All my exes are fine young cannibals.

Because all they wanna say is 'She drives me crazy!' *rimshot*

Blah. I overheard my ex on the phone last night with her mother saying she was gonna start going to therapy. Therapy? Like, a year ago she would have said 'Therapy's for white people.'
My ego's not THAT huge, but like..i dunno. Is it my fault? She was fine when I met her. And now she's going to therapy? It was that bad? We were that bad? I thought we had a great run. And things got shaky at the end, and then I boned someone after we broke up but were still livin together and it's like, irreparable or something. I want to get out of that house. It sucks living there, for me and for her.
Section 8 list is closed. (Section 8 lists close?)
Everyone else requires 2.5 times the rent.
Low-Income requires 2.5 times the rent, and their rent is still $450 (which defeats the purpose, because I can find a place for less that isn't income-based.)
Everytime I see a room for rent open in the paper, it's gone by the time I call.
I'm basically a squatter. Because I don't feel like I live there. Hell, I don't live there.
So yes. Therapy. Would she be thinking about therapy if she was with someone else? All my exes were crazy before I got to them; 'I was molested and also tried to kill myself once with pills and pine sol'..'my dad's an alcoholic so it's probably in my blood that i drink this much'...'Oh I'm on Wellbutrin because i'm clinically depressed when i'm really just a fucking hypochondriac'...'Oh I was addicted to meth but i'm not anymore and also I was committed 4 times so if you try to have me committed i'll kill you and then i'll kill myself.' And now, the one awesome chick I had, I drove to therapy. Not that therapy makes you crazy. And not that I even drove her there, because that would require me to think i'm huge-er than I am. That's not it at all. But the fact remains; she was perfectly fine and capable and awesome, and something happened in the two years we were together to make her think a little bit less.
Blah. I dunno. I just want whatever she's going to therapy for to resolve itself. I want her to be the happy awesome moderately sceptical 'i like orchids and Boston Baked Beans' person she is.

The Lighthouse - Interpol

Lonely.

Everyone on here has pics with their nieces, nephews, sisters cousins brothers..i don't have any neices nephews sisters brothers cousins. Well I have cousins but the only ones I know are the ones in Montgomery and they're like, 15. I don't even think I have any cousins my age; i've never met any cousins my age. What if i'm sittin up on my deathbed alone? What if i careen over the edge of a bridge or choke on something while i'm eating? (all very real possibilities since I like to eat a lot and drive really fast) No one's gonna know i'm dead until I've rotted in my house for three days and the neighbors begin to complain. That happened to a family member. I don't want kids. Kids get in the way. I don't have many friends. I'm awkward and wierd and not good at small talk.(no Erica Hahn). But seriously. I want brothers and sisters. Do you know my mom will be 55 this year and my grown ass just stopped askin for a little sister like, last year? (Ok I was asking in jest, but still. If she'd been willing to squeeze one out i'd have been ecstatic.) Why do I have fond memories of being in band in high school? Aside from doin it between the buildings and kicking total and complete ass on the tenor, it was the closest thing to a team I've ever been a part of.
Blah.
I need to go.

Shove it in a Fendi bag.

So I heard a clip of Wale's 'Nike Boots' on a commercial or something and I was like 'Oh Snapski! Lemme get that!' So I got the song; dug it completely. So i decided to download the album. (cuz seriously? I don't buy shit. But downloadin that album might prompt me to spend $40 on a ticket to see that ass in concert. I digress.) MAN, that album is THE BEST hip-hop/rap album I've heard..in years.


Like, it's so good that I put it on a CD by itself. I haven't done that for an album in forever; usually I snatch a few songs off the album and mix it in with 50 other songs, like I did with Common's. I wanted to like Common's album, but for only having 10 songs on it in the first place (which is his first mistake; I'm greedy and I expect at least 13 songs with 2 skits and an intro) but only about 4 songs were good. (check out 'Everywhere'. Best track on the album.) But yeah. I haven't heard a hiphop album this good since


Yeah. I know. Terrible. Although Lupe Fiasco's album wasn't bad from what I heard, I just couldn't get into it. I downloaded his first one, which was ..bad. The second one was good, though. But. Anyway.

So I went to check out the projects yesterday; the listing has closed for section 8 housing and the only place open with low-income rent was Oaklawn. (You already know.) Why is it always the places with 'lawn' or 'grove' in the title that are extra hood? So, the lady told me about it with trepidation, and I resisted asking if it was somewhere she thought I may wanna live since I figured that would come off as sadiddy. So I decided to drive by there on my lunch break. First off, it was WAY off in BFE, where banks are exchanged for Payday Advance Loan places and I happened to notice that my lil 98 honda was the nicest car on the block. (I know, right?) So I pull up to the place..no. I drive by the place, see the faded green awning, clay in leiu of a concrete parking lot and the grey buildings with windows open and window unit A/C and decide that I'd probably shoot myself in the head within a week if I had to live there if someone else didn't do it first. But then I also remembered that if I lived there, rent would be like, $17. So now I'm conflicted. Should I risk being raped 32 times before I can get my suitcase in the house for cheap rent, or should I declare homelessness (how would I go about that??) so I can get moved up on someone's list for housing? Ideally (and this is gonna sound REALLY BAD) I'd like to live in R.V. Taylor. Them's is some nice quiet projects. Everytime I pass out there the grass looks all green, the 23 year old mother is outside hanging laundry as her 19 children play Red Rover/Chris Brown y Rihanna, the old man who's likely just released from prison for committing a crime of passion in 1959 is pushing his garbage can to the curb, a woman in green rollers (the hard ones, not the sponge ones, God no.) is carrying her Save-A-Lot bags of groceries inside her house. Sounds idyllic, as far as the projects go. So I went into the office at Taylor Housing Project and there were three women sitting in there...ok I know you're dirt poor and whatever, but you can't possibly be as poor as I am, and you don't have to look at me like 'WTF Are you doin here? You're wearing Florsheim shoes.' (why yes...yes I am. Thrift Store FTW. But that's beside the point.) I'm a brokeass just like you. I just look good doin it. In fact, usually the broker I am, the better I look. When I'm ballin, I'm gonna look like a homeless man cuz I'll be able to afford those $400 ripped up dirty-ass jeans. Right now, I can only afford minimal rips. Or Faded Glory.

Fat moment of last week: Me, in my car, to no one in particular: "Ooh guhl Checkers sells hotwings now! AND they're open til 3 am on the weekends!? Sheeiiit."

So it begins.

So we re-broke up last night.
You know lesbians, you break up, then you hang around and one of you holds out hope that maybe it'll work again but then you keep remembering why it would never, then you end up breaking up again. But well it's kinda my fault because I sexed down someone else. No, not while we were together; not even while we were sharin a bed. And it wasn't like 'ZOMG this guhl is so hot I gotta have her' it was more like a '......well I guess I'm not in a relationship and who knows when's the next time anyone will think i'm hot enough to do.' But, the fact remains, I sexed down another woman, and it came to light, and now I fear we may not even be able to be friends.
Anyway. That's beside the point.
The pernt is, now more than ever, I gotta move out. WHICH, is something I would have done sooner had I had the funds, but, since I didn't, I well...didn't. So now I've run off everything I need, got my SSN card and check stub and everything and I'm gonna take my skinny ass down to the Housing office and procure myself a space in the finest of public housing establishments (and also request not to be put in Roger Williams Projects or Mobile Terrace cuz I heard people get raped and set ablaze over there.)
Also. I'm really conflicted. My mother sent me a job offer in Winston-Salem, NC. From what I understand, it's a Master's program/paid thingie having to do with business; it's designed especially for liberal arts majors. But ... I work here. I made a pledge. And as awesome as this Winston-Salem thing seems...I dunno. I made a promise, and I'd feel terrible about leaving before my year of service was up. Also, I knew not finishing those two classes would bite me in my anus, but I think I'll shoot the guy an email anyway and pray they don't ask for a transcript because I don't have enough money to bribe anyone. But I spent all last night researching Winston-Salem and I've already fallen in love with the city, not to mention they're the home of Camel cigarettes so they gotta be cheaper, eh? No? Maybe? Whatever. I gotta go. Alaska locked herself outta the house and we've apparently locked the emergency 'break-in-your-own-hizz' window.

Random Scribes of Awesome.

I had a fat thought yesterday: I asked if I could get my red beans & rice from Popeye's Supersized. I could not. But Alaska was nice enough to order red beans y rice too so that I could have hers. And I had a dream about chili cheese fries from Krystals. I've been dreamin about Krystals a lot lately.

I went to the thrift stores across town today. I FORGOT how AWESOME that Goodwill is over there, even though it's in the mondoredneck part of town. I found 3 plaid buttondowns for $4 each. I wouldn't have paid that for shirts at a thrift store, but they were Polo. And that sounds more name-brand conscious than I actually am, but I like the way their buttondowns fit, and they were size 16 in boys which happens to be perfecto. And I bought some shorts that are pretty sexy. But. My treasure find this time was a pair of brown wingtip shoes! Like, authentic wingtips, not Doc Marten punkrock sxc wingtips...they look a tad mangy but once i polish them OH MY GOD I'm gonna be lookin sharp. I'm pretty excited. I only have $60 to last me until I get paid next, but I get paid Friday so it's not so bad. I still need to know how to print off my check stub so that I can apply for section 8 housing and food stamps.

I've decided I REALLY like my job, and I can't wait to get more into it, like, have more stuff. And I can't wait to get more organized too. Man it's kinda sad too thought because some of those kids really go through it, but I hope they get a little bit of relief or happiness or something positive from the program. Uh.

Also. Someone buy me these.


BADASSERY ABOUND.

More working out. And also a lack of the sexing.

So I've been to the gym everyday this week. The first day of cardio made me wanna kill myself, until I learned the art of the Warm Up and the Cool Down. (Ohh, I get it.) So I did ten minutes the first day, fifteen the second, 30 the third and 10 the fourth because for some reason, I was tired. I jumped rope, did abdominal and oblique shit and sculpted.

Anyway, i'm proud that i've stuck with it, even thought it's only been a week. But. I really likeit, and I have a full two months to get super sexy for pensacola pride, which hopefully won't be boring. And I have a full like...five months to get sexy for ATL pride, at which maybe I'll get laid? Yes? No? No.
And segueing into getting laid...I thought this whole working out thing would make me not think about the sex I'm not having, but now my sex drive has escalated from somewhat ridiculous to 'if you're hot and in a short skirt I might accidentally finger you and add insult to injury by licking your neck.' Like, masturbation, ok, fine, but that only makes the fact that no human alive has made it clear that they wanna give you the booginae. (that was actually a typo but I'm likin that scientific-ass spin on that word.) I mean I could use a nice stroke of the ego/vag right now; I haven't been fondled in 7 months. Well, not fondled in a way that's gonna progress to the inside parts of my pants. I know. I talk about this a lot. But I'm hot. And it's getting outta hand.
But at least my job is awesome.

up in the gym..workin on my fitness.

So I decided given my office is six feet from the gym and I get to work out there for free, it'd be triflin not to take advantage of that, especially since i've been talking about 'werkin owt' for like, two years. So me and two coworkers decided to. With the help of them, I was gonna get over my fear of the gym.
Yeah man i walked up in there and I didn't know what the hell to do with them machines. So foreign. I didn't even know where to look on the machines to see what muscles they worked out. I got on some spread eagle machine and I'll probably never use that again. I did find an ab machine, but it only works out the side parts (which i desperately need, but still.) I ended up doing an assload of sit ups (and it burns) and some wierd thing..some shit that wasn't a machine at all but more of a 'here, sit your ass up on this thing and bring your legs to your chest' thing. It hurt like a bitch or four.
So yeah typing this? It hurts. But I love you. So I type. And also I want to be unlazy. I want to not be tired when i walk up one flight of stairs. I want to be able to bodyslam people when they bumrush me at Mardi Gras because they think i'm a boy dancing on their skank of a girlfriend. I wanna be able to pick up a midget and toss him like I keep saying I'm gonna do before I die.
And i want that sexy waistal V that leads to the AG.
And also maybe I'll get me some sex appeal. Cuz on the heirarchy of sex, i'm like a 'hey i'll lick the tip if you do my calculus homework.' or something. It made sense in my head.
my abdomen hurts. I pushed out a fart just now? Hurt.