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!

an evening with........malaise

wouldn't that be a great band name? wait, who am i "talking" to? last time i checked, no one reads this horseshit. horses. seabiscuit. you guys. anyways. on saturday night, over beers & jagermeister to try and rid of the killer headache i was rockin (oddly enough, the drink DIDN'T help), i made the following inquiry to my favorite regulars at my fave bar

1. if i started a Heart cover band, would you come and see us?

if i dream it, it will happen? it'd be totally hot too. of course, i need to find musicians. moreover, i need to find musicians who are dedicated to bringing the sweet and creepy sounds of Heart back and with a vengeance. oh, and in order for me to actually perform on a stage, in front of strangers, i'll be needing about 4 bowls of coke and shots of jager lined up before we "go on." when i close my eyes.

p.s. the band would be called Feart, not malaise.

in other news, the air band that i'm in, 30 Helens Agreed, is so not in the works. but i've got the drums DOWN. and the lead guitarist (and visionary) has her part down too. we're working on it. it's hard when none of us own instruments or really care when we're sober. and we're thinking that maybe no one would actually pay to see their friends not do anything but rock out in the air. i'd pay. i'm supportive like that though. in fact, i endured seeing The Worst Band Ever play prior to my friends' band play at some hoos' battle of the band thing at Illinois' Finest "Club," Pop's. i even paid the $6 cover fee (after getting brutally rebuffed from using my free pass to get in) to sit through this. i even went to illinois to see this. i went to pop's on valentine's day. i went to pop's on valentine's day. i went to pop's on valentine's day.

i'm still gonna rule the roost though.

it's not a sandwich any longer!

so i was watching the NBA All-Star game last night over at my peeps house last night and it's incredible, after all this time, i'm still *THIS* much in it to win it with allen iverson. the ol' AI. the Answer. i love him. i want to lick on his entire body. i would do this during halftime and not be bothered with the no doubt goat smell that would be attached to his testicles. i'd do this with a smile on my face. those eyes! those tattoos! that arm thing! that hair! why isn't he mine? no, seriously. he already fills the apparent prerequisite and not only has some babies, but he's also got a lady friend. perfect! i guess what kills it all is the fact that he's got money. spoiler! and it's so sad that with all of my love for him, i still predicted that the West would triumph. stupid shaq, stupid kobe. i hate them. i can say/type that with a straight face and with little to no guilt for using such a strong word. in fact, when picking my players for my fantastical team for NBA fantasy action, i did not pick either. is this important? i don't know. i do know that my team is ranked 5 out of 7. give it time. i feel like even if we don't get first place, we've won. i feel that strongly and deep in my loins.

burning.