Friday, January 29, 2010

“I’m Absolute and They’re All Obsolete”

I have been loafin’ like a bad word that I’m choosing to abstain from using at the moment when it comes to updating the blog. This is the part where I’d ask for your forgiveness but if you’re reading this, there is a very real chance that your approval doesn’t matter to me so why would your forgiveness? Don’t get it twisted just because I haven’t updated in a bit, I’m still me. Hmph.
So anyway, a lot has happened since I last slid a double shot of Ren down the bar to serve the patrons of the blogosphere and I have no clue where to begin. Hmm…Eeny, Meanie, miney…
ah, here we go.
I absolutely loathe, detest, despise and downright hate people sometime.
Yesterday when I was in search of fxckery on twitter out of boredom, I got involved in one of the most ignorant, pointless debates that I’ve ever been involved in.
My skin color isn't what makes me "better" than any "nigga", "Spic", "White" or other nationality. Who I am as a person and what I bring to the figurative table is what makes me "better" than another individual. 
Light skin vs. Dark skin.
I fully intend to speak on this one day and soon, but not until I do some more research on the subject because I’ll be damned if I sound stupid. So, before I move on to the next—no Jay Z— peep my response to her after she told me that “As a light-skinned woman, you were handpicked to succeed”

Hand picked to succeed? Really? So you think that my skin tone is going to be what determines my success level? Incorrect. Any amount of success or failure that I obtain will be based STRICTLY on my merits as an individual. I for one don’t buy into this whole light skin is better than dark skin or vice versa bullshxt. If anything, I’m better than you because of who I am and don’t you ever forget that. Stop trying to blame your failures as a human on me and those around me and man the fxck up. “You’ve had it easy because of your light skin” Bxtch please, suck and choke on a dick because you sound stupid as all hell right now.

Her response was to call me an uppity house nigger. Then she asked me which shade of men I get myself involved with and insinuated that I date light skinned men to keep the tradition of dark skinned oppression alive. I was sitting there looking at my laptop and wishing that I could wrap my hands around her neck and choke some sense into her when I told her that I don’t just date black men. She came out the side of her virtual neck calling me a light skinned race traitor and before she could continue I told her:
By no means am I a traitor to the race. My race is human.
Then I blocked her and went about my damn bidness.
*rolls eyes*
In other news, since I posted this guess what happened?
Give up? Well, for the easily defeated and those without a decent dose of imagination, the answer is
Yes, that He.

Bleh. I can’t focus, too much on my mind. So, consider this part one.

Friday, January 22, 2010

My Conscience Called in Sick Again

Which explains why I’m posting the following video and why we’re all about to go to hell for it. See, it’s a Friday night and as usual, I’m stuck here at the crib. I just got off the phone with my Twubby who’s gonna get kicked in the eye for making fun of my speech patterns and calling me yellow and I’m now chillin’ out maxin, relaxin’ all cool in my room and ruling over my queendom as the Phresh Princess of Lansing and The Surrounding Areas. Needless to say, Your Royal Adorableness, The (Infamous) One I is bored as all hell. So, I decided to snoop around that rancid cesspool of fxckery filled clips known as YouTube and I found…well, you take a look at it.

I was barely fifteen seconds in when I started shedding clothes because I could feel the flames of Hell licking at my soul as I watched in awe and thunderstruck amazement. This isn’t the first time that I’ve seen Pedro, no ma’am, but this is the first time I’ve ever seen him…dance and to be honest? This shxt left me gobsmacked.
Look, I’m not hatin’ on the physically handicapped. I don’t have the time nor the patience to deal with all the people who would come for my head if I were to do that, no. I’m not even hatin’ on Pedro because it had to take guts—why did I wish to be bad and say “but not legs”? Bad Ren, bad—to do that and my quote unquote able bodied ass isn’t even willing to do it. As a matter of fact, I’m not hating at all. I’m just a rather bored individual who happened to stumble upon this video during my foray for fxckery earlier. Don’t waste the brain cells that you can’t afford to waste getting mad at me. Instead, watch Pedro check up on it. If you actually allow yourself to listen to the lyrics of the song as he dances and permit yourself to wonder just what one could grab on him, you’re going to hell and I along with you because I wanted to know the exact same shxt.

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

“The Importance of Being Earnest? Who He Be?”

Before you even allow the thought to cross your mind, I am quite aware that TIOBE is a play written by Oscar Wilde and I would like to inform you all that this is not a quote by me. No, I happen to know a little something about the plot and wouldn’t say anything as ignorant as that which I overheard and stole to use as a title. What do you take me as?

Hola mi amigos y…uh, whatever the Spanish word for “enemies” is. What’s bueno in your barrio’s Holmes? Holmes’s? Hmm…oh, what’s that? Pookie got knocked? Again?
Ay carrumba.
As for me and my rather fantabulous, infamous with a side of notorious self, I am…not in a good mood. At all. Which is ironic considering how this all got started. I honestly don’t feel like goin’ into it right now, but last week I heard from my lil big bro JB who is, in case you aren’t an original lurker of the blog, His natural born brother.
We did a bit of catching up and, long-ish story short, I was encouraged to call Him. So I did. Twice.
The first time I called I was fighting back tears. As His outgoing message came on, I realized just how much I miss Him and I was stumbling over my words as I left a message hoping that He’d get back to me soon.
[I’m still waiting but if Q needs time He can take it. *shrugs*]
Ah, you were astute enough to pick up on the fact that there’s a lot that I’m not saying right now? Well then, gold stars and handclaps for you.

I’ll be back with some ill natured, bad tempered, smart mouthed, notorious infamy next post, I promise. Can’t have people thinkin’ that I’ve gone soft because I miss this nigga.
Because I might have. And I definitely do.



Tuesday, January 12, 2010

Don’t Call Me Up When the Snow Comes Down

Day Twelve

What it is ho; wassup?
Now, y’all know that I’m ready, willing and able to keep the “Some Cut” references going—btw, shouts to Kenny for getting it stuck in my head all weekend—but I’m bored and can’t be bothered at the moment. Although the thought of twisting Trillville’s lyrics and talking about a different kind of “cutting” excites me for some strange and most likely sick reason. I hadn’t even intended to write an introduction to this one, so let’s get into it, shall we?

I think that there’s only one thing in this world that I hate more than (actual) people and y’all know how much I despise, detest, dislike, loathe and generally can’t stand people. My hatred (no, not really) for them is deeper than rap. It goes beyond Gucci Mane’s beef with Carmex and even further than the feud with common sense and originality that all the Barbie’s in Nicki Minaj’s dream house have bee locked in ever since Scotty beamed ‘em up.
I hate the winter. More specifically; everything that comes with it. Snow; ice; the general cold; the niggas that are on the hunt since this is cuffin’ season; shoveling and putting down salt; etc. etc.; ad nauseum and blah de frickin’ blah.
This is terrible, absolutely appalling. I can’t motivate myself to keep writing in the same vein. I was planning on doing a hilarious in my own mind diatribe about my utter loathing of the winter and most things snow related by resurrecting my foxy and whole lotta woman wintertime alter ego Caramel Macchiato, the baddest motha—shut yo’ mouth—that Lansing and the surrounding areas have ever seen. However, my mind isn’t letting me write, direct, produce, score and star in my own blaxploitation flick right now so that’ll have to wait.
I’ve been slackin’ wit’ the postage for about a week now and I don’t wanna give some of you the satisfaction of an under 500 word post by me, so, here we go with some random ish that I want to know:
1) How do you twice remove a family member and how do I nominate members of my family for singular removal?
2) If you give a mouse a cookie, what right does that same mouse have to ask you for a glass of milk? Does it not realize that it is indeed a mouse and siccing a cat on it would put an immediate end to any and all dairy cravings  that this particular rodent may have? The same goes for a pig with a pancake. Look here my little porcine friend, I could very easily have your presence ended and your carcass smoked over a nice Hickory wood fire. The only creatures that could get what they want in regards to food would be a Moose with a muffin and a Bear with a brownie based solely on the fact that they are indeed a Moose and a Bear.
3) Ethical treatment of animals? Uh…by who’s code of ethics are we treating Bessie the cow and friends because it most certainly isn’t Ren’s.
4) If my grandma and your grandma are sitting by the fire, where are we and why are we singing a song about it?
5) Daylight broke. The tallyman came to tally his bananas. Did Harry Belafonte ever go home?

Twelve days down, three hundred and fifty three to go.

Wednesday, January 6, 2010

Thou Shalt Not Wear it if it’s Not in Thine Size

Before anyone thinks that I’m goin’ after plus sized chicks, let the record show that I myself am a size 18 and I don’t care who likes it. Dress size aside, chances are good to better than great that I’m a better person than you so don’t think that you can judge me on my waist size.

Commandment Two:
If the shirt does not fit, you must ah…QUIT tryin’ to squeeze yo’ ass into it

Looking like ten pounds of oranges stuffed into a five pound sack of flour is not a good look.
Ladies, can we please start wearing clothes that fit our bodies and body types? Please?
Yes, that graphic tee may just be the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. It may even go with those two sizes too small shoes that you just had to get because they were on sale and they happened to be the last pair in the known world, but sweetie, if you know that shirt is four sizes too small, don’t even think about tryin’ it on. You can stop wit’ the little lies that you tell yourselves too and don’t sit there and act like you don’t know what I’m talkin’ about because I know that you do. Tryin’ to psych yourself out wit’ some “Well, I wear a 2x and that’s a little big on me, maybe I’ve been buying my clothes too big. Maybe I can fit this XL shirt and pull it off.”
The last thing you wanna do is go Hulk in the dressing room at Rainbow and rip through some cheaply made t-shirt.
Stop. That. Shxt.
Matter of fact, if you wear anything over a size 12, stay the fxck outta Charlotte Russe, Wet Seal, most Deb’s and Dots and don’t even think about tryin’ to find an outfit in your size or a pot of gold at Rainbow. Your best friend may be a size six and can comfortably fit all the clothes in there, but sweetie, you can’t. Don’t even try. The end result will most likely have you looking like you’re a bakery display case with the muffin top and rolls that you’ll have on display in a too tight outfit from some store that carries clothes designed for people half your size. Instead, you should help your bestie pick out an outfit for her then head on over to the nearest Torrid, Lane Bryant or Avenue and find something for you to wear.

Thou Shalt Keep it Sexy

So shall it be written, so it better be done.

I know you’ve probably heard this a thousand times since the first, but let me reiterate for added effect:
It’s 2010.
It’s a new decade. A new era in this, your life and times. It’s another chance for you to get it right and get it tight Ms. New Booty.
I’ve been paying attention to y’all as of late, and honestly, this ish needs to stop. As I already stated, it’s 2010. That means it’s time for all that lame, last decade shxt to come to an end. It’s not cute, it’s not cool and it’s not kosher boo-boo; no. Please, for the sake of humanity, allow me to upgrade you. No Beyonce.
Enter my fabulous self with The Ren Commandments (no sacrilege), an informative and insightful guide to a better you according to me.
I’m not about to act like I’m an expert or an authority on the subject of upgrading lives, I wouldn’t lie to y’all like that. However; I can provide the common sense that a few of you are lacking and a few tips and tricks that can aid you in becoming a better, more successful, quite possibly infamous in your own right, individual. But only if you let me. You could choose to stop reading here, but it’s 2010. Why be regular if you don’t have to be?

Ladies, this first one is for y’all.

Commandment One
Thou shalt keep it sexy in 2010 and every year after

I’m tired of my gender and my race being downgraded on a regular and too constant basis. I want you silly bxtches—said out of love and because I’m not willing to exert the energy necessary to learn your names—to know that you make life hard for the non-reckless females with their heads on straight like myself.
Stop that shxt and keep it sexy!
You know that old adage, “clothes don’t make the man” or in this case the woman? It’s true; they don’t. True sexiness doesn’t lie in what you do or (for those of you who are fond of being half-naked) don’t wear.
Sexiness is a state of mind that effects the way you talk, the way you carry yourself and the way you act or behave. You don’t have to be that mythical perfect ten or show skin all the time to be considered sexy sweetie, whoever told you that shxt lied.
You need to think sexy thoughts to talk sexily. Let me break this down a little further.
Confidence is what makes or breaks you as an individual, a sexy one or otherwise. It’s the very heart of sexiness. Confidence is a thought process that even the mental midgets out there can master. It’s not just the belief in your own abilities, but it’s also a trusting relationship that you have with yourself. You can’t be confident in yourself, your abilities or your sexiness if you don’t trust yourself. It’s impossible.
Talking sexy doesn't’ necessarily have to do with your tone or inflection. It’s more in what you say, when you say it and how you say it. That being said, let it be known that raunchiness does not equal sexiness. There’s both a time and a place for that and I strongly suggest that you figure out when that is. Walkin’ round talkin’ about lickin’, stickin’, suckin’ and fxckin’ all the time isn’t ladylike, it’s not sexy, it’s deffy not cute and it could get you labeled a ho. Don’t let the niggas in your hood or music videos fool you, ho’s are not sexy sweetie, they’re just ho’s, little more than sex toys for anyone willing to play with them.
Walk like you got you some business girl!
Yes, the improper English is necessary. Keep your head up and a smile on your lips when you do ya lil “I’m sexy and yes I’m the shxt and I won’t allow you to tell me otherwise” strut mama. Work it; gon’ head wit’ ya bad self. Walk with an attitude, just make sure it’s not a stuck up or stank one. That’s not cute and it’ll detract from your sexiness ladies, trust me. Maybe it’s just the people that I hang around, but I know for a fact that I’m not the only one who fantasizes about pushing stank ho’s down three flights of steps. (I’m joking…*cough*) You ever seen someone after they’ve…“fallen” down some stairs? Yeah, that’s not the look.
Preserve your sexy and keep it fresh, not stank.
Behavior is everything sweetie, everything. If you act like a ho, eleven times out of ten, you’ll be a ho, same goes for being a bxtch. You can be aloof if you like, but standoffishness isn’t generally held to be sexy so find that happy medium and do what you do. Act sexy and you’ll be that, trust me.
Let’s recap.
Sexiness is a state of being, it’s confidence. it has nothing to do with the clothes that you wear or the lack thereof. Sexiness is the way you talk. it’s the things you say, when you say them and how you say them. Sexiness is the way you carry yourself and can transform an admittedly average chick into a dime even if it doesn’t give her a slim waist, cute face and a big behind. Sexiness is in your thoughts, your attitude and your actions so ladies, would you please stop embarrassing yourselves, other females and all of humanity and keep it sexy?

Tuesday, January 5, 2010

We Have a Dilemma on Our Hands Folks

I’m not even about to hit y’all with one of my elaborate, well thought out and funny if I do say so myself and I do say so introductions today. I’m not inspired in the least and I feel as though my brilliance is wasted on the majority of y’all. One of the only one’s who truly understands me and my weird, pseudo sadomasochism—used as a counterproductive coping mechanism although chains excite me— is Karma Kameleon. I’m almost positive that you’re reading this Miss K, consider this your new nickname. Kthanx.
Anyway, been a while since I’ve done my “video analysis” so, let’s get it.

World Star Hip Hop is worse than You-Tube when it comes to fxckery filled videos. Peep the vanilla tinged example below.

A few things…

1) I bet a dollars worth of Canadian quarters that you can get out of a vending machine but can’t put in a vending machine that the fellas who happen to come through on any sort of basis thought that this vid was gonna be somethin’ like the one I posted here. Ha, fooled ya.
2) Little Becky Sue has one of the most unfortunate shapes I have ever seen, deffy not Phat Girl Phresh.
3) I spy with my pretty brown eyes a good seven teddy bears in her room and about twenty-five hangers in her closet. Where are all of her clothes? And why does she look like a white version of Winnie the Pooh in that unfortunately small t-shirt?
4) She chose to…you really can’t call this dancing but I’m too lazy to wrack my brain searching for adjectives, dance—*side eye*—to Nelly and Kelly Rowland’s “Dilemma” and I wonder if she sent this to some guy that she had a “dilemma”" with and he in turn laughed his ass off at her uncoordinated self and sent it to his friends.
5) Yes. During that five second stretch of 0:45-0:50 she was indeed trying to twerk. I know you probably couldn’t tell, but yerp, that’s what it was. And yeah, she was krumping for a good ten seconds there too.
6) I’m gonna need for this chick to sweat it out to the oldies with Richard Simmons and hit up Twerk Team before she ever tries to shake her ass in front of a camera again. I don’t care if it’s a disposable 35mm one from Walgreens with no flash, if it’s a camera she needs not look so…shxt, like that if she’s in front of it.
7)  For a moment there I thought that she was in the throws of a grand mal seizure then I realized that she was just bent over her bed, documenting her severe case of noassitol. Here’s to hoping that they find a cure so Becky Sue doesn’t have to get Silicone injections to feel good about herself.
8) Anyone else notice that she did indeed get “gangsta” when Nelly said it?

That’s all boys and girls, I can’t think up something inappropriate and rude to finish this post with so I’ll allow you to fill in the blanks yourself.
Don’t give me that. Thinking will do you a world of good. Go ahead; stimulate that cerebral cortex.

Update: …I found her on YouTube. I’ll now take this time to go weep for the youth of America. If you’ll excuse me.

Monday, January 4, 2010

Day Four: I Write Sins AND Tragedies

It’s much better to face these kinds of things with a sense of poise and rationality

Yo ho, yo ho—*points*—how goes it me hearties? The cold making you shiver down to your timbers and say “argh”? Suck that shxt up. You can’t be a sailor on the good ship Lollipop and act like a pussy. I’ll make you walk the plank, keep it up.
As for me, I’m coolin’ in the Captain’s Quarters, tryin’ to chart my course for the day and wishing that I never did the pirate thing. I’ve got the “It’s my ship and I’m the captain” line from Eve’s “Satisfaction” on loop in my head right now.
I know you’re hopin’ that I rest so you can breathe…
Other than being mentally assaulted by Eve over production by (I think) Swizz Beats circa 2K2 and chillin’, I just got done arranging a meeting with Miss Maria (she makes me call her that *rolls eyes*) to set up a writing schedule. 2010 is the year of The Turner High Diaries, my “black” or “urban”—Lawd how I hate those terms—book series for teens and all those who enjoy a good read.
The THD’s are centered around four best friends who happen to be cousins and their junior and senior years in high school. If you’ve stalked the blog for any amount of time or are fond of clicking my various links, you’ve already been introduced to Cam&&Essence, but you’ve yet to meet Leslie, Monica and Rayne (who’s name was just recently changed back after the events of this summer. Just seemed…fitting) or any of the other characters in the Turnerverse. There’s Hope, Faith, Victory, Meghan, Julian, Jarrod and Nashell, Jasmine and James who briefly appear in the preview of Cam&&Essence that I have up. Then there’s Markus…
In case you didn’t think I was vain enough to do it, all of my lead characters are modeled after your truly, meaning they figuratively shxt on you and Bella Swan. Vampires; bah.
  Eh, I’ll blog somethin’ later on, I need to get up and clean.

Four days down, three hundred and sixty-one to go.

Sunday, January 3, 2010

Young, Energetic, (In)famous but Don’t Really Sweat it

Day Three

Hey there Saturday night sinners and Sunday morning fakers saints. How be thee? Were you on time for Sunday School after you downed four shots of Tequila and an apple martini, danced semi-nude on the bar at your local night club then gathered up your goons and goblin lookin’ gurlies and headed to IHOP for the New York Cheesecake pancakes? You were? Well dang!
I stayed home and watched Doctor Who wit’ the parental unit while I did some more work on the hooded blanket that I’m crocheting and I didn’t manage to make it in time for class. Then again, I haven’t been to Sunday School in a good…oh, I’d say ten years and I honestly have no intention of going back anytime soon. I’m (perhaps unlike some of y’all. It’s not my place to judge) in contact with my God on a regular basis. It’s not just a one day a week type of thing for me. Even if I’m not in my Word like I should be, I pray daily.
*pauses to pick up and collect the jaws that may have dropped*
I see that one day soon I’m gonna have to explain my faith and my stance on religion. I’m not about to sit here and call myself a Christian because you could easily look back at any of my previous posts and call me on my hypocritical, non-Christian like bullshxt. I’m not about to call myself “Spiritual” either because I see that as a cop-out of sorts. No, I won’t call myself a Christian and continue to run my life and my site the way that I do. I’d be no better than the “church folx” that I despise and I can’t have that.
But ladies, gents, fellas who look like ladies and vice versa, that’s not here and I’m not going there. Not right now. I just took a batch of Snickerdoodle’s out of the oven—yes, I crochet and I bake. The (Infamous) One is slightly domesticated—and I fully intend to smash these with an ice cold glass of milk.
*Proceeds to do so and burps quietly*
Excuse me.
So anyway, ya girl is chillin’ out, maxin’, relaxin’ all cool and living the life as Your Adorable Marvelousness, The Phresh Princess of Lansing.
I’m currently listening to music as I half watch an epi of Cold Case and reminiscing about the past.
[I’ll upload and post the song in a bit, DivShare is actin’ ass right now smh]

Years ago, back when my on again, off again boyfriend and I were off again, this song was me and Jay. One quick, sweet kiss was almost enough to ruin a lifelong friendship. Almost.
Before things got too weird between us, I confronted him by telling him that he was not that great of a kisser (slight lie) and if things didn’t get back to the way they were between us quick, fat and in a gotdamn hurry, I’d have to punch him in the throat (truth). We never kissed again, but we did indeed make up. Shortly after, Jay got introduced to the girl who was ultimately his downfall. That stupid, dirty, no good, very bad bxtch.
Anywho, I’m about to get another glass of milk and another cookie or three. I’ll try to keep the excursions down Memory Lane to a minimum. Y’all might think that I’ve gone soft or some shxt and I need to strike fear into your lives or at the very least make you laugh. Making you laugh is the objective I suppose, although the fear lasts longer.
Til the morrow; parting is such sweet sorrow and all that.
Three days down, three hundred and sixty two to go.

Saturday, January 2, 2010

Day Two: You Ever Feel Like Somebody’s Watchin’ You?

I’ve watched you y’know. I’ve been paying close attention to the attention that you’ve given me lately and I want, I need to know:
Who are you?
Why the interest in me? In Him?
Why now?
If you are who I’m hoping and praying you aren’t the same way that I’m hoping it is you, you know how to contact me. Please contact me. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t want you to think that I’m begging, but maybe I am. It’s been so long. Too long.
Two days down, three hundred and sixty three to go.

Friday, January 1, 2010

Day One: Not So Drunken Reflections

First things first: it’s 2010 y’all!

If you’re reading this, you too have survived 2009 because I refuse to believe that someone like you has found a way to bend time and space for their own, quite possibly masochistic reasons. Gon’ head and give yourselves a quiet handclap, I’m almost positive that more than a few of y’all have hangovers right now. It’s all good; I understand. There was a more than slight chance that I too was going to be fxcked up when I brought in 2010, but alas, twas not to be.

Not that I didn’t try. Believe me; I did. Not only that, but I had others tryin’ to get me fxcked up as well. I’d had my half full, blue plastic sippy cup—don’t talk shxt, a cup is a cup—in my hand as I was writing the first draft of this when The Bestie came and poured me another glass of whatever the hell we were drinkin’ at the time. Heffa told me that I better write fast because I was about to get fxcked up. Four or five drinks later, it still didn’t happen for me, but since clairvoyance isn’t one of the innumerable things that make me unique and ergo better than you, I scribbled this in my notebook:

I’ll keep this one short.
A few people have asked me if I planned to recap 09’s infamy and my answer is no.
Last April, I lost a part of myself and went mildly insane which explain the lack of posts that month. Almost nine months later, I still find myself dealing with the decisions that were made and the things that were said. I’m not ready to relive the circumstances; I can’t, not yet at least. That was the hardest thing I’ve ever gone through in my entire life and I just…strong as I am, I can’t bring myself to do it.
*coughs and takes a long drink from my cup*
But anyway, I was just writing to say Happy New Year. If you’ll excuse me, I just took a whole glass of…shxt; I dunno, to the head so I’ma proceed to get lit if you don’t mind. Happy New Year y’all, be safe, don’t drink and drive, wrap it up and all that good shxt.
Oh, before I go.
Prospero ano mi bandito. Te amo.
I’m gone.

Like I said, a clairvoyant I am not which explains why I wasn’t hung-over in the least when I wrote this addition to the blog this morning:

Hey there revelers, assorted party goers, all out drunks and those who are underage and couldn’t convince someone to buy liquor for them so they kicked it at home wit’ the fam last night. How the heck be ye?
Taking a break from worshipping at The Temple of The Porcelain Goddess to Google hangover remedies? Trying to figure out who the hell “Big Mike” is, why his number is written in Passion Plum lipstick on your chest and why you’re walkin’ funny this morning fellas? Trying to convince your goons and goblin lookin’ gurlies not to upload those embarrassing pix and vids to FaceBook ladies? I assure you, you are not alone.
I’m not doin’ any of that silly shxt, but somewhere out there, beneath the pale, golden sunlight, someone is doin’ the same thing. Sure, dude may have “Lil Tony” on his chest in Fire Engine Red and a chick may be trying to convince her people not to upload the pix to MySpace (although, who checks that site anymore?) but no matter, it’s the same shxt.
As for me and my (infamous) self, the time is now 9:30 in the AM and I’m mad that I’m the only one who’s fully awake and ready to seize the day. I’m not hung-over in the least although The Bestie did her damndest to ensure that I was, topping off my glass when I wasn’t even looking smh. Didn’t matter though, I just know that when I knocked at a quarter past three this morning, I wasn’t even buzzed.
*shrugs and sighs*
I’m bored. I’m hungry as hell and the cheesy enchilada and sour cream Dorito’s I just ate did nothing to placate me or pacify the rumbling in my stomach. I’m mad as a muhfxcka that I retained the ability to conjugate verbs if I so choose after last night. Add that to the dream that I had about Him and the black, secondhand smoke that’s now filling my healthy, pink lungs as my girl’s roommate's sister puffs on a Newport as I silently curse out The Bestie for leaving me stranded in a house full of bxtches—I said it out of luv, shut up—so she could go cake wit’ her boo-thang, I can say that 2010 is off to a frickin’ fantastical start.
*withering side-eye from a hung-over hell where demons flash lights in your eyes and bang on pots and pans like a two year old.*

My mission for the year is to try to update The (Infamous) Life at least once a day, or to at least write something for said blog and prepare for posting when I can finally hook my laptop up to the Internet. The parental is still fakin’ on gettin’ the router fixed and she broke it back in November smh.

While I’m on the subject of November, I’ve decided that I’ll continue to post things for and about Him here instead of relegating them to one of my other blogs. I feel like I have to. Not sure why, but I do.

*shrugs and sighs sadly*

One day down, three hundred and sixty four to go.