Ten: Fifty-Seven

Ten: Fifty Seven
Is there anything quite as annoying as going out of town and seeing people you know? Anything quite as, "...ugh" as seeing a person you know and don't particularly care for when you're out of town?
How about having the person you know and don't particularly--hell, especially don't-- like see you and initiate a borderline racially insensitive conversation?
Yeah. All bad.
After working for three caffeine deprived hours straight, I found myself standing bleary eyed in the line at Biggby. While waiting to place my order I felt my phone vibrate. Without looking down, I reached into my pocket, extracted my cell and silently cursed the fools that invented the chain letter and it's modern day equivalent, the forwarded message. Without bothering to tell the sender that if God was really testing me I was too tired to care about failing, I silently took a step forward as the line advanced.
I felt someone tap my shoulder. "Excuse me," they said as I turned around. "I think you dropped your mo--LauRen?"
Oh, fuck. Not this bitch, I thought to myself.
Plastering my fakest, "It's so nice to see you! Won't you please go play in traffic now?" smile on my face, I thanked her for telling me that I had dropped my money. She handed it to me and gave me an unwelcome and very much unwanted hug.
"So how are you? What are you doing up here in Grand Rap--do you live here now?"
I awkwardly patted her on the back while trying to disengage from her embrace. "I'm alright, thanks. No. I'm just visiting for a few hours before I head back to Lansing."
I noticed the line had moved out of corner of my eye so, with what I hoped would be one last forced smile, I turned and took a step forward. There was only one person standing in the way of my coffee and my hasty exit from the shop when I felt her hand in my hair.
"Oh, my God, LauRen. Your hair is so soft! It looks like it'd be...well, y'know. Rough."
The needle on the imaginary record playing in my head dragged across its surface and the music stopped as I turned to face her. "...Excuse me?" My internal DJ changed the song from Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto No. 3 to Lil Scrappy's "Head Bussa" as she blushed at her gaffe.
"Oh, I didn't mean it like that! It's a good thing. I like the 'natural' look on you! Makes you seem...ethnic. You look like you could be on your way to a Black Cat--Lion? Panther?--meeting in your leather jacket."
Oh. My. God. This bitch--this bitch tried it.
With my hands balled into tightly clenched fists at my side, I was about to whirl around and deliver a spinning kick to the side of her head when I saw the barista motion for me to come forward and place my order out of the corner of my eye.
I don't think she realizes or appreciates the fact that my Wild Zebra latte saved her reproductive organs from being introduced to my fists.

…Can I talk my shit again?

So I'm cleaning my room, right? Well, that's what I told people I've been doing at any rate. I've actually been enjoying a bit of Me time locked away here in my admittedly messy ass inner sanctum. Y'know, catching up on my much needed beauty sleep^[1] and sorting my nail polish collection and things of that nature. The finer things in life if you will.
That is, however, until I got bored enough to hijack Egg’s laptop and logged onto Aintshit Social Network # 3:
Tagged.com.
For the people out there that’re blissfully unaware, Tagged is a bit like MySpace meets Black Planet in terms of ratchet nutfuckery. It’s the type of site that makes you wish you could give yourself a real life virus scan in terms of general skeeviness. In short: it’s an awesomely bad place to hang out when you’re bored and it’s filled with the sorts of things that’ll make you love and loathe the Internet.Okay, mostly loathe it, but still. I can’t call it all bad. There’re actually quite a few decent people on there. Quite a lot of thirsty gentlemen in search of a good quenching, but hey, that’s the Internet for ya. If my DM inbox on Twitter could talk…
So there I was, lounging on my bed, listening to Gemineye’s “Penny for your Thoughts” on YouTube when I looked at my notifications and noticed that I had new messages. I clicked the link hoping that someone that I could actually stand had written me a message and let loose a string of curses that would’ve made the proverbial sailor blush when I found out who it was.
You see, for the past day and a half or so, this fool has been harassing me. At first, I thought it was funny in a pathetic sort of way, but now…
Not so much, no.
Dude has sent me a ton of messages—upwards of two and three at one time, smfh—and trying to get the exact order of things down has me confused, but here’s the latest round of What the Fuckness that he’s been sending me,
(Read from the bottom up; you know the deal)

 

Noticing that I changed my name to “Kyrie Eleison”, he sent a separate message asking if this is in fact my real name

 
By now, as I’m sure you understand, I was losing my cool, so when he sent me this

I decided to reply with

Which somehow turned into this
(You may have to click to enlarge these last few messages)


To which I replied

 
And he fired back with

I have no intention of responding by the way. I’m not too big a fan of being sexually harassed online.
I think the moral of today’s story is that the Internet can be a wonderful place full of many joys and wonders, boys and girls. But, if you happen to be me, it’s usually like the club on those rare occasions that I decide to go: full of horny, crazy old bastards.
Anyway doe.
If you’re one of the few people that’s been wonderin’ why I haven’t posted on here—I know, it shocked me to find out that people actually cared, too—you can find me sporadically posting over at The (Infamous) Life: V. 2.4.
Kbye.
♥ 

^{1 if you’ve seen me recently (…or at all) you would understand what I’m saying here is the absolute truth.}

Midol Wishes and NyQuil Dreams

My name is LauRen and I am an insomniac.^[1]
Wait, let me rephrase that: My name is LauRen and I’m a sleep deprived, caffeine fueled zombie on days that end in “y”.
I crave sleep—lust after over? Discuss it even. I fantasize about sleep the same way the lonely and sexually repressed fantasize about pussy and peen on the tragically pathetic “#TwitterAfterDark”. I think I lose sleep to daydream about it.
Yeah, it’s that deep.
All that being said, I’m lucky if I get more than three hours of it at any given time. In fact, the only times that I get the doctor recommended seven to eight hours of shut eye are those nights when I’m more or less heavily medicated, and oh, what blissfully amazing sleep it is.
Last week while my uterus was double dutching with my fallopian tubes, I came down with a cold-flu type bug from one of my students that had me coughing up my mucus filled lungs and generally fucked up. I tried to work through it, but when my temperature spiked at 102.3, I said “this shit is for the birds,” reached for my Midol and two NyQuil liqui-gels and called it a night. Within twenty minutes  of downing my improvised drug cocktail, I was knocked the eff out.
Now, I don’t know what’s in Midol Complete or NyQuil and no, I don’t care as long as they both continue to make my cramps and fever disappear, but I think that somehow the drugs merged, teaming up for mild pain relief and to hijack my resulting drug induced dream.
‘Ey, gon’ head and laugh if you want to; it’s the only semi-logical explanation I have as to why My Voldermort^[2] was harassing me during my well deserved slumber.
The dream opened with MV and I cuddling ^[3] in my spare bedroom. He had been making fun of me my collection of Care Bears and Beanie Babies when I threatened to punch him in the neck if he didn’t ess-tea-eff-you.
“Really, Ren,” he said plucking Proud Heart Cat from the bookcase that doubles as my headboard. “You’re how old? Do I need to see ID?”
”It was a gift; shuddup. Keep talkin’ that nonsense and the only thing you’ll see is my fist in yo’ face when I punch you in it. Nicca.”
Brushing off my very real threat of violence, MV laughed, said something about my “violent ass” and tossed PHC in the air, making my poor Care Bear Cousin somersault in midair. I still haven’t quite figure it out, but I somehow managed to snatch the stuffed animal out of the air, throw it across the room and deliver a right cross to his left cheek while planting a kiss on the opposite.
“You’re pretty much an assface, just thought I’d let you know.”
“And you’re an asshole. I still [redacted]^[4] you though.”
"Tell me somethin’ I don’t know,” I replied as I stretched and got out of bed. “I’ll be back,” I said over my shoulder as I walked out of my room…
And into Nana’s bathroom. Yeah. I know.
This is where things get hazy and since it’s almost time for my Skype tutoring session, I’ll have to cut this short, but what followed was a veritable odyssey of random weirdness. There was a cyber versus steampunk showdown that had no clear winner; a killer sale on Zoya nail polish; a series of unfortunate but hilariously effed up events had Tia show up out of nowhere, get hit by parked car and an ambulance and I do believe there was a bake sale, too.
Random, right?
♥

^{1 If this were a meeting of Insomniacs Anonymous, this would be the part where a group of sleep deprived people stifle a yawn and say “Hi, LauRen,” then we would all discuss our misadventures in Insomnia and finish the meeting with stale coffee and even staler Krispy Kreme donuts. I think. Pretty sure I’m right.
2 It’s been well over a week since this happened and I’m still mad that He Who Shall Be Punched in the Face had the audacity to pop his half nekkid ass nekkid ass up in my dream.
Up until last week, I hadn’t heard from My Voldermort since NYE when he sent me a “Happy New Year, love” txt. The three txts that I sent in the weeks following? Yeah, those were all ignored. He must’ve been feeling guilty about his complete and utter lack of communication because he thought I was saying “Fuck Q” instead of “Fuh Q” when I posted a link in my status on YIM. He popped out of nowhere and hit me wit’ some damn, “Fuck me? Wow” and went ghost before I could correct his rather egregious error.
…And he wonders why I doubt that he’ll be coming out here to visit next month. Ugh =/}

^{3 I’m going to assume this all occurred precoital because there was no cigarette smoke in the air or an ashtray in sight. Take that as you will.
4 We all know what the removed word is, I just felt like being difficult.}

Zero-Three:Forty-Nine.

It’s dang near four in the AM^[1] and guess who’s not just getting in from a a night of fun filled, booze driven debauchery and general fuckery? Yerp; that’d be me.
Not that I could’ve gone out even if I wanted to. My funds are currently set on “Bish, you’re broke, fuck you think you’re goin’?” and my sick aye-ess-ess is laid up in bed with my ferocious beast, a box of Kleenex and a woefully drippy nose. Beside that, I don’t commit random acts of drunkenness on Sunday nights. Maybe it’s just paranoia from spending all my life in church, but I always feel like God is watching me especially hard and the fact that I felt a heavenly, “Yeah, I’m judging you right now,” side-eye being thrown at me as I drank (ate? Discuss) a jello-shot the one time I chose to get drunk on a Monday night/Tuesday morning^[2] almost made me want to give up drinking …then Tia ordered me a Margarita.
Which I drank. And it was delicious.
Judge me.
I have to be up and at ‘em to spend another exciting day tutoring and searching for a job in less than three hours, so, here’s to that.
G’night.
♥

<sup>1 Although lawd knows if and when this’ll get typed up and posted. I’ll be gotdanged if I get on my laptop to do anything other than watch a porno at dang near four in the morning.
Not that I, y’know, watch por…eff it, I stand by my statement.

2 A couple of weeks ago, The Bestie took me for drinks after The Egg Donor decided to subject me to yet another of her damn near daily screaming tirades about absolutely nothing at all. Being the dependable drunkie that she is, Tia took me to a bar where a huge Long Island Iced Tea, a couple of jello-shots, one and a half Margaritas and three drunken games of pool—all of which I won but only because Tia’s drunkish ass sunk the 8 ball early in every game—turned my scowly frowny face upside down. It also made me wanna strip down to my boyshorts and play in the snow, but that’s another story.</sup>

Fuh Q

Whoever raided and subsequently devoured my entire stash of chocolate is gonna get kicked in the eye and punched in their reproductive organs. Just gon’ take my ish and then go about their business like everything is everything. Psh, no.
Bastid(s).
Ugh. I’ve been more or less out of it, suffering from the annoyingly painful, semi-monthly effects of my period ¹, all week, smh. I’ve been moodier than usual, annoyed by everything and everyone, bloated like a muhfucka and prone to insanely random, utterly nonsensical crying jags.
The other day, I was listening to music and beating my high score on Bejeweled 3 filling out job applications online when I burst into tears for no effing reason.
I mean, don’t get me wrong or anything, a new job ² would rather amazing, I can’t eem lie, but I assure you, it’s not somethin’ that I would typically cry over. The music I was listening to at the time ³ couldn't have possibly triggered my random ass crying.
And these weren’t pretty, Miss Universe accepting her crown and superficial fame. Nope. These were screw-face, eyes all red, it hurts to breathe, bawlin’ like a bitch tears, smh.
Fuck kinda hyper hormonal shit is that?
♥

^{1 or, as it’s affectionately known here in Chez Ren: “That week where I’m all, ‘Damn you to Hell and back for this shit, Eve! Didn’t nobody tell yo’ ass to eat the fruit from the tree, heffa! Where' the hell is my Midol, gotdammit?!’”. This is a very stressful time for me and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t judge me for my lack of eloquence, please and thank you.}

^{2 If I have to spend another semester tutoring and correcting, properly citing and typing papers for college students, I’ll go crazier than I already am. It’s bad enough that my methods of teaching my Psych students the difference(s) between negative and positive  reinforcement include conducting mini-experiments where I reward them with fresh baked cookies and/or punish them by throwing things at them for wrong answers. Don’t judge me; I get results. Dammit.
3 “Real Nigga Roll Call” inspires me to do a lot of things—buss a couple heads; knuck cuz gotdammit, I’m buck and shake my imaginary dreads chief among them—but crying like I just found out Santa isn’t real and that Ray-Ray has been fuckin’ that ho Sharquinetta and I had to find out from that skanky sloppy slorebucket Eggplant Peaches after she called me to borrow money again isn’t one of them.}

Confessions of a CATA Commuter

I feel as though I'm spending way too much time here at the bus station.
Just this week, I've witnessed a gaggle of bird brained, basic bitches almost come to blows over lawd knows what and tried to figure out how in the hell the old man sitting next to me wet his Depends and managed to smell like caramelized onions and apple cider vinegar with a hint of lemongrass. Who has gourmet urine? Ugh... I also feel as though I'm about to smack this ol' no eyebrow havin', nekkid mole rat lookin' bitch for lookin' at me like I'm the one who made her ugly. She better check her parents before she throws another side eye at me. I'll smack her wit' a tube of Carmex and a bottle of Japanese Cherry Blossom lotion and leave her doin' the "Naked Mole Rap." Eff she thought this was?!
But I digress.
So anyway, I'm sure that by now you've noticed that I've slacked off and loafed by neglecting my baby, The (Infamous) Life, and, to a lesser extent, the randoms who stop by or stalk it. Ooops, my bad, many apologies and all that. I'd excuse myself by saying, "I've been busy," but I don't feel like it. Which isn't to say I haven't been  busy or whatever because I have been, I've just been letting life stand in the way of most things (infamous) which, unfortunately, includes this here blog of mine.
Before you roll your eyes, mutter "nobody cares, b" and hit CTRL + W to close the tab, finish reading, I promise to keep this one short...er than a lot of my old posts. Walk wit' me for a minute.
During the latter portion of the year, things here in the Wonderful Realm of Ren turned painfully reckless in the most literal of senses. I was this close to committing patricide with a Wiimote long story; don't ask after Christmas dinner at Nana's and I found out that a really good friend of mine passed away after I got a friend request from "him" on Facebook. Things at home have gotten...lawd, this shit just a mess. Fights on the daily, raised voices, thrown shoes, slammed doors and stony silences just scream "home sweet home," right? And then, of course, there's this whole non-situation with He Who Must Not be Named...yeah, that nigga.
There's so much to say on this shit that I wouldn't even know where to begin so guess what? I won't. I'll just say that I'm preparing myself for when next month falls through--as it inevitably will--shake my head, curse my relentlessly rotten luck, keep it pushin' and hop my ass on the bus.
Here's to another year filled with inconsistent infamy, y'all.
♥

Meh…

I hate it when saints people use prayer as a saved, sanctified and filled with the Holy Ghost way of cursing at or threatening others. Hardly anything irritates me more about today’s “Christians” in fact. 

Well, there’s that whole crusade against homosexuality, but I’m choosing not to speak on that for the time being. I might find myself excommunicated from the Church of God in Christ and I personally do not want to spend an entire day in church with the Baptists. 

They do have a tendency to make it to the buffet before the Methodists though… 

There is unspeakable power in prayer and I seriously doubt that the Lord, our God appreciates you abusing that power by telling someone that you’ll pray for them when what you really mean is “Bitch, shut yo’ ass all the way up before I Spartan-kick yo’ ass down a flight of steps!” 

Yeah. Pretty sure He frowns upon that. I dunno; I could be wrong. 

*shrugs*

“Look at your life; look at your choices”

Seems like every other week, I find out one of my friends or casual acquaintances is pregnant, getting married or both. I’m not judging. And really, I’m happy for ‘em, I am. Sure, Nana is starting to resent the fact that, at 21, I’m not married and have yet to give her any great grandchildren, but, that’s a grip for another time; back to the topic at hand.
Now, for every couple that’s engaged, married and/or pregnant for the right reasons—I deserve a cookie for for choosing to take the high road and not make a broken condom joke. Chocolate chip, please and thank you—there’s at least one simple ass person that thinks getting married or having a child is going to fix whatever’s wrong in their relationship. Giiiiirrrrrrlllllllll…
*sigh*
I’ve tried and failed to understand this shit. I mean, really. The pseudo-solutions that these dumbasses geniuses have come up with are going to lead to more complications, nonsense, drama and bullshit later on down the line.
Example:
If your girl is a self-centered, whiny, childish ass bitch with a flair for the dramatic and a gold medal in homie hoppin’, what makes you think that getting married is going to make the fact that three of your boys can tell you what that mouth be like okay? Cuz it won’t. Basically, all you’ve done is make her a married self-centered, whiny, childish ass bitch with a flair for the dramatic who’s smashin’ the homies on some Danger shit whenever you aren’t around.
And ladies…what makes you think for a second that having a child on some “let me trap this nigga, that’s the way to make things right” ish is the right thing to do?! Really? You think that bringing an innocent life into the world is going to suddenly make dude straighten up and fly right and stop doin’ whatever it is he’s doin’ that you have an issue with?
Girl, boo.
There’s a good to better than great chance that the only things that are going to happen* are he’ll deny the child, y’all will end up on Maury and when it comes out that little Jamaquandrell Jr. is indeed his son, dude will resent the hell out of you. Not only that, but he’ll probably end up duckin’ and dodgin’ you and your cousins to avoid paying child support for the next 18 years.
Tell me:
Do you honestly want that for yourself?

 

 

*results are typical in a world with crappy Daytime TV

Nil Nisi Malis Terrori

“No, I ain’t bitter; I don’t give a fuck, but, I’ma tell you like this…”

As of right now, I’m still completely and really rather removed from the state of mind known as “in the mood”. So, to commemorate this momentous and wonderfully effed up occasion, I’m gonna take this time to get some ish off my chest. Y’know, address a few of the things that have been on my mind and nerves as of late…and maybe type up a few of the blogs I never got around to posting.
I, myself, don’t know exactly what I’m about to say. I haven’t thought that far in advance yet. So, as a bit of fair warning, there’s a chance that I’ll say some things that you don’t or won’t agree with. Some things that those of you with an overly inflated sense of self-importance may take to be a personal attack on you and your character or some asinine shit like that. A very real chance.
No VH1.
Any other day, I’d act like I care and apologize for what you mistakenly took to be subliminal shots being popped in your general direction while you were rooted firmly in your feelings, but, y’know what that mysterious collective of individuals known only as “they” say:
“If somethin’ hits too close to home, move.”
Honestly, I’m not looking for confrontation, so, if you’re feelin’ some type-a-way about the potentially broad, far reaching and general ass statements in the following entries, it’s strongly suggested that you confront whatever’s in you that’s responsible for making that particular type-a-way before you come at me. I don’t have the time, patience or the very will necessary to deal wit’ yo’ ass. 
So, I won’t.
♥

Furor Scribendi

This probably won’t come as a shock to many of y’all, but I’m so far removed from “in the mood” right now. So. Effin’. Far.
As a matter of fact, I’m about ready to locate and choke the stuffing out of a Care Bear Cousin or two, but ya know what? While sickeningly appealing, the thought of wrapping my recently manicured hands around Brave Heart Lion’s neck and squeezing until his little plastic eyes pop off and his fluffy white brains come oozing out of his ears isn’t going to change anything. Dammit.
I’m just…I’m so…ugh right now.
My annoyance and current frustrations would be best expressed by the sounds of groans, screams and the splintering, cracking crunch that piece of plywood made as I kicked hole after hole into it. I don’t even have printable words for this shitstorm of malarkey, smh.
See, right now? I’m at a point where I want nothing more than to grab the boxcutter I keep under my pillow, the baseball bat I have stashed under my bed and the tubesock with a rock in it that I have hidden away in my drawer and go about rearranging someone’s facial landscape. But I won’t. I want to—you have no freakin’ clue how much I want to, but the fact remains that it won’t be happening. Not today at least. Maybe.
I may just have the Devil’s temper and one hell of a flair for violence and improvised weaponry, but at the same time, I still possess a bit of the good sense that the good Lord blessed me with. Besides that…
I’m too cute for jail.
♥

Fortes in Fide...(?)

So, yeah. I loafed. As in…majorly. As a matter of fact, I'm not even sure if you can classify this as “beyond major loafage” since I’ve—for lack of a better word—loafed so badly. Or would that be “poorly”? Whateva; you know what I mean.
I’ve been meaning to update The (Infamous) Life for the longest, but, as I already stated, I’ve loafed in a most horrendously egregious and beyond major fashion. It’s just that I’ve been so busy tryin’ to be so many things to so many people that I kinda forgot to take some time out for lil ole (infamous) me. Which is more than understandable given the situation(s) that I’ve gotten myself into. Not that, y’know, I’m complaining or anything like that. Because I’m not.
…Walk wit’ me for a minute here.
Right now, I’m tryin’ to keep the all inclusive “it” together for myself and everyone else while everything around me is literally and figuratively falling apart. Not only that, but I’m trying to metaphorically light the path for a weary traveler, but the way is littered with obstacles, darkness is quickly closing in and I’m starting to wonder if my metaphoric light will be enough to bring them home.
This has all been added onto my existing duties—shoulder to cry on, plotter of ingenious, possibly illegal revenge schemes, etc—as la señora de (infamia), mind you. Sounds like super fun times are ensuing here in the Wonderful Realm of Ren, right?
Yeah…not so much, no.
I have faith—Lord knows I have faith—that everything is gonna work out. I do. Because I know that faith is the substance of things hoped for and the evidence of things not seen (Hebrews 11:1) and that without faith it’s impossible to please God (11:6). And I’m also quite aware of the fact that faith without works is dead (James 2:17) so I’m workin’. I am. But it’s like…how do I walk and live by faith and not by sight (2 Corinthians 5:7) when all I see are the many impossibilities and improbabilities of the current situation(s)?
And yeah, okay. I’m sure that whole “good things happen to those who wait” thing applies, but what do you do when it feels like all you’re doing is waiting for that quote unquote “good” to happen?
Again: I’m not complaining and no, this isn’t a pity party so I’m not asking you to be my plus one see what I did right there? It’s just…even I have my doubts sometimes. Which sucks because it makes it seem like I’m doubting God and I’m not…right? I don’t think I am at any rate. Doesn’t feel like it. Not really.
But anyway, that’s just what I’ve been up to lately. The tip of the figurative iceberg that threatens to sink the SS (Infamy) if you will.
Kinda makes ya girl wonder if there are enough lifeboats onboard…
Figuratively of course.
♥

If Yo’ Girl Only Knew…Oh. Wait. She Does.

This ain’t ‘bout my ego; though I hate to lose…

I’m gonna keep this one short. Peep the screen shot below, click to enlarge if need be.

The fact that I just lost who and what I thought to be a really good friend hurts. However; the reason behind our friendship ending pisses me off.
I hate it when broads bxtches girls who probably won’t even be in the picture in six months make their man choose between them and a friend as I’m pretty positive this is what happened in my situation. It’s not fair, it’s not right and it makes you look really insecure ladies and that is not a good look for your life. If you think that your guy is cheating on you or that you can’t trust him and this friend of his whether it’s a girl or not, end it. Don’t put him in the position where he has to make a decision between one or the other because no matter which one he chooses, someone’s going to end up hurt and most likely pissed off in the end.
Fellas, don’t allow yourself to be put in a position where you have to chose between your girl and your strictly platonic friend(s) because believe me, she won’t stop there when it comes to making you choose between her and something else.
…I’m sorry y’all.  
Even with the day or so that’s passed since this incident occurred, I’m still very much annoyed, sad and more than a little bit hurt that it came down to this. But, it is what it is G, as you said, “it was fun while it lasted”. You never should’ve had to make that choice, but you did so eh. I hope she was worth it and I since I still love you, I’m going to hold off on snidely adding ‘but I seriously doubt she is’.
Oh. Wait….

Now back to your irregularly posted blogs.
♥

Gee Aye Gee Me With a Eff Oh Are Kay

I’m going to find and destroy Lil Mama’s Bedazzler if it’s the last thing I do; I’m tired of being visually raped by rhinestones and plastic jewels every time I watch ABDC. Don’t make no damn sense; her ass should’ve grown out of that “Ooh, sparkly!!” phase by now gotdangit.


Anyway.


I’m bored and not feeling too well at the moment. I know I should be rewriting the two pages of “Goode Lovin’” that I accidently spilled tea on earlier, but I can’t motivate myself to to do it. I’m too lazy to even blame myself right now so I’ll instead hold Lil Mama and the Bedazzled, pastel pink monstrosity that she’s wearing responsible. Yeah, I know it’s a cop out but…so? If you’ve seen this season’s illusion episode, you’ll understand why I can’t turn my mind or my mechanical pencil back to rewriting the naming ceremony. Bxtch is wearing a phony gemstone encrusted bib thing over what appears to be a Pepto Bismol soaked Snuggie. Shxt’s distracting as all hell and not in a good way.


Bleh.


My head is killing me and even after a cup of mouthwash and three sticks of gum, I can’t shake that disgusting throw up taste that’s loitering in my mouth. Stupid Whiskey River BBQ burger from stupid Red Robin last night, made me miss Easter service this morning. True, I previously said that I wasn’t going to be attending since The Parental and The Sibling left me home alone this weekend and might’ve had a slight hangover to work off, but since I didn’t go anywhere last night, I changed my mind. I was getting ready to go earlier when blam!, I hit a fantastic Linda Blair impersonation. Ugh and eww.


Other than trying to rid the taste of puke from my mouth and attempting to figure out what goes through Lil Mama’s head when she picks out her clothes you know she ain’t got no stylist, I’m annoyed. As in majorly irked. The current source of my frustration is being an assfacebuttwad for no gotdang reason and in between random chunk blowing, I’ve been entertaining the thought of suffocating them with a marshmallow Peep all day.


See, I told them that what had happened wasn’t even that serious, but no, they wanna go and be all unnecessarily difficult and ergo stupid just because they can be.


Just like a frickin’ boy.

The Gift That Keeps on Giving

I was recently informed of some triflin’ ho shxt and I feel as though it’s my duty to share it with those who stumble across my blog and read my notes on FaceBook, especially those who live here in Lansing.
Apparently, there’s a guy on the eastside of the capital city that’s infecting hoodrats and ho’s alike with the herpes simplex virus. Now, I don’t know who he is, but I have it on good authority that there is in fact someone spreading the disease from females to female. These females are in turn spreading it to Patient Zero’s friends when they have sexual contact after the fact and they in turn give the disease to their unsuspecting significant others and so on and so forth.
I don’t know what other diseases are being spread among my peers and I’m gonna keep my thoughts about triflin’ ho shxt to myself but I will say this:
If you choose to be sexually active, be safe.
Fellas, put a condom on it. Ladies, make sure he does. Don't rely on your partner for protection, carry your own. Like I said

and at $6-$10 a pill, Valtrex doesn’t come cheap.

Be safe out there y’all.
♥

Just So You Know; You’ll Never Know

Happy Birthday Auntie Ria and Leema Bean!

The blogger formally (and currently) known as Ren is not in a good gotdang mood right now.
Saturday night or Sunday morning, the space bar on my laptop broke and I was forced to resort to this to perform basic typing tasks on my my personal computer.  Earlier today, the charger to said laptop said “bxtch, I quit you” and committed suicide before my very eyes.
It’s not that I’m mad that my laptop decided to hand me a figurative pink slip even though that puts a serious cramp in my plans. Nope. I have a three year warranty on that piece of shxt . What’s making me grind my teeth as I sit here at the family’s desktop computer is the fact that I’ll have to deal with these fxckfacedbastardtardmonkeynutswallowers (one word) at Dell. The last time I was on the phone with them it was for three hours, got bounced from one non-english speaking operator to the next and at the end of the call, my problem didn’t get resolved. Then today, I was told that they were closed and subsequently hung up on. Ugh. Fxckers.
Bet this shxt wouldn’t happen if I had a Mac.
Anyway, I’m irked as all hell right now so I’m not even going to jump through the usual hoops or ring or blow the bells and whistles. Don’t have time. I’m too busy plotting the destruction of Dell. So, get into it and peep the screen shots that I’ll be providing below.

♥

Extreme Boredom

 

plus Karma Kameleon

Equals this


 
I’ll be back with the story behind the whole BlackPlanet thing at a later date. I’m about to call Dell customer service again. Wish me luck.

♥

And I’ve Got Nothing to Say On This Shxt

A picture is worth a thousand words and all that right?
Well, I’m not sayin’ shxt, I’ll let the pix do the talking

That was after only like a half an hour of snow…

Fxck.

I hate Michigan winters

Of Vienna Sausages and Cocktail Wieners

Did another audio-blog out of boredom so…here it is.

For those of you who can’t hear the audio for whatever reason, this is basically what I said:

What it is, what it look like and all that good shxt, it's ya girl Ren. How be ye knaves, paupers, assorted commoners, princes who look like princesses and vice versa?
How be's me?
Eh, I'm aight, just sittin' here, answering my work and personal email, bored and gettin'...how do you say, irked as in more than not a lotta bit and exceeding even more than that. Gon' head and let it marinate in your spirit. Try to absorb what I'm saying.
*hums the jeopardy theme*
You got it? Understandin' what it is that I'm sayin'? Good, gold star and applause for you
*claps hands*
So, along with music and music videos and other things of that nature, I get a shxt load of...well, I guess you could call it amateur porn from the guys that are tryin' to snatch away my vcard, however, Ren finds this shxt to be annoying.
Day after effing day there are new pics from my air quotes suitors in various states of undress and for the most part? Yeah, I'm not impressed.
Sure, there's this guy who has this body that sorta, kinda, almost um yeah, makes me wanna spend long hours licking whipped cream off of his six pack but uh, one, I'm a card carrying good girl and two son just doesn't have the equipment necessary for the procurement of mine virginity. It's just...he's so tiny!
Y'all know what vienna sausages look like, ryte? Yeah...like one and a half of those and you've got him. The message he attached that particular picture to said that he was cold when he took it and that explains the rinky-dinkness of his size, but I for one look at it this way
Why would you not take a pic when you're, y'kno, warm and able to show off your optimum length and width? Cuz that? Yeah, if I were to go thru wit' it and fxck him--which will NEVER EVER EVER EVER in the history of NEVERDOM happen--I'm pretty sure that I'd still technically be a virgin. Just sayin'.
So...cheah, I'm done wit' this one...layta

♥

If I decide to continue doin’ these, they’ll get better. I promise.

What These Niggas Want From Me? [*DMX Voice*] Somebody Let Me Know

Tell me what they want from me

Because I sure as hell don’t know anymore smh.
*waves  in an aggravated but cute manor seeing as I’m Ren and even when I’m aggy I’m cute with it*
What’s crack-a-lackin’, poppin’ and gyratin’ everyone and before you can try to say something about my greeting let me stop you right damn now. Ren honestly does not give a gotdamn nor a fanga in the middle about your thoughts on the way that I started this blog post. You aren’t an editor—and if you are you aren’t mine so suck on a big toe—and this is not a book that I’m trying to sell. This mine good sirs and madams is a blog post and cheap therapy for yours truly.

Now that that’s out the way, I really do need a bit of help right now and the sad thing is that I’m not even sure what the eff I did to need it!

I was “told” that my “apology” was “too late” and I’m gonna stop before I go “quotation mark crazy”.

Real shxt though; I’m confused right now as in majorly…

I hate having people mad at me and I hate not knowing how to fix it. I’m tryin’ to figure out what it is that I did or said—yes, I care that much about this—to have this person mad at me, and I’m consistently drawin’ a blank.
Da fxck did I do?
UGH!

See.

This is why I act like I don’t care about shxt. I try to clean up the mess that I’ve apparently made and I get nothing.

Wish someone would tell me what the hell I did wrong.

*sigh*

I’ll be back to my normal posts soon everyone. Found this guy who’s mixtape was so bad that it was sentenced to death by microwave by my lil bro and I may shoot a video later. It’s been a while since I’ve sat and gotten relatively random on cam for 4-7 minutes.

New video comin’ soon.

♥

You-Tube Fuckery: When Bxtches Dance and Shouldn’t

*sighs and rolls eyes*

Bitches play too gotdang much y’all, I swear fo’ BOB that bitches are gon’ be the death of Ren. I don’t need a crystal ball to see that ish either; I’m predicting it right now. And when it’s time for me to be buried—in my Easter best thank you ma’am—I want my tombstone to read:
Here lies LauRen

The girl who loved…

and got done in by those damn slutfacedhobagslorebuckets

[1 word]

from You-Tube

May she rest in peace

Yeah…you’re right. That is kinda long. Guess they’ll have to use like a 5-point font or I’m gonna have to invest in a really large tombstone. Hmm…decisions, decisions.

Take a peep at the ish that’s gone send me to mine grave.

This heffa is Pee Are Ee Gee In Ay In Tea PREGNANT. Why in the name of Similac powder, breast pumps and pampers did this bitch think that this shit is alright? Someone answer me that shit. And why the Eff You See Kay FUCK is her cousin the one that is taping this fuckery? Somethin’ ain’t right wit’ this shit right here y’all. Please notice how this nigga is egging her, making her twerk harder if you will. But you know. He’s her cousin…I guess this is just cousinly love right?

*crickets sound in the distance*

All I have left to say is that I hope her baby pops out of her womb and proceeds to strangle the mother. Moving on…

her tats are random as hell. What in the world? I’m just all around confused right now.

*sigh* there are more examples. a lot more, but I’m on my way out the door so…layta.

@Torkaveli is an ASSHOLE

a’ight, I’m about to take my ass to sleep since I have African History and Cultural Anthropology tomorrow in the morning but this I have to post before I go and get some rather unneeded beauty sleep.

 

[click for full-sized pic]

This was taken from one of the videos that I posted yesterday and that

Ell
Oh
Ess
Ee
Are

[say it out loud, you’ll get it]

"Big Brother" of mine went and used ish all outta context and UGH. I’ma kick him in the eye when I make it out to the DMV.

TorkalinaBallerina [1 word]

You’ve been warned.
Assface.

lmaooo