im surrounded w/ some punk ass hoe ass shady ass bitch ass hoes. on the serious. this MLK shit? i dont care what happens no more. i sincerely don't. how the fuck am i supposed to be expected to perform to the best of my ability w/ motherfuckers droppin out the race 2 days before the shit goes down & NOT BOTHERIN TO TELL ME?
chris.
our sam cooke for the evening.
yall... he's such a bitch. he's a young ass immature ass 19 yr old good-hurred light skinnded big bodied green eyed pretty ass bitch and i just called him to leave him a very bitter message telling him just that but guess his damn answering machine didn't pick up. even his machine is a bitch.
okay, i need to get in the bed so ima make this quick.
he told teddy 2 days ago he aint gon do the song for us cause of some prissy ass modeling show or some shit where some NY agent or scout is posed to be there. what's that? why didn't he call ME and tell ME that you ask? refer to the above obscenities for the answer. this is exactly why i aint pay him a piece of mind when he was actin like he was finna holla. i dont deal w/ young cats. or pretty ones. especially pretty young ones. fuck yall.
teddy called him & cussed him out. he gave me a number to reach him out so i cld cuss him out, but when i called the phone was conveniently cut off. then teddy calls me again today talkin bout chris is gon call me cause he might still be able to do it. the bitch never calls. fuck him.
and then catrice gon call me like 30 minutes ago (she's supposed to be one of the commentators) talkin bout she woke up w/ pink eye but she's gon still try & do the show.
...bitch u can still see! brang yo pink eyed ass on!
shady asses, man.
and then Vince's incompetant ass... first off, the dude from UK has disappeared. so i ask vince 3 muhfkin days ago to find me a breakdancer cause he said he cld do it. tonight, day before show--we aint got no gotdamn breakdancers. he talkin bout he still waitin on word but he'll call me by 9 tonight w/ a definite answer.
it's 10:32.
fuck him.
i dont care what happens tomorrow. im not even that nervous about singin anymore cause the rest of the show's prolly gon be crap enuff to make me look good no matter how i sound. and plus nate and justyn and dave have been counselin me, so i wasn't that nervous before the chris & catrice shit. but still... fuck tomorrow.
i just want all this stuff over with so i can get back to my normal boring ass life where i had nuthin to do but go to class. im behind in all my shit. my room is a mess. this needs to stop.
i gotta get up & dressy at like 6 tomorrow morning for an MLK breakfast held by UK's Alphas. free food & blk men in suits. that'll be the highlight of tomorrow.
okay.. end MLK rant.
my brother probably has Miner's (min-ERRS) disease. my mama got it. it's an imbalance in inner ear fluid & it causes horrid dizzy spells that can last for days, followed by migranes that can last for weeks. i hope i dont get that shit, man.
speakin of my mama, she's got the flu right now. i hope i dont get that shit too.
nate... move to chicago w/ me & my friend dallas after i graduate. we can get donnie's crib (leroybumpkin) when he moves out. 1500 a month split three ways. it'll be like 3's Company. and u know the best part? we can move my manfriend in so we can keep yall up at night w/ the headboard bangin against the wall & him moanin like a beeyotch cause i got skills like that :o)
lol.. im jokin.. i just wanted to freak u out. mission accomplished, right? right.
um...
i dunno, i can't think of anything else to report.
oh, i finally wrote Barbara Smith back. i feel like such a louse for waiting so long, but times have been crazy. i'll mail it tuesday.
im finna write out the sam cooke song and the breakdancers outta the script, email new copies to the commentators and get in the bed and call my pookie poo.
