And by that I mean I woke up last night feverish with a headache and stomach pains. I was up a whole HOUR before I had to be awake because it hurt too much to lay down. That should just not happen. Urgh. I'm exhausted.

Thank goodness: a bunch of frat boys registered me to vote last week, and I got my voter's registration card in the mail the other day. One less thing I have to stress over. Hur-rah.

Bet: I wonder if I can find a boy by Thanksgiving? Talking it over with Motown Lover this afternoon about my staying in Southern State for Turkey Day instead of going home led me to place a hedge bet with myself.

"Maybe you'll yourself somebody and y'all can have some turkey. And dressing," he said, voice dripping comically with innuendo.

Eh, we'll see. It's all for fun, not a big deal (smirk). After all, I "had" (and I use that term very, very loosely) somebody last Easter and it was whatever.

At Paper Meeting today, Sports Editor took it upon himself to tease me about, oh, I dunno, everything. During practically the entire meeting we flipped each other the bird, whispered obscenities, and drew signs of the all capital letters on notebook paper variety. He was especially perturbed when I informed him of my "no dating Southerners" rule. A rule that I strongly abide by but he thinks is, in defense of his home region (he's from North Carolina), batshit insane:

Me: "I mean it. I'm over Southern boys."
Him: "You shouldn't take it out on all Southern boys just because the last one you talked to--"
Me: "The last THREE I talked to."

That, in my opinion, says it all.

Call Me So I Can Make it Juicy For Ya

Yes, Lil' Wayne. Yes.

I just downloaded Weezy's Tha Carter III and Lloyd's Lessons in Love last night and WOWZA. I'm not that big of a Wayne fan, but both of them are already on the Ipod. Lloyd's album is, simply put, that hot, HOT shit. "Year of the Lover" is like Chris Brown's "Take You Down" to the next level of sexayness:

I'm a catch you in the shower while you dripping wet.
I'm a come and kiss your neck, you gon' kiss mine back.
How sexy is that?
Rub your 'til you're dry, put your body on the counter.
You gone say, "Do that daddy." I'm gon' say, "Okay Mama."
Wrap you in a towel and bring you over to the bed.
I'll watch you spread and get in between your legs.
Now, I know that you won't give my loving to no other man.
We on top of the covers...

Boy, stop! And that's just one verse! It's official. Mr. Long Hair Don't Care could definitely have it if he so chose.**

**Hell, Chris Brown could, too, now that I think about it. Ok, ok, I always think about it. I bet they both could put it down...sorry, I'm stopping. I can't help it. Honest. It's like I have dirty-mind Tourette's Syndrome or something.

I can only say so much in this post because this song clouds my mind and turns me into a puddle on the floor and that amount of viscosity is not conducive to typing. Also, I have other non-sex song related things to do. For example, I have a paper due tomorrow which I am TERRIFIED to turn in (let's just say I didn't do so hot on the last one. Or two). So any and all good vibes tuned my way would be greatly appreciated.

Quotes from The Weekend

"Ok...that was a red light..."
"My body is a vessel for pleasure!"
"I need a club outfit."
"What is he drinking?" "Liquor. Straight liquor."
"I thought we were going to the sex shop!"
"I was gonna order from there but the lady has something on her lip. It looks like herpes. I had to walk away."
"I just had a fake panic attack."
"What did you order?" "A Big and Tasty." "Ew. You mean a Big and Nasty."
"Do you feel sexy?"
"If I had to injure myself I'm glad I did it dancing to Beyonce."
"He's too much for me. Smoke...sex...drugs...scandal...fame..."
"He said I was talking mess about him yesterday. The gag is, I was."
"Those two guys are fucking. I can tell."

You Know I'm No Good

Not dead. Tired but still here.

I really want a chicken pot pie but in progress downstairs is a cozy dinner for two. So I am upstairs with Cheez-Its. If that is not the life of a singleton then I don't know what is.

Confession: I am an extraordinarily embarrassingly bad driver, especially at night. Like, wrong side of the road, accidentally ran a red light kind of bad. Me and my girls were lucky to make it home in one piece last night with me at the helm. It kind of scares me.

One of the most perplexing questions in the world of Facebook flirting/caking has to be: WHY are you messaging me when you are very CLEARLY listed as being in a relationship? I am not in the homewrecking business. Anymore. Intentionally. Plus, I saw The Women this weekend and as depicted in plot the effects of homewrecking are none too pretty for anyone involved. About the movie: not bad, but still disposable. Jada Pinkett Smith=overactor.

And now for something a little more transcendant: TODAY IS AMY JADE WINEHOUSE'S 25th BIRTHDAY!!! If I could listen to "Get Me Bodied" for Beyaki's birthday (9...4...8...1...B-Day), then you'd better believe I have Ms. Winehouse blasting in honor of this glorious occasion.

Methinks I need to get out of this house--whatever's cooking downstairs smells sadistically delicious and I am up here wasting away.

World: A Lot; Lucky: A Small but Mighty Few

Ha! World, you thought you'd succeeded, huh?

Thought you'd trip me up by placing him squarely in my path on a day where I was in no mood to fake niceties with anyone, let alone his ass?

He had a cigarette in his mouth-a cigarette! Is there no greater evil?-therefore rendering him powerless and icky. And having him call me "sweetheart"? World, you must know he forfeited all privileges to call me any term of endearment other than Queen Lucky, governor of Sexy Town (D-Mich.) and Ruler of All That is Totally Awesome.

It was you who made sure I heard my roommate and her boyfriend making out, wasn't it? Actually, having it happen twice was a little rude of you, Universe, but hey, I understand you have a job to do. Whatever keeps the lights on, hon.

And anyway I took one of her delicious breakfast bars the next morning as compensation for pain and suffering and emotional anguish (I can be paid in food, natch).

Hoped to throw a wrench in my plans by causing horrendous traffic on the freeway to work?

I was still 10 minutes EARLY for work/internship (to be used interchangeably to fool myself into thinking I have a paying job). And having me get lost in the huge campus? Please, how tritely Dickensonian of you.

Attempted to throw me for a loop by having the Runner and Science Guy wave to me at the same time, from the same car?

Let me school you on why they both could be appeased with a few air kisses and a wave: at the end of the day, neither of them tickle my fancy. Not even poke it a little in a fun way. Plus, I have no phone so any awkward "let's hang out" texts are avoided without me having to duck-and-cover. So boo-yah.

By Jove, you even tried to take my hair from me with that almost (I said ALMOST) mullet-esque haircut with blondey bits! Well, you almost succeeded there. But how's this for a newsflash: everyone likes it.

Keep your chin up, you fought a good fight.

PS-Roommate is back now, so could you tell Satan's printer to stop turning on and off randomly? I'd hate to be forced to throw the freaky thing out of the window.

Thank Goodness

I think my internship at Huge Broadcasting Company might just be my dream job. I get to watch hours and hours of basketball footage, work with hot sports-fanatic menfolk, and when we walked into the "Sports Library," a huge action-shot poster of Ben Wallace greeted us! I almost fell out. Plus my boss is, ahem, attractive.

I will tell more later 'cause along with this super-cool internship means buttcrack-early hours, and I needs my beauty sleep and I want to do this post justice.

Rave on.

PS: did anyone catch Gossip Girl, One Tree Hill, or The Hills this evening? Madness, I say. Pure madness.

Preparing for the Circus

In the interest of getting to bed at a reasonable hour, let's make this quick and dirty. Not having a phone, I spent the weekend on my own island (You should really get one. They are awesome. There is ice cream) doing homework, eating, and watching Grey's Anatomy. For once I turned in my article waaaay before deadline. So yeah, go me. Now, of course, I need to go grocery shopping to replenish my dwindling supply of foodstuffs, no doubt a direct result of my solitary weekend.

The biggest shout-out in the world goes to Vixen Chick: her life is as crazy as crazy can be right now and she is thugging it out fabulously. As the song goes, You betta WORK! :)

My internship starts bright and early tomorrow morning at 9am. Sheesh. I'm excited, though, I guess. Nervous trumps excited, though. In case you're wondering I am going for on-the-safe-side professionalism so I will leave all things "leopardian" in my closet. For the time being.

[Current] Roommate just returned from her long business trip accompanied by her loving boy toy. After enjoying my nice stint of being alone, it seemed like nothing had changed because once again I had to sulk to my bedroom (that has no cable or internet, mind) because he had selfishly perched himself on MY (ok, Roomate's) couch during MY America's Next Top Model premiere. Roommate would no doubt follow suit and three is, so I've heard, a crowd, so I bolted. Shouldn't that be enough to experience in my fragile state? The answer you are looking for is "no, it is not." Because when I finally reclaimed the couch later, they came downstairs to share a passionate kiss in the doorway for the world, namely me, to see. Oh, did I say "see"? Impossible because the lights were off. I meant "hear." As in, I could HEAR them KISSING: giggle, kiss, slurp (dear God), giggle, smack, kiss. Never harder had mine eyes been glued to something as they had been to those low-budget Video Music Awards in that very moment.

World, I get it. I am single. Thank you for reminding me yet again. At least you're thorough.

The Ice Cream Wasn't Even That Good

In my 19 years of living, I have lost many things. Money, my favorite gray sweatshirt, a new pair of jeans, a flatiron, my dignity, what have you. Some of these, thankfully, were found (the flatiron, sometimes the money), some still come and go (my dignity), and some are never to be found (that sweatshirt, those jeans, and yes, sometimes the money). Now I can add another "gone forever" thing to that list: my beloved Blackberry Curve.

That's right. My practically BRAND-NEW Blackberry with the adorable blue skin, is now sitting in the hands of some theiving asshole who must have scooped it up at the outdoor ice cream joint where I probably left it. As Cali Girl put it, "I hope whoever took it gets cancer from the phone's rays." This is why we are friends.

Firstly, it's my cell phone. My email. My lifeline. My instant connection to Dlisted. But aside from that, we all know how badly I wanted that phone. I worked lo-o-ong hours at VS, including two grueling graveyard shifts, to save up for it. And now my nicely laid-out plan to keep that phone until it turned to dust has been rudely thwarted by some jackass who will probably sell it because he is too lazy to find a respectable form of income and has to resort to stealing phones from innocently absent-minded college students. And I don't think I have insurance so you know the parentals were not pleased, to say the least.

My long day spent in high heels, tight jeans, 1,000-degree weather, and various annoyances was already going sour and I should have just gone home but I didn't. And now I'm phoneless. Maybe this is God's way of telling me not to be materialistic or to follow my instincts more often (if I'd listened to my gut and went straight home like I'd wanted to, this post would be upbeat twitter about my new semi-haircut).

Can I just say that yes I know it is just a phone and I may be exaggerating. But it was MY phone. MINE. That I helped PAY for. And also I am possessive.

Fare thee well, my little Blackberry. No, scratch that. Unless whoever took you turned you off for the night but intends on returning you to your rightful owner (ie, me) first thing in the morning, I hope you combust and explode violently in his or her very hands.

You know, in solidarity to me.

One Step at a Time

All in one day, I deleted Homeboy's number and turned down a potential date from the Runner ("let's hang out around 8 tomorrow").

In the past I would have asked, What's wrong with me? Now I'm finally starting to think that there's something right with me.


Not to mention, I'm armed with The Beauty Myth, Smith Jared, and Will from Day 26. No boy I've met so far has a fighting chance.

PS-I kind of hate Charlotte York.

PPS-I seem to be missing half a carton of Double Chocolate Chunk ice cream and I think it might be resting comfortably in my tummy. Oy. Delicious, but oy.