Tuesday, March 2, 2010

“I Got the Keys to the Crib and Ain’t Nobody Home”

Well…that’s not exactly true. The parental is here, but she’s about to leave in an hour or so, leaving Boogie and myself to fend for ourselves in Chez Ren for the night. But I don’t count Boogie as a person. I consider her to be a vessel that a demon known as “14 Going on 27 and a Half” is using as a host. Y’know, kinda like Rihanna and that thing that’s air-quotes “conspicuously” “hidden” inside of her forehead.
I kid; I joke with you, sheesh! Y’all Rihanna stans better pack it the eff up and not come at me reckless. I have not the time nor the will to deal with you and your foolishness. I’m in one of those moods where I’ll cuss yo’ simple ass out and keep it pushin’.
Anyway, how goes it y’all? Did you figure out what song I got today’s title from? No? I didn’t expect you too, son was a one hit, no wonder. But that’s neither here nor there, how the heck have y’all been? Not that, y’know, any of y’all ever communicate with me via TweetBoard or leave me comments. It’s all good though. I don’t like none of y’all no way. Non-blog commenting ass…
Again, I joke. Y’all know I love y’all. Well, most of y’all anyway. Some of y’all I could and do do without. Speaking of love…I miss mine, which makes me sad which makes me annoyed and that in turn pisses me the fxck off. I’m a sad/annoyed/pissed off individual because as of 8:07 PM, March 1st, I haven’t spoken to Him since Valentines Day. Every time I try to reach Him, I get no answer. Over the past two weeks I’ve sent five or six txt messages and I broke my promise to myself to not call Him a little while ago.
This isn’t fair and I hate it. In case you weren’t aware—and you wouldn’t be unless I personally told you: six months.
That’s how long I went without talking to him, hearing his voice. Six months where I didn’t have a chance to say “I love you”, least of all “I love you too”. Six months of dreaming of all the things I still haven’t had the chance to say. Six months of me being unable to say His name.
I finally got a chance to…hell, I don’t know. I just know that I’m blessed to have whatever this is. I also know that I hate being in this sad/annoyed/pissed off state. It’s worse than being in Michigan. Let it marinate, you’ll get it in time. I hope. I don’t know about the mental capacity of some of y’all.
Ugh. Now I’m sittin’ here, pen(cil) to the pad, thinkin’ about what’s coming up on the tenth of this month, what it means to me and wishing it was Him every time my phone rings and UGH. I ain’t got time for this shxt. I’m about to throw the phone across the room because for one, fleetingly brief moment, I allowed myself to think it was Him calling. Ugh. Grr. Boo. Stupid Blockbuster calling about some stupid movie. Hmph.
…well, speak of the devil that resides in Ms. Fenty’s gargantuan cranium. This time it’s actually Quan. I shouldn’t pick up the phone, should let this bxtch ring through to voicemail.
I should, but I won’t.
*answers the phone*

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