Thursday, July 13, 2006

So Far, So Good

7 a.m. Wake up dazed after having a vivid, yet non-sexual dream about a boy I used to date. Laid in the bed for about five minutes and continued to be rebuffed by the fact that Matt Lauer is STILL on vacation from the Today Show.

8 a.m. Decided to eat breakfast at home even though I have to be at work at 8:30. But did it anyway. Started to think about the signs that you may be entering a real relationship.

Sign 1: The freak train passes you by. The myth of the freak train is true. When you settle down, the freakiest, helicopter ride will proposition you (why I just referred to a boy as a helicopter ride, I don’t know). The mistake I made with my last relationship is that once we got serious, nobody cared. Niggas knew it was flimsy, and I’d be back on the market soon.

Sign 2: You avoid your weaknesses. I like the little extra attention I get when I’m almost taken. But sometimes the mind is strong, but the body is weak. So I’m actually trying to distance myself from certain stops on the freak train, so I don’t end up on the West side when I want to be out East (did I take my metaphor too far?). So now I’ll talk to a boy online, instead of on the phone. There are some guys that I just can’t hear their voice without making some sort of action to see them.

Sign 3: I know I have to think about all of these things to expunge the dream about my ex I had last night. So actively dealing with debt (as The Champ likes to call it) without letting guilt and horniness ruin my life is a top priority. If not for the relationship, but for myself.

Sign 4: Hope that my confession lets the Number One boy know that I haven’t bestowed on him some ridiculous savior quality. He is not the cure. But because of his personality, I am trying to be a better person.

8:30 a.m. Still sitting on the freeway. People are driving like Hurricane Andrew hit Columbus last night and we are crawling through the wreckage. Thought fondly about the premiere of Project Runway last night, and a polite way to ask Michael Kors if I could kidnap his sperm. Even though I’m fly, he’s gay and I doubt he would have to sex to impregnate me. Especially for this

Also thought about ways to add the following phrases into my vocabulary without sounding gay:

Make It Work

You’re In

You’re Out

Meka Leka Hi, Meka Hiney Ho

9 a.m. Began to regret the pasta primevera and tuna melt I ate from Shane’s yesterday. Especially after seeing Beyonce looking svelte and fabulous in her new video.



Thought about when I was at the gym yesterday, and how the older I get, the more I am turned off by game. A boy came up to me and said “You look good when you sweat. I’ve been watching you for a while, we should talk outside of the gym.” At this point, even though I heard him clearly, I pointed at my MP3 player and shrugged as if it were impossible for me to remove it from my ear and “hear” what he had to say. I just can’t help being a bitch.

9:30 a.m. Began to feel really confident about the outfit I’m wearing to Niel’s birthday soiree this evening. Began to feel really guilty about all the people I need to call back including:

My friend from high school

My friend from college

My best friend in Toledo

My best friends in Columbus

My sister

A boy that I “like” (I kinda like him a little more than I like the average person. Not more than I like all of my other acquaintances. A lot less than I like him to differentiate him between a boy that I LIKE and just a person I am fond of) (That wasn’t much clarity, I know)

But then I said phuck it, it’s only 9:30 and if people would just come to my birthday party, they could get all access Donna. If you didn’t receive the Evite, let me know and I'll add you! Unless you are one of my four nemesis (who I know read my blog) in that case go phuck yourself next weekend, all weekend.

10 a.m. Gained a small amount of pleasure from a voicemail and email I received from this prick I used to date who sasses me pretty badly for not returning his calls last week. The pleasure is gained from the guilt he will feel once I tell him that MY GRANDMOTHER DIED and despite his efforts for mourning booty, I just didn’t have time to talk to him. One small step for being a bitch, one giant step toward getting this guy to leave me the hell alone forever.

Song For Today: If It Isn’t Love, by New Edition

7 Comments:

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