30+ Days and Not a Word From Me. LUCKY YOU!

Blogging? What is that? *ha ha*

A handful of people have been urging me to update this joint! I suppose if I want to be relevant in the blogging/online community I probably should.

Yup. *shakes head*

I probably should step up my writing game and crank out some interesting ‘posts’ for the masses. Surely as I sit here scratching my head, in lavender, bikini-cut, Fruit Of The Loom drawals and a “wife-beater” showcasing 34 year old titties without support — there are oodles upon oodles of fabulous writers keeping up with the world and every breath it takes. Dedicated and fierce, they know how to fire up a lean, mean, information machine, filled with all of the goodies readers love.

Fa’sho.

Well, I say: Good for them! I aint mad. But as of late it’s just not in me to be blogging my heart out. Sorry. I’m kinda feeling like Jay Z circa the “Black Album“.

What more can I say?

Really.

Truth is, half of the stories I WANT to tell, can not/will not, be shared on the interent. Especially for FREE. Bump that. You’re gonna to have to PAY for that information. Naw mean?

However, if I am still fortunate to have your attention for the moment:

Women with Mustaches:

I saw a chick on the train with a killer ass mustache. I’m talking about a mustache that most adolescent males would pop hormone pills for. Shit was out of control ya’ll. Minus the facial hair, she wasn’t an unattractive woman, but the furry upper lip really cut into her fly-girl factor. I mean, waxing isn’t a pleasant thing, but then again, neither is that shit growing under your nose. So do the right thing and REMOVE IT! Remove it I SAY! Remove it, I DEMAND! Nobody is cheering for you. Well, at least not me. . .

When Chicken Heads Come Home to Roost:

As if things in neighborhood couldn’t get anymore interesting, someone has added a rooster into the mix. He’s a bonafide cock, with a “doodle-doo” on the side. No joke. Every God given day I anticipate sunrise with sound of his crowing, *rolls eyeballs*. This wouldn’t irritate me as much if I were waking up to a fresh pot of coffee and a country style breakfast as well . . .but that aint the case.

No worries though . . .

I can deal with the bird.

Wanna know why?

Because in less than 30 days I will be posted up on the other side of town, CHILLAXING in loft apartment SPLENDOR. I am too ready to make moves. Hell, my boxes are still packed from the “You Aint Gotta Go Home, But You Got To Get The Hell Up Outta Here” scenerio, ‘ala February 2007, *ha ha*. Shit was CRUCIAL, *ha ha*. Actually, it’s really not that funny. I’m only laughing now because I have endured MAJOR trauma and I thought several times I might like to die and end all of my suffering — but I didn’t!

It’s been said: “What doesn’t kill you will only makes you stronger.”

I plan on being nice a strong in my new place. Of course I’m bringing the “Man Child” and the cat (Sparkle Momma) w/ me too. I envision many evenings of entertaining my true blue friends will chilled glasses of plum wine, maybe some Al Greene and a deck of cards (I still haven’t learned how to play “Spades”). Maybe I’ll get nice and saucy and just lay on the new carpet and stare up at the mile high ceiling. The possibilities are endless. *smile*

More details later . . .