forever young
There's something awfully frightening about being awake before the sun sets. I had to get to work this morning by 7:30 for an 8 o'clock meeting that lucky dawg me had to get set up and meet the caterer, etc. I am going to die. Keeping in mind that I probably didn't prepare really good last night when I kept on getting wasty over at my friends while watching the taped eppie of Tuesday's 24. Needless to say, my eyes are now bleeding and I feel like I could crawl under my desk and call it a day. I'd take comfort in the fact that I can technically leave an hour early, but that's so lame when one thinks about how I have to just go directly to my stupid night job. Argh matey. There's no hope with dope.
On that!
Some good stuff is that my friend is coming in town from NYC and he'll be doing some make up action at the Saks/Nieman's NARS counter and yours truly will mos def be going there to let him do that magical thing he do. Oh, it's magical. It also helps that last night he was talking about various presents that he'll have for me so I'm looking forward to some gloss. It's the little things. On top of it just being good that he's coming in town, it's even better because, NOT IN A BAD WAY, I think that now I will be relieved of any Mardi Gras "duties." WAIT! P.B. - this is NOT intended for you, this is in regards to the fake pretend bad boyfriend who's trying to get me to, I don't know, wipe his ass or something on Sat. night. I really don't "do" Mardi Gras is the thing. The whole idea of drinking and walking down the streets of Soulard makes me go hmmmm. It's a black thing I suppose. I don't mind drinking and I'm not angry at walking, but doing those 2 things and being outside and having only porta-potties (sp) to rely on is enough to make me shake my fist in the air. It's Black History Month, I have to show some 'spect since no one else apparently will. Fucks.
You know it's a sad day when I get all excited when I can scrape together 65 cents. Blessed pay day is in less than 24 hours. HOLLA!
Wait. Take it back. Sure, I found 65 cents, but I'd like to purchase a "side" of sorts to go along with my small, round chik patty that I'll be throwing down my throat and calling lunch. You know, pretzels, something salty, anything. Howard Jones' "What is Love Anyway" is playing right now on the web station I listen to. I guess my "side" will be the super-charged Mr. Pibb that I'm going to treat myself to. A girl's gotta get herself nice things every now and again. Am I wrong? Who's with me? Fellas?
john travolta is 50.
kids turning in college applications were born in 1987.
i could be the mother of a 15 year old.
Go Rod Stewart!
On that!
Some good stuff is that my friend is coming in town from NYC and he'll be doing some make up action at the Saks/Nieman's NARS counter and yours truly will mos def be going there to let him do that magical thing he do. Oh, it's magical. It also helps that last night he was talking about various presents that he'll have for me so I'm looking forward to some gloss. It's the little things. On top of it just being good that he's coming in town, it's even better because, NOT IN A BAD WAY, I think that now I will be relieved of any Mardi Gras "duties." WAIT! P.B. - this is NOT intended for you, this is in regards to the fake pretend bad boyfriend who's trying to get me to, I don't know, wipe his ass or something on Sat. night. I really don't "do" Mardi Gras is the thing. The whole idea of drinking and walking down the streets of Soulard makes me go hmmmm. It's a black thing I suppose. I don't mind drinking and I'm not angry at walking, but doing those 2 things and being outside and having only porta-potties (sp) to rely on is enough to make me shake my fist in the air. It's Black History Month, I have to show some 'spect since no one else apparently will. Fucks.
You know it's a sad day when I get all excited when I can scrape together 65 cents. Blessed pay day is in less than 24 hours. HOLLA!
Wait. Take it back. Sure, I found 65 cents, but I'd like to purchase a "side" of sorts to go along with my small, round chik patty that I'll be throwing down my throat and calling lunch. You know, pretzels, something salty, anything. Howard Jones' "What is Love Anyway" is playing right now on the web station I listen to. I guess my "side" will be the super-charged Mr. Pibb that I'm going to treat myself to. A girl's gotta get herself nice things every now and again. Am I wrong? Who's with me? Fellas?
john travolta is 50.
kids turning in college applications were born in 1987.
i could be the mother of a 15 year old.
Go Rod Stewart!
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