The Party

She took the cup out of his hand and tipped up his drooping chin, her eyes twinkling with liquor-tinged mirth.

"Come on," she whispered, magically audible over the pulsing music. "You can have the spare bedroom."

He nodded, his heavy-lidded eyes barely focused on her...

a minute later

"Technically we're in bed together," she giggled, her knees almost touching his reclined chest. His hand snaked lazily up her back, and she didn't mind.

a minute later

"We're fine, we're just talking, see you in a second."

She closed the door on her inquiring friend and scampered back to the bed. After barely a pause, she slid a knee over his hard waist, her position granting his hands rein under a soft shirt and over silky thighs and warm stomach. She enjoyed the perch, feeling his barely-contained lust pulsate beneath her. But with awakening lust came a twinge of conscience.

"We work together," she sighed, trying to detract his hands. He stopped her, reclining and linking her fingers in his. His supine position urged her to grind her hips lazily against him. Loving his pained expression and his tortured grip tightening, she giggled again as she mimicked the act of love.

Veiled with the heady power of seduction, she sought to tempt him even more. She wanted to know; sweetly demanded him to tell her how he thought about her, how she made him feel, how badly he wanted her right here, right now...

"I watch those legs..." "You're so fucking sexy..." "Come here..."

His words alone sent hot waves of sensation coursing through her body, even though the back of her mind forbade her to give in. He rose up to kiss her, but she pushed him back down.

"We can't. Oh, we can't..." He broke away from her desire-loosened grip and finally overpowered her. Her supple neck beckoned his hungry mouth, and he answered it greedily.

She whimpered his name, defeated, her legs anchoring around his torso as desire wound her core tighter and tighter.

Her reaction aroused, but didn't surprise him. He'd always suspected a fire smoldering under her sophisticated charm, and he wanted nothing more than to stroke that fire into explosion. Emboldened, he nuzzled out of his way the delicate necklace lying between her breasts and inhaled her sweetness, almost tasting her accelerating heartbeat.

"Oh, my God," she murmured. Murmurs became gasps as his mouth moved closer to the tight bud...

Someone knocked on the bedroom door, the sound ripping through the silence like a fist busting through glass.

Running her hands through her mussed hair, she took a deep breath. "Ye--yes?"

a minute later

She locked the front door of her house after the last of the party guests, then tiptoed through the house and back upstairs into the spare room's bright lights. Walking over to him, she tugged at his shirt, beckoning him to her own dimly-lit bedroom.

"Come on..."

I'm Coming

Metaphorically speaking.

Finals week is upon me, and I'm afraid fun and smutty writing will have to take a backseat to the many, many pages of academic writing that must be completed.

But my intended smut will be worth it! Well, I hope. I've never (intentionally) written a post like the one I want to write. Partly because I wouldn't have much to write about (dry spell. Well, dry life), my private nature, and the idea of writing about dirty times scaring/embarrassing me a little. So we'll see, shall we? I'll probably enjoy it because that would mean I'd have to recount every delicious detail of what happened. For the sake of the writing of course. The wondering and the afterthoughts and the need for advice will probably follow (you know me), but first we'll focus on the good...

My Reputation Preceeds Me

On the phone with an interview subject:

Him: "I look forward to meeting you."

Me: "Um, we've already met. I'm a friend of Top Chef's.

Him: "Oh, wait, I know you, the girl with the glasses!"

Warms my heart. That's my favorite description of myself, by the way. Hence the title!

Pardon the Interruption

Don't mind me, I had to try out the "strikeout" html code which I have trying to figure out forever while I'm watching B. Scott on YouTube getting ready for bed.

Hang on... *hits "Publish Post" and crosses fingers*

Ahhhh yay it worked! Oh, the things I will say without saying. Now all I need is a new template and this blog will be well on its way to a due intervention.

You've been warned Stay Tuned!

Today I forgot to take my phone off of "silent" after barely escaping the boringest job ever work, and later on I noticed somebody had been blowing my little Blackberry up. I then received this text (verbatim): "yo is this old girl from the dollar store?" Er, what? I started mentally backtracking ("did I meet anyone in the dollar store? Wait, when's the last time I've been to a dollar store?") and just called the guy. He asked me if I was, indeed, the girl he met at some random store. "Nope, sorry." He apologized, but then I could tell he was weighing his options on whether or not trying to holler at me would earn him an epic curse-out. I saved him the trouble with a "Yeah, not me. Sorry. Have a nice day." Click.

I got off the phone laughing. That dude got played in a major way. And damn she must have been fine too enough for him to call twice and send a text. And this fool had the nerve to call again, after I told him I wasn't her!

I tell ya, it's a jungle out there.

I Need a Financial Bailout

I often joke around when the words aren't flowing like I need them to, saying things like "Who hired me?" "Why did I choose to be a writer?" in jest, of course.

This WNBA internship affords me lots of opportunities to write stories, one thing I thought I was good at--well, people have told me I'm good at, some [ok many] days I think I suck and words just appear out of my ass and apparently people like them. Or did they?

Maybe it's a college-to-professional growing pains thing. I know the ins and outs of editing and journalism and critiquing but let me be a baby for a second: WAAAHHH MY "EDITOR" KEEPS CHANGING MY STORIES TOTALLY AROUND AND I'M STARTING TO THINK I SUCK FOR REAL FOR REALS. *pouts*

End rant. I'm going to be mature about this and ask that instead of me turning in a story and reading something completely different (I get that my writing needs work...or do I? See above) I could work more closely with him as he edits, time permitting of course. Is that a good idea? I hope it is. I might chicken out though--which I doubt because my "editor" is cool. I put "editor" in quotes because he's probably not even thirty yet and he reminds me of Seth Cohen. Totally not intimidating. Anyway, I'm going to learn from this internship if it kills me: this is just what I need, someone totally unbiased to edit, rearrange, prune, Botox, chop, screw, sautee, and iron out my wrinkly articles until they are silky smooth with perfection. But I want my stories to sound different from his, you know? He's a really good writer (I'm jealous/admiring) but he's not me, and if I've learned anything it's that you (I) need your own writing voice, which I'm working on, by the way.

Whew. I'm glad I got that off my chest. Oh and I'm scared I'll get kicked out of my place back in Southern State because we (my parents) never pay the rent on time. Without getting too deep into it, I've always been weird about asking for money from my parents, because a) I'm cheap 2) we haven't always had it and I couldn't stand the thought of being a burden. Even though it's important (so I won't be homeless duh), I can't fathom bitching about it to parents who have to put two more kids through college soon (Middle Sister class of 2013, go Bison! awww I'm so proud) amidst this little thing called The Greatest Recession Since the Greatest Depression which hit our city and our family hard. Like rock through a windshield hard.

So it's like yeah I know my family's situation but at the same time I understand my roommate needs the money so she's getting an attitude with ME because I'm around even though I'm like bish it's not coming out of my pocket no matter how many times you psuedo-lecture me about the rent being My Responsibility and It's How You Build Credit, You Know (true story). If you're Person A and Person C has your money, I wouldn't keep going through Person B. That's just how I look at it; maybe I'm bang out of order. I don't know what to do. If someone does, don't be stingy, share the knowledge so my hair doesn't fall out with stress and I end up weeping silently into my iced tea.

Dirty Harriet Goes to Work

When an assignment must be done, what do we do? BLOG!

Covered a lovely community relations event today and now am trying to craft a story out of a page of notes and a Gossip Girl-addled brain. To the uneducated eye, it can appear as if I'm procrastinating, but ah, 'tis a FOOL who thinks that! It's all a part of my process. I putz around on the internet, watch some TV on DVD, put on some lotion, and BAM. A Pulitzer-worthy article comes spilling out of nowhere. We're still in the putzing and DVD phase, so this might take awhile.

Remember when I totally George Foremaned my hand (on the oven)? The resulting burn looks like a tiny grill mark and is distracting as I absentmindedly type on the keyboard...

Dressing business casual is not my forte. Button downs and slacks and pumps are hateful. Hateful, I tell you. When I actually wear pumps, that is. Even though at TV Station we had to dress appropriately, that was like a year ago and at Big Sports Station the dress code was like one step above sweatpants so now I'm lazy. I work with two shirt and tie guys and the other PR girls are these svelte creatures who wear pencil skirts and four-inch heels and sparkly tank tops underneath their shirts and then there's me. No style-havin', would rather be wearing jeans and flip-flops, forever wrinkled ol' me. I tell ya. I wasn't made to wear professional attire.

I wish I was Serena van der Woodsen. SHE knows how to dress.

Move Over, Hillary

Be very afraid, I've just been promoted :) on The Paper. My official title is "Associate Managing Editor"--of an award-winning college, student-ran publication. I'm third, well, 2.5th in-command and, if you'll allow me to brag for just a mo', the highest-ranking female on staff in The Paper's 85 years of existence.

I am woman.

Oh, and another thing: The Paper is the publication of an all-male HBCU, even though it covers events of the surrounding institutions as well. I go to the unofficial "sister school."*

*Maintaining anonymity is haaaaard. My school/these schools are relatively known**, so I can't give away too much lest my jig be up...gets up...be's up? Anyway. My sham of an explanation probably won't sense if you don't know how the said schools operate, but just know that I'm kind of a big deal :)

**Oh, my God. I sound SO pretentious. Ignore me. Bear with me. Forgive me. Y'all know I'd never intentionally stoop so low.

And you know what's funny? Well two things:

1. In the midst of basking in my awesomeness two days ago I was also dealing with the trite comeback attempts of Film Screening Guy, who continues to make it obviously--borderline rudely--clear that he has no interest in my life other than procuring my panties. During almost the entire pitiful (on his end, anyway) conversation I was just thinking, "This totally great amazing thing that I worked my ass off for for three years finally happened to me and this guy has no idea or remote interest.*** Volumes have been spoken."

***Actually, Mr. GQ was not exactly the picture of enthusiasm either when I told him my good news. Which actually stung a little. Maybe he was distracted: we were on the freeway. A lesson in humility, perhaps? But anyway.

2. I love how the movies that give you the option of "Theatrical Version" or "Extended Version" are the ones that went straight-to-DVD and weren't actually in theaters.

Blogversary Delayed

Hey, all.

Happy anniversary to me! I am that girlfriend who is too busy to remember her anniversary. Shame on me. But mama's got to bring home the bacon! That's right, people. As of yesterday's frantic filling out of W-4s and Direct Deposit slips, Lucky walks amongst the employed. Even better: it's a totally cool job--I work for a major sports league website. When you go to a team's website and see the little game blurb, there's a good chance that me or someone I work with wrote it! Which also means I have the horrid task of having League Pass at my disposal, and having to/getting to watch any game that's on.

Le sigh. Life is not easy.

Tonight, I promise I will write a proper post about What This Blog Means To Me etc etc and in order to do it justice it need not be written on a public computer in the middle of a school day when my cover can be blown.

Until tonight, mon amies!

Liveblogging The Pistons Game

Since I've been [obsessing] talking about it for so long, I thought it would be fun to liveblog the day of the basketball game (tonight at 8pm). Warning: it's long. Who knew this was so much fun?

-Crikey, I woke up late. I need to wash clothes to have something to wear for the men of my dreams.
-My mom and sister were supposed to leave like a half hour ago. Why are they still here? WHY am I still in bed?
-Urgh. A lotta laundry to carry downstairs.
-General Hospital's on. Damn, it must be past three o'clock. Oops.
-Colors safely in the wash. Hungry. A Pop-Tart seems good.
-WHO ATE THE LAST POP-TART????
-Oh, never mind. Here's the last one. Scrumptious.
-Still hungry. Contemplate eating donut as well.
-Compromise by eating half a donut and some orange juice instead. Why am I not 300 lbs? Have no idea.
-Oh, dear. My hair needs...doing. Plug in flat-iron.
-Check e-mail while waiting. Nothing good.
-What am I going to wear tonight? Make sister Google pictures of Zac Efron and Vanessa Hudgens at Lakers games for ideas.
-All pictures are of couples. Will not feel bad today--have FIVE men waiting for me.
-Perform ablutions. I feel nauseous. WTF? Maybe Pop-Tart/donut/toothpaste idea was not a winning one.
-Ever notice that when you feel the least bit queasy, your imagination immediately brings up things that really do disgust you?
-Am making self sick. Must stop.
-Saw an episode of CSI that said smiling suppresses the gag reflex. Am grinning like an idiot to beat churning stomach.
-Find pictures of Sophia Bush online. She is a cute, compact little person even leaving a nail salon. Why can't I be a cute, compact little person??
-Am too tall, curvy, and hate ironing, is why.
-Tried to flat-iron hair. Lose interest after first two strokes. Persevere. Satisfied with half/various sections tended to.
-Put second load of laundry in. Might just be on schedule after all.
-Ever since I pulled my computer back from the brink of death I have no full CDs on my ITunes. I thought I wouldn't mind at first but I do. Must begin tedious task of loading them onto my Ipod.
-CD case is downstairs and I am not. Perhaps another day, then.
-This is the first Pistons game I've gone to not wearing ceremonial attire. -Am SO unprepared. All the celebs are [with their boyfriends] wearing high heels. Lent my Manolo's to Beyonce so am out of luck on that front. Plus it snowed last night--it's cold, dammit.
-Except try as I might to think otherwise, wearing a dress and heels to a sporting event reeks of Trying Too Hard and brands you as one of THOSE girls who have no idea what's going on in the game.
-Surely there must be a happy medium.
-I'm going to wear my new purple boots. Festive, not fussy.
-Nothing in my wardrobe matches purple boots. What was I THINKING?
-Gray t-shirt, skinny jeans, purple boots. Option #1.
-John Travolta's 16-year-old son died...so sad...
-Skinny jeans are in the dryer still. I never put them in the dryer, but I needed them to wear tonight. What if they're not dry in time? What if they SHRINK?
-Run downstairs.
-30 minutes left on dryer. Sigh. Plus, all my good bras are still wet. Why can't I wake up early like a responsible adult? Why?
-On second thought, where did that gray t-shirt come from? Look closer.
-Oh, damn, forgot. That's not a regular t-shirt, that's a XXL "Property of Clemson Athletics" shirt I bought last week! Damn!
-Maybe I'll just go naked. Anyone? Anyone?
-Purple stripey sweater, skinny jeans, purple boots. Option #2.
-Garage door opens. Who's that? Mom. Might not be too happy with my lack of progress.
-Quickly run downstairs to get makeup.
-Not Mom, it's Dad. Says we must leave by 6:45. It is 5:20 and I'm in pajamas, Middle Sister's not home, Little Sister is still in a towel. This might not end well.
-I WILL us to make it on time.
-Where is my phone??
-Oh, here on the kitchen table. Typical.
-Grab dry pants, leave everything else in laundry room.
-Yum, jeans straight out of the dryer are nice and toasty.
-Oof, but tight.
-Ok, skinny jeans with sweater and knee high boots...looks kind of...tawdry...
-Am convinced I look ok. Harass sisters for 2nd and 3rd opinions. They cosign.
-All leave house, pile into car ahead enough of schedule to swing by McDonald's.
-Mmmm chicken nuggets.
-Damn, that's a lot of traffic. For a good cause, though. Go 'Stones!
-$10 for parking is highway robbery.
-We're heeeeeeeere!
-This parking lot is huge...Gawd, it's cold.
-My sisters don't like my boots. Say they would have told me but I was too busy running around saying things like "People, people, why are we not dressed?" and "Come on, now, time is money!"
-Am now self-conscious.
-And in slightly bad mood.
-No line at Will Call. Sweet.
-Will Call Lady taking absurdly long time finding our tickets. I ordered them, I swear I did! Ohmygod if this goes wrong I will be soo embarrassed not to mention pissed off--$10 parking!--where are those tickets?!
-Whew. She found them.
-My extraordinary planning skills have gotten us ticket package with gift cards to concession stands.
-Still annoyed about poor outfit choice.
-Hmm, seats aren't bad. High, but good view.
-Game starts...YAY fireworks and "The Final Countdown!"
-Am slightly misty-eyed.
-Wipe eyes under pretense of scratching nose.
-Go to bathroom at halftime, scrutinize outfit, leave confused. Do I look ok or not?
-Want to ask stranger. Refrain and slink to concessions.
-Yick. Soft pretzel tastes disappointingly like plain old bread.
-Little Sister gives me her ice cream. All is forgiven.
-Drunken people in the row below are looking to "get the party started." Amusing.
-Great second half, scream loudly. Sing along to "Shout" and participate in The Wave.
-Middle Sister even gets into game. By Jove, I think we've got it!
-Game's getting close. "The Final Countdown" plays again! Rodney Stuckey has 38 points!
-I LOVE THE PISTONS.
-We win, exit happily.
-Unceremonious drive home, thinking next time will just say "sod it" and wear t-shirt and jeans after all.
-Rifle through drawers at home, find Pistons nightshirt. Shirt big enough to be pretend boyfriend's instead of last year's Christmas present from auntie.
-Little Sister begs to watch a movie. Wrestling is involved as method of persuasion.
-Fashion Student calls. The girls are going to Canada tomorrow evening. Am going along. Will not get drunk--have no money for hotel and must come home same night.
-Soak cartilage piercing in salt water. Have been bad, have not done so in days.
-It stings a little. Am worried.
-Lean over sink studying ear in mirror. Gasp dramatically. Piercing looks gross! Am worried even more.
-Google "infected cartilage piercing."
-Yahoo Answers extremely reassuring.
-Sigh with relief: must not take earring out under any circumstance (prospect of wasting $55 scarier than prospect of ear falling off).
-Resolve to see doctor upon returning to school: want to avoid "should not have done it in the first place" lecture from mother. Surely stern "tut, tut" sounds will be made.
-Am watching "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days." Kate Hudson another cute, compact person. With annoyingly cute little Knicks jersey.
-More feelings of inferiority.
-In movie, fictional Knicks are playing fictional Sacramento Kings--I totes just saw them a few hours ago! Fictional because a) the actors are so clearly not the actual players and 2) the Knicks and Kings would never play in the Finals.
-Wish for future job to include rooftop martinis during workday.
-Remember do not like vodka. But perhaps afternoon tequila is too much to ask for.
-"Put a muzzle on your old lady the next time you bring her in public!"
-Wonder why Matthew McConaghey attempts to nuzzle in Kate's breasts when she OBVIOUSLY has none. But I sympathize.
-MM is still sexy.
-"A woman loves a man who can cook." I guess.
-Fictional Sportscenter referred to Earl Monroe. I met him last year! Earl the Pearl!

I would continue but I feel like liveblogging a movie is worthy of a whole separate post. Plus Little Sister keeps giving me the side-eye for typing during "our time," so I must bid y'all adieu. She has a hefty kick for someone of her size.

Totals: 2 loads of laundry complete, 1 amazing basketball game, 2 dejected purple boots, 1 possibly infected ear.

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.

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.

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.

180 Degrees

And I'm not trying to be philosophical with that title. That's how FUCKING HOT it is here in Southern City. I'm here at Brother School dying, and I had to walk outside through campus for the guys to, ahem, blatantly ogle. Now I'm here at my Paper Meeting trying to figure out how to cross my legs in shorts without them looking fat. And some joker is in here filming the meeting, no doubt for some student project. And some girl is staring at me in a not quite friendly manner. I'm older than you, more higher up, and suffocating grossly in the heat. And trying to type surreptitiously. Girl, get out of here.

Just a Pit Stop on the Way to Insanity

Have been moving into My New Digs for the past few days..and have subsequently contemplated setting up a box on the street because the process has been so stressful. Fun, but stress-inducing.

Tidbit: Even though they drove me bonkers, I totally almost cried when my family finally left.

Anyway, just wanted to check in 'cause I can't quite figure out the internet in my room. Which means that I'm writing this post on my mighty Blackberry. In my queen-sized bed whilst watching One Tree Hill. But, I can't quite say that this method of mobile posting is exactly easy on my wrists, so I must bid yall adieu for a few days until I can beg, borrow, or steal private time on a computer to post properly. So go on without me. You heard me, save yerselves, mates! And vaya con Dios!

Stuck

This just in: at this very moment, Middle Sister has an INSANELY HOT guy friend over. I only got a fleeting glimpse of him, but hot damn, he is gorgeous. In my house, currently, there is one of the hottest guys I've seen since Tex, and he's with my sister. My younger sister. Blimey. If that's not an unholy indication that life isn't fair, then, well, I just don't know what is. And I'll tell you this for free: if he becomes anything resembling her "official" boyfriend I will find it very, very, very hard to continue living.

But on the whole I am happy that at least someone in my family (besides my parents) has found true and everlasting love. Let it be known that I am not a jealous spinster sister-- just yet. I fear it may be a-coming.

Have things gone unchanged? Why am I just starting to write an article that's due tomorrow, being aided in the procrastination department by popcorn, Vitamin Water, and iTunes? While wearing sweatpants? And my hair is messy, to boot! Honestly all I need is my lucky hat and it's like I've gone back in time.

Earlier I was on Facebook and stumbled across someone's profile whose very face utterly pissed me off. And a dear friend of mine* was fraternizing with the enemy! I almost fell off of my chair; what the fuckity-fuck is THIS all about?! I can't.

*Please, no one take offense to or read too much into this. I am melodramatic more than I am scorned or possessive. I'm just joking around, using a touch of exaggerated flair, if you will, to give readers a chuckle at my good-natured expense. Don't take Lucky very seriously, it will only give you a headache!

Fuck. I really do have to do this article that I had all summer to work on. I've learned nothing from last year's bleary-eyed nights spent in front of this very laptop! But I feel quite un-creative at the moment, making it hard for me to write anything of use, and I'm also quite tired. Maybe I will just let the Devil take the hindmost and do this tomorrow, at TV Station. Eh, I feel disaster might befall that plan, so it looks I'm going to have to take it on the chin and produce. I need some inspiration and right now all I feel is bored. With precious little to show for myself except for a paragraph and a full stomach due to all those delicious snacky-snacks. I've still got my appetite, at the least.

Update: In need of tequila. Evening has turned into a facsimile sham of a fiasco; hate being nosy, nerdy spinster older sister. Want to simultaneously scream, vomit, and gouge eyes out. Must throw self wholeheartedly into work in hopes of becoming professional ice-queen to whom the petty dealings of others have no effect. Might resort to dark chocolate bar hidden upstairs.

My 15 Minutes

I could be famous.

After tonight's award ceremony at which I and others received various recognitions, I decided that being adored agrees with me. With my dad, too, apparently, since people were shaking his hand as much as mine. I had to give a speech, yo. Dad did too, for reasons unknown, but he and I had a blast, working the room and having fun doing it. People couldn't wait to wring my dad's hand, either. He's extremely tall and it was a sports function so I think they mistook him for a former NBA guy, or something (which actually happens a lot). There were also some big journalism names there telling me how proud they were of me, which was awesome.

Some lady came up to my dad and said, "Congratulations, sir, you have a great daughter. And she's just adorable!"

Why yes, lady, I wanted to say, I am damn cute.

But of course, every fun night in high heels has its mini-snag: a guy came over to me with his HOT AND TALL FRIEND in tow, both to congratulate me. I could barely get discernible words out as he complimented me and shook my hand. But where a girl savvier than I would have turned that into a perfect opportunity, my dad had to go all, "Hey [Lucky] come meet such-and-such" on me. Jeez.

That being said, after taking stock of the events of the past few days, I have decided that, yes, I, shy, sometimes wallflowery Lucky, could do famous.

Frantic!

Earlier I tried to post from my phone, in the midst of the onset of a networking-induced panic attack, but I couldn't figure out how. So I had to settle for cowering in the corner of the ladies room (on a chair, duh), listening to "Dirty Diana" before I could compose myself enough to enter the job fair.

In case I forgot to say, I'm at a journalism convention in Chicago to schmooze, network, and accept my scholarship (not in that order). A convention, at which, I must say, the esteemed Barack Obama will be speaking tomorrow. So there!

Anyway, the fair wasn't the vomit-inducing, kill or be killed circus I thought it would be. And by that I mean no one was overly rude and there are hot guys here. I had to scribble tally-marks on my left hand (not the handshake hand!) count all the booths I stopped by. But still, I was glad when the day was over and my dad, my godfather, and I could go to Giorzano's for authentic Chicago deep dish. I must say, I'm a little disappointed in myself. Usually I'm good for three slices of pizza, no matter what kind, but honey, after one slice of that cheesy goodness and I was laid out! I couldn't go out like that; I did manage to go back and attempt a second slice (attempt being the key word).

Tomorrow I accept my award. My picture's in the program and everything. My dad got a kick out of that. So if you need me tomorrow evening, I might be busy enjoying my 15 minutes of fame and probably still trying not to faint.

PS-I heard from the Runner today, via Facebook. And a few days ago, Science Guy. *blank stare*

Finally

I'm getting terrific feedback from tons of influential people about my writing, I just bought new clothes for my upcoming trip, and Titanic just came on. Today is a good day.

Updated (many hours later):

-Found the other missing song from VS: It's called "Melt My Heart to Stone" by Adele.
-Absolutely bawled when I finished watching Titanic...when I confessed to my mother, she just looked at me pityingly and said, "But...you already know he dies in the end." So besides the point. That's not even the part that gets me.

Anyway, as promised, here are pictures from Warped Tour, along with a little bonus footage:




































Enjoy!

Hanging On, but Just Barely

This is how I look and feel right about now.

I haves a headache, my legs still hurt, and I still have loads to do before my head can come anywhere near a pillow.

Spent most of the day at TV Station stuffing those damned envelopes again, and this time without the pleasure of Sarcastic Intern's company; she's in LA with her boyfriend. Must be muthafukkin nice.

You'll have to excuse me once again, I really am exhausted and my room looks like the Titanic after the that nasty run-in with the iceberg.

I had another celebrity man-candy dream again last night, this time about Lil' Wayne. He was really nice and he gave me a ride in his Hummer. And no, I didn't mean that as a sex euphemism or anything. For once.

People I barely know continue to say complimentary things about me because of the scholarship, which is really quite flattering. Apparently this is the first year this scholarship has ever been given out, which, in case you didn't know, makes me kind of a big deal. LOL. Just kidding.

I really do have work to do tonight; some stuff for The Paper and with my other internship for Local Record Label. Also, I work on Saturday and have to cover a downtown festival this weekend for TV Station. Whew! Didya catch all that?

I feel there will be another long letter-type post coming up soon. I haven't decided if I want to air that particular bit of proverbial dirty laundry on this blog yet.

That being said, I must bid y'all adieu for tonight, I'm pooped. Happy 4th of July, eat some barbecue and crack a brewsky in my honor (or, better yet, something with tequila. No drinky-poos for me until I get back to school, ha)!
eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeffffffffffeeeeeeeeeeeeertr

Whoops, sorry. Almost fell asleep sitting up. My bad. Leaving, now.

I'm Just Sayin'

I'm watching Madea's Family Reunion right now after work, the scene where Lisa and her abusive fiance, Carlos are at the restaurant on a double-date, and he's all, "I love you...to death," and basically threatening her. Not to trivialize her struggle, but girl, did you forget that you are a grown-ass woman!? You definitely could have been like, "Yeah...I'm not going home with you tonight, buddy, I'm going with our friends. Matter of fact, we're finished and go to hell." Just a suggestion.

Now it's the Frankie and Vanessa "happy in love" montage. Boris Kodjoe is gorgeous even with that ri-damn-diculous Afro wig. Stupid co-workers! Not telling me that he stopped by the studio!

Speaking of work, Website Girl's intern was doing a phone interview next to me, and I wasn't really paying attention until I heard her say, "So, do you ever get to work directly with Kimora?" Kimora?? As in, Lee Simmons?!?!?! Turns out Curly-Haired Intern was interviewing a Baby Phat designer (who only rarely sees KLS, by the way). Still, that was enough for me. WG's interns are their own well-dressed little clique. I could try a little harder to make conversation. Maybe I'm just jealous because they have, I dunno, things to do. Even though I might have an interview with a local rapper soon, thanks to Website Girl. She's actually not bad. Just really busy, I guess.

I really dig that song by Carrie Underwood "Before He Cheats." The worst thing I ever did to an a-hole ex was...I mean, it was more playfully mischievous than bad, I didn't "scratch my key into the side/of a pretty little souped-up/4-wheel drive" like Carrie did, but, well, never mind. Heh.

There were these shirtless guys playing basketball across the street when I came home this afternoon. Okay, okay, I got an eyeful. Oh, whatever. Like you wouldn't have looked.