streetwear is dead. blah blah blah I've officially stopped following the hundreds dime a dozen blogs and brands. Now it's all beasted all your prints are the same. turn in your fitted new era, a limited edition tee, tight jeans && nikesbs
Every morning I'm awake at 4:30am to hear the the sacramento bee being propelled- through the night darkest before the dawn-
over my front gate,
slamming with a thundering smack onto my cement porch
damp from midnight drizzles
If I were rolling with Ice-T circa 1990 I would have been awake to hear the police creepin' around the block at 6am. Ice-T woke up the new york sound dominated nation to the westcoast, I would have returned the favor.
Backdoor outro rather than the bathroom window.
The topic of N.E.R.D and it's involvement with myself is a very complicated one that has spanned over seven years, and still continues today. So alas, I will be brief, I'm happy that one of the better songs of seeing sounds, "sooner or later" is N.E.R.D's next "single," or better yet next video that wont get heavy rotation nor the attention or notoriety it deserves ala the late great "provider" circa 2002 and the bulk of N.E.R.D's music on the whole. N.E.R.D for novice listeners: In Search of... > Seeing Sounds< Fly or Die & their not worth seeing live somewhere around the '05 mark
I have had my best friend change my facebook password with the stipulation I cannot know the new password until I am done with finals because I have no self control.
on another note, I cracked the screen on ebay cell phone, the play button doesn't work on my iPod & the whole top has fallen off of it, I don't have a drivers liscene let alone a car, nor a bike, I can't find a job for the life of me & I busted a holes in my hellzbellz denim, trues & air max 91s
now I am the embodiment of my favorite song in middle school, awww shizzz, but that's okay cuz i'm stillll...
Go to your iTunes, go to your iTunes store, find podcasts, go to music podcasts, find the Stones Throw podcast, proceed to subscribe as well as cop on archival podcasts all for free nintey-nine. Enjoy.
Mapei-Date Rape video by artist Sara Gunnarsdotter
Get me on a planeeee I'm off to sweden to see Mapei--with nothing but my mama's fried chicken recipe on a 3x5 note card and some clean drawwwls, I think I'm in love. Shizz on repeatttt
My Mapei addiction is reminiscent of my phase roughly a year and a half ago in which I watched the video the Gutter Mixxx video of Lily Allen-Smile non-stop until I was brought to nausea and couldn't stand it anymore, form time to time, I wake up in cold sweats, for the beat of the gutter mixxx and images of the asses in that video
haunt me in my sleep.
Self explanatory, my favorite songs featuring Kanye West. One or two producer creds on the playlist too. All of which have had an instrumental part in my adolescence and beyond. Everything from Kid Sister summer at UATW to Slum Village on that freshmen year in high school MP 2004 steeez
I'm sooo terribly tired I could pass out at any moment, I'm sick, and I left my apartment keys in my apartment not to mention that Ma Bell sent me a whopping bill, with eighteen phone calls to Brazil, and I borrowed money from the mob, and yesterday you lost my job
I just guess that...
I used to cut a rug and break dance to this cut back in 1980.
Sorry DK but get outta here with that Weezy-T-Pain-Kanye West 808s&Heatbreak "emo auto-tune rap" bullshittt. I am not a fan of this auto-tune voice augmented phase, it's the revival of the talk box. I wikied "atuo-tune" and it gave me the "Cher effect" DK you have good point, saying "I always looked at auto tune as club rap and talk box as like bboy shit" Given I'm living 93' till infinity and so always a fan of the latter. I guess each to their own played out weak music preference.
If my computer hadn't crashed then I'd post a piece I wrote on on September 11th, 2007 entitled, "Kanye West is pissing me the fuck off," in which I critique the evolution of West's career leading up to (the disappointing) Graduation
As I previously stated anticipating the release of N.E.R.D.s Seeing Sounds, after hearing 808s&Heatbreak I'll just continue to stick my head in the ground, put College Dropout&most of Late Registration on repeat and pretend the whole thing never happened. Additionally the only redeeming quality of the track "Heartless" is Hype Williams on the video.
So without further ado, I present my brief Ode to the talk box:
The closet I'll ever get to Andy Samberg happened over the summer when I worked for UCSC's telephone outreach, phoning alumni and schmoozing them into giving the University money. At random the computer system connected to the phone dials alumni ranging from schools inception, to those graduated last year. Samberg is an alumni of Santa Cruz and I fatefully got his parents answering machine, procedure is not to leave a message so I refrained with all my might. I write down the number as if I would sometime in the future casually stalk...er a call Samberg via his parents. Among the things I would say on the answering machine today, if I were slightly more deranged and hadn't disposed of the number would go something like this:
Saturday Night Live has steadily declined in quality of the past five years or so, with a turn over in writers and cast. The few skits that have potential, seem to drown on for far too long and get lost in themselves. Sometimes I find myself defending SNL to my peers as if I were personally invested, although as an avid fan since as far back as I can remember I somewhat am. Yet, Last nights show with host Paul Rudd actually actually had some considerably funny skits, (most of which could have not have gone on so long, notably the digital short "everyone's a critic, it was funny then what the hell) Kudos SNL, perhaps things are turning around and on the track track. Additionally, consider reducing the program to an hour long block, the way it once was instead of the painful hour and a half air time it has now. Let's stress quality over quality yeah?
Blog Slap: where were you in 1992? wake up. you've been sleeping for 16 yrss.
thursday night till' infinity onn reapeaat
Romancing is my thing but I cant swing with no scheming hoes Wherever my beeeammer goes you know that I'm driiiving Surviving in the 90s is a must so I trust That everyone listen up as my vocals give thrust I bust my rhymes first never chasing a skirt Do much work while other suckas need more time to rehearse
To the fine looking Asian dude walking in front of Westfield shopping center outside of American Eagle in San Francisco on 11/11/08 at around 1pm, hands in your front pockets revealing the the tattoo on your right forearm, black beanie half way off your head, crisp ass denim: Ayo lemme hollaatcha I'll catch yo eye as I start to spit it, damn they don't make em like you where I reside in santa cruz. You'll wanna roll out to get some dim sum, we both have a craving, and I know you're not interested in mt for my whip appeal cuz I rely solely on public transportation and my legs to get me around. So we bus it, and walk to your spot on the outskirts of china town to get some dim sum, sitting across from each other, we both reach for the last shaomai, i'll get flustered and retreat my arm as our hands meet under the florescent light that hangs above our heads.
The topic will turn to weezy, and based on my disengagement on the topic there will be a brief awkward silence. You look like your favorite de la album is stakes is high I start it off, then we both start to spit the same verse from itzsoweezee, as we're leaving I'll reach in to wipe the haam sui gaau out of the corner of your mouth, you'll grab me by my waist, tell me to leave school and come stay in your studio apartment for month on end, i'll dodge your lips and place my index finger over them, then I'll say it, shhhh, in time we might meet again but I can't stay with you, I didn't mean for you to fall in love like this but it's not meant to be. That will be the last time we see each other.
Blog slap, this one's for you: De la soul ft. common-the bizness
SPECIAL COMMENT By Keith Olbermann Anchor, 'Countdown' msnbc.com updated 6:13 p.m. PT, Mon., Nov. 10, 2008
Keith Olbermann Anchor, 'Countdown' • Profile
Finally tonight as promised, a Special Comment on the passage, last week, of Proposition Eight in California, which rescinded the right of same-sex couples to marry, and tilted the balance on this issue, from coast to coast.
Some parameters, as preface. This isn't about yelling, and this isn't about politics, and this isn't really just about Prop-8. And I don't have a personal investment in this: I'm not gay, I had to strain to think of one member of even my very extended family who is, I have no personal stories of close friends or colleagues fighting the prejudice that still pervades their lives. Story continues below ↓advertisement | your ad here
And yet to me this vote is horrible. Horrible. Because this isn't about yelling, and this isn't about politics. This is about the human heart, and if that sounds corny, so be it.
If you voted for this Proposition or support those who did or the sentiment they expressed, I have some questions, because, truly, I do not understand. Why does this matter to you? What is it to you? In a time of impermanence and fly-by-night relationships, these people over here want the same chance at permanence and happiness that is your option. They don't want to deny you yours. They don't want to take anything away from you. They want what you want—a chance to be a little less alone in the world.
Only now you are saying to them—no. You can't have it on these terms. Maybe something similar. If they behave. If they don't cause too much trouble. You'll even give them all the same legal rights—even as you're taking away the legal right, which they already had. A world around them, still anchored in love and marriage, and you are saying, no, you can't marry. What if somebody passed a law that said you couldn't marry?
I keep hearing this term "re-defining" marriage. If this country hadn't re-defined marriage, black people still couldn't marry white people. Sixteen states had laws on the books which made that illegal in 1967. 1967.
The parents of the President-Elect of the United States couldn't have married in nearly one third of the states of the country their son grew up to lead. But it's worse than that. If this country had not "re-defined" marriage, some black people still couldn't marry black people. It is one of the most overlooked and cruelest parts of our sad story of slavery. Marriages were not legally recognized, if the people were slaves. Since slaves were property, they could not legally be husband and wife, or mother and child. Their marriage vows were different: not "Until Death, Do You Part," but "Until Death or Distance, Do You Part." Marriages among slaves were not legally recognized.
You know, just like marriages today in California are not legally recognized, if the people are gay.
And uncountable in our history are the number of men and women, forced by society into marrying the opposite sex, in sham marriages, or marriages of convenience, or just marriages of not knowing, centuries of men and women who have lived their lives in shame and unhappiness, and who have, through a lie to themselves or others, broken countless other lives, of spouses and children, all because we said a man couldn't marry another man, or a woman couldn't marry another woman. The sanctity of marriage.
How many marriages like that have there been and how on earth do they increase the "sanctity" of marriage rather than render the term, meaningless?
What is this, to you? Nobody is asking you to embrace their expression of love. But don't you, as human beings, have to embrace... that love? The world is barren enough.
It is stacked against love, and against hope, and against those very few and precious emotions that enable us to go forward. Your marriage only stands a 50-50 chance of lasting, no matter how much you feel and how hard you work.
And here are people overjoyed at the prospect of just that chance, and that work, just for the hope of having that feeling. With so much hate in the world, with so much meaningless division, and people pitted against people for no good reason, this is what your religion tells you to do? With your experience of life and this world and all its sadnesses, this is what your conscience tells you to do?
With your knowledge that life, with endless vigor, seems to tilt the playing field on which we all live, in favor of unhappiness and hate... this is what your heart tells you to do? You want to sanctify marriage? You want to honor your God and the universal love you believe he represents? Then Spread happiness—this tiny, symbolic, semantical grain of happiness—share it with all those who seek it. Quote me anything from your religious leader or book of choice telling you to stand against this. And then tell me how you can believe both that statement and another statement, another one which reads only "do unto others as you would have them do unto you."
You are asked now, by your country, and perhaps by your creator, to stand on one side or another. You are asked now to stand, not on a question of politics, not on a question of religion, not on a question of gay or straight. You are asked now to stand, on a question of love. All you need do is stand, and let the tiny ember of love meet its own fate.
You don't have to help it, you don't have it applaud it, you don't have to fight for it. Just don't put it out. Just don't extinguish it. Because while it may at first look like that love is between two people you don't know and you don't understand and maybe you don't even want to know. It is, in fact, the ember of your love, for your fellow person just because this is the only world we have. And the other guy counts, too.
This is the second time in ten days I find myself concluding by turning to, of all things, the closing plea for mercy by Clarence Darrow in a murder trial.
But what he said, fits what is really at the heart of this:
"I was reading last night of the aspiration of the old Persian poet, Omar-Khayyam," he told the judge. It appealed to me as the highest that I can vision. I wish it was in my heart, and I wish it was in the hearts of all: So I be written in the Book of Love; I do not care about that Book above. Erase my name, or write it as you will, So I be written in the Book of Love."
I thought this ad campaign was very suggestive when I saw it, it propels a hyper sexualization of the black male as a sexual object, a "forbidden fruit," when a thin white male dawns a new chocolate darker complexion suddenly he's the object of all women's sexual affections, note all the women chasing after said "dark temptation" chocolate man are all women of the Caucasian persuasion.
I've discussed my thoughts on axe's ad campaign with several of my peers and they have varying opinions, some think I'm just reading too deeply into a "harmless commercial," but I think it's intended meaning is explicit, strictly butter reader, what do you think?
This is the Halloween post: Stanley Kubrick circa 1980 vs. J Dilla circa unfinished released in 2006-The Shining
The genius of this work speaks for itself, I vividly remember hearing Body Movin' for the first time and shitting a brick, I hadn't heard anything like it before. J Dilla's album is like the merging of my favorite things, 1980's day-glow colored blood-gory horror films, hip hop, and a good DJ
"You’re sober now, but you’ve had a history with alcohol. What’s the craziest thing that happened to you when you were drinking heavily? Tracy Morgan: When I was wilding? I got kicked out of Prince’s house. The last time he won a Grammy, we went to the pre-Grammy party. Free booze all night. Prince had his band in the living room. Everybody left the house except for me and my boy. It was 6 o’clock, 7 o’clock in the morning, the sun was coming up, and we were still drinking. And Prince and his wife were at the door in their pajamas and said, “Come on, Tracy, you’ve got to go.” And I was gay for about five seconds because he’s a pretty motherfucker. If Prince was a woman, I would go down on him. All the way down. Swell his vagina lips up."
On a completely related note, while walking downtown Santa Cruz I passed a man on the corner in a dated brown suit and boulder hat playing the trumpet across from new leaf for money, as I passed he stated aloud in the most cheerful lively voice ever to pedestrians passing on the street, and I quote:
"You know I love butterflies and I love stew. I put the two together and it was delicious! My favorite is monarch..."
needless to say while everyone who heard it remained stone faced a burst out in roaring laughter, whether he was trying to get a rouse or just a little off his rocker I think those walking with me should have apprecited the fine art of butterfly stew comedy. gotta love santa cruz!
listening notes: My labor of love Justin study mix is meant to be played in a low key soft volume to provide a soothing background noise as you sequester yourself in your cave studying for hours on end.
Justin, I tired to compile a number of different songs you knew well, knew of, and didn't know at all. I'm skeptical about a few of my selections and tried to pick things for you, not me, but the bottom line is the mix is intended to study to, not to slap along side your all time favorite songs, hence why I left out Billy Joel-Piano Man, and a lot of Etta James, that shit's way tooo hype. Additionally, the version of natural resource-bum deal supposedly mixed by dj premier is all I could find after my computer crashed, annoying mixing at some points but on the whole goodish, and one of the songs on the playlist features a sample from one of my all time favorite songs can you find it?
I'll upload a zip file for those who want the play list and have a computer that actually works right now.
I ask you this question as prosed by my professor:
"What is true to human nature?"
This is madonna's answer circa 1995, I don't know if my answer is as, well black and white and masochistic to say the least:
On a completely unrelated note, Madonna samples Main Source-what you need, and I'm not one to pass up a chance to plug main source, word to Large Professor, or spew what song something is sampled from a la mode, er a la offdahoof, yet more often, rather than juxtaposing samples on a blog, I store all my sophomoric music knowledge in the slightly snobish part of my temporal lobe.
Main Source is not was renowned as other hip-hop acts of the early 90s, but I personally know these east coast MCs posses the power to break atoms with the likes Nas and Akinyele on the track, and also the ability to render me afixxed to my couch with my pajamas still on listening to their album on repeat at 1:18pm on a monday.
Being at MOSAIC last week was one of the rare times in my life where I have felt completely at peace with myself. Clumsily hugging the dusty trails of Napa's curvaceous terrain with two ten year old arms latched across my stomach clinging onto the warm body of unconditional love and care mixed with heaviness that permeates from my own tethered heart slowed my movement as I traveled from location to loaction-A familiar feeling pilgrimage as if I were walking back home from bus stop in 7th grade, to a place that I now find myself forever searching to go back to. Right now I can't possibly fathom the words to articulate my experience the way I want to yet feel compelled to write something as an emblem to pay homage to what I have experienced.
One by one seven of us piled into the back of the car like circus clowns on their way to the big top, each clown heavy in make-up and ready to perform that nights disarrayed dance of walking a back their perspective dorm rooms, arms heavy with clenched purses and keys in hand. The distinguishably familiar stench of sweat and a long night lingered in the air surrounding each of us. I don’t remember physically getting into the car but there were at least three girls strode across my lap. My perception impaired; the deep purple lace trimming on the camisole of the occupant on my lap blended seamlessly into her brown back which in turn bled seamlessly into my surroundings. I felt an uneasy sort of lucid dream impairment in which I repeatedly try to awake from my nightmare but nothing changes as I close my consciousness and open it again. Laughter, incoherent conversation, slurred speech, and drunken noise. A mixture of orange juice, vodka, vodka, orange juice, and more vodka was bursting at the seams of my pursed mouth with the great force of a ferocious river meeting the cracks of the dam of my lips. Every time the car jerked and we came to an abrupt stop a little bit more of my raging river leaked from my seems, followed by a “hey are you cool, are you alight?” a divine power willed me to continually reassure “yeah I’m cool” for the sake of the ornate stitching on my more than moderately priced Nikes, the deep blue of my almost pristine unwashed denim, reputation, the leather seats I sat upon, and gag reflexes of everyone in the car. Finally reverse in the order we all got in, we all got out. As soon as there were no clammy, loquacious, inebriated body’s fixing me upright into my middle backseat I toppled over, scrambling for the door handle, my stomach’s bellowing voice spoke out, spilling its contents in protest to my actions, the contents of my night drenching my shoes, my jeans, my hair, and the poor unexpecting trunk of the pine tree I propped myself against.
My hard drive crashed and I lost everything I had. All the memories I had in digital form from my first year of college (photos, essays, music, etc.) are gone. Perhaps I'll interpret this tragedy as a symbolic slate cleaning of the past in which there is nothing left to do but to rebuild myself in a way I see fitting and move forward.
Alas I must reconstruct my music collection. Not an easy feat.
First one of the 5 albums I've downloaded thus far:
01. Sure Hope You Mean It 03:40 02. 100 Yard Dash 02:18 03. Keep Marchin’ 02:38 04. Big Easy 03:19 05. Just One Kiss (feat. Joss Stone) 02:32 06. Love That Girl 03:04 07. Calling 03:45 08. Staying In Love 02:54 09. Oh Girl 03:35 10. Let’s Take A Walk 02:28 11. Never Give You Up (feat. Stevie Wonder & CJ Hilton) 04:13 12. Sometimes 04:06 13. Oh Girl (feat. Jay-Z) 03:42 cop it. love it. live ittt.
neo-soul with a 1950's/motown flare
Charlie Ray Wiggins aka Raphael Saadiq aka Raphael Saadiq aka Tony! Toni! Tone! front man aka producer extraordinaire aka newjack soull aka let's get down let's get down aka you should be herrreee
is a beautiful artist
here's a live preformance of Mr. Raphael Saadiq's single "love that girl"
Before I was strictly butter, I was yo pushhha man. Last summer when working at Up Against the Wall in Adren Faire mall I would kill the slow morning opening shifts by making runs to starbucks to buy $3.75 venti coffee frappuccinos and write in my aptly titled "Im yo pusha man" blog spot. It's beyond me why I deleted it only to start strictly butter a few months later.
Alas here's something that I wrote about a year ago in it's original glory, untouched and revised from 9/05/07, I'm not sure I feel the same way anymore but It's interesting to see where I was, I think more or less, I'm a different person now.
"Ballerific like it's all terrific vs. maslow's hierarchy of needs:" It has come to my attention that what has accumulated the over past two months of me working at “Up Against The Wall” is a increasingly consumer driven, self conscious, and materialistic version of myself. I am almost positive that continuous inane conversation about vacuous, empty topics, clothes, and shoes is detrimental to my character. The intellectual side of me has always been at war with the side of me that buys $172 Premium denim; clearly working in the equivalent of a high-end boutique to people who wear Nike Dunks has exacerbated the situation.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not completely spent, and I like my job, but it’s a slippery slope between spending my paychecks on 10 Deep when I have holes in my socks, and owning competition crushing limited edition “insert bougy street wear brand” x “edgy urban brand” tees, shoes, bejeweled hoodies, or whatever when I’m 20 something and have no car and live in my parents spare bedroom or have student loans to pay off.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that there is nothing wrong with liking nice things, and being up on fashion but consider at what cost you are doing so. I am going off to school very soon and I should be saving my money for books rather than spending it on clothes to look good. Having people compliment, and talk to me about my shoes and judge me solely on my looks and the superficial on a daily basis has consumed me. Now I’d desirably follow blogs about clothes than watch the news.
Referring to Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs:
Having such things as a job, place to live, a future and essentially having your shit together are the base of what people need while Nike SBs and Gucci sunglasses fall under “Esteem Needs” towards the top of the pyramid.
It’s beyond me why I feel self conscious, double guess myself and inevitably strive to dress a certain way to impress people who just graduated with me and have nothing but, an on again off again liaison with community college and part time jobs in retail to look forward to into their mid-twenties.
Alas, sadly what now plagues me is not sequestered to me alone, but is more of pandemic affecting much of America’s youth culture.
Kanye got it right: “I say fuck the police, thats how I treat em We buy our way out of jail, but we can't buy freedom We all buy a lot of clothes but we don't really need em The things we buy to cover up what's inside Cause they made us hate ourself and love they wealth That's why shorties holler, "Where the ballers at?" Drug dealers buy Jordans, crackheads buy crack But the white man get paid off of all a dat But I ain't even gonna act holier than thou Cause fuck it, I went to Jacob with 25 thou Before I had a house and I'd do it again Cause I wanna be on 106 and Park pushing a Benz I wanna act ballerific like it's all terrific I got a couple past due bills, I won't get specific I got a problem with spending before I get it We all self conscious I'm just the first to admit it”
Justin criticized my last post under the pretenses that it was old, or as he specifically put it "like ODB old," alas this assertion is true. I premeditated making the post far before I actually did it. In March I remember laying on my stomach atop my loft bed in college ten, building four, room 4310, downloading gnarls barkley's the odd couple and forming a blog post in my head about the heavy 60s folk feel-reminiscent of the likes of the mamas & the papas and simon & garfunkel, and 70s psychedelic influence that the album contained but never took the volition to actually write about it. I never took the volition to write about a lot of things actually.
Perhaps this post has surpassed being shimmy shimmy ya "for any em-cee in any fifty two states I get psycho, killaaa, norman bates" old and onto creeque alley "no one's getting fat but mama cass" old but at least it's start
Mama Cass Elliot is a beautiful artist, I've always adored her. Following the mamas & the papas Mama Cass branched out into a solo career, her rendition of dream a little dream of meis breathtaking to say the least.
in other news: (9:47:34 PM) im crcbound: sorry in advance for not being a beautiful black woman (9:48:23 PM) Pale Skin man: its okay (9:48:24 PM) Pale Skin man: lol (9:48:38 PM) im crcbound: story of my life really (9:48:48 PM) Pale Skin man: awww tragic
My affinity for Mr. Benjamin Andre is one of those in which I'm far too intimidated to even express, let alone proclaim any feelings I hold deep inside out of utter respect and inferior mere mortal existence.
I am not worthy, I can only speculate what goes on in that beautiful mind of his.
One of my all time favorites of Mr.Benjamin, with the always effervescent Kelis off of Tasty:
yesterday i drove down the streets i used to walk to get home from kennedy high school, its as if it were only yesterday i had just completed my sophomore year, as i ventured down the familiar streets i closed my eyes, i could still feel the unwaveringly harsh, yet intoxicating summer valley sun beating down my on body, with each passing minute walking home the tops of my feet broil until throughly cooked, leaving a tan outlining where my patent lather flats flats and my skin began.
i feel as if time is mocking me
every encounter with the song, the taste, the feeling, of beaten path i once walked along triggers a nauseating nostalgia within i yearn to extinguish
i can feel my forward momentum decay causing my legs to go out under me just as i approach the first check point of the race ...
if my desired state of mind were a campy 90s boy band song in quality of video, and overall caliber of success of said band i want it to be more bsb-everybody and a lot less 5ive-slam dunk da funk/lfo-summer girls (its a toss up both equally horrible)
...probally not the best metaphor taking off point but what a good opportunity to post lfo-summer girls & proclaim my childhood love (BSB for life!), but im sure you get the idea
i like to point the blame on you as to why it took so long for us to be "together"
but in reality i was just as unsure and scared, even more, than you were about it
it scares me to refer to you as my "boyfriend" even to myself
im still scared
i dont know why i always proclaimed i wanted more commitment, let alone a title when im mortified by the thought
ive never had a boyfriend, relationship, nada, because i always said it would happen when it was meant to happen, and when i meant it
on that pfk-playing for keeps in it 100% shit
something real (real, real)something that could make me move something i could feel (feel, feel)
it scares me shitless that you like me, that you choose me, miss pale awkward-will always have a tummy and nooo sorta ass, outta all them other half naked, drunken beezies who woulda given it up a whole lot sooner than 7 months or the beautiful poetic graceful beezies who you could mind sex with
boys ive liked have never liked me back because they have never seen that i truly have to offer, or better yet my quirks that im not willing to compromise, the crazyiez im not willing to shake out, or the clevage i will skank out and show, what makes samantha sooo god damn samantha
but this boy, who im my eyes is perfect because you are anything but whats to put up with all the dumb-ass-stereo-typical-of-women- GAMES that i put you through
sometimes i go through your phone because i dont trust you, but i never know what im looking for or what i hope to find
i just never imagined that having this with someone should be so hard or be so much work
to take a ever-so cliche line outta bright eyes play book "id rather be working for a pay check then waiting to win the lottery"
i like to try to give you an utlimatums when dumb little arguments happen that i dont give a fuck about but i just try to push you and say shit like "well then maybe we shouldn't be together"
im as guilty as you are for everything that has gone wrong
i know it and am fully aware i would just never admit it to you
no one will ever love me as much as my cat does, but that doesn't mean i shouldn't let someone try
my father has always told me that he "feels sorry for the guy i end up with" i never really got what he meant, but now i know it all too well
you have the patience of a god my dear boy
maybe i should try giving you some credit and get off my high horse once in a while
i haven't taken a shit in four dayssss because of the vicidon from getting my wisdom teeth pulled
that doesn't apply to anything ive just talked about but i just thought i'd put it out there, because its annoying me and what i want more than anything right now is to see you & take a shit
im sorry for being sorry
text me to let me know you read this, you never do!!! but please do it, its just good to know that you did
BTW!@: I haven't been featuring downloadable 'blog slaps' lately because all my good music isn't on my laptop so of you feel so inclined you can bump to my watchable youtube slaps
LISTEN TO THE STEVE MILLER BAND THEY ARE FANTASTIC JUST ASK BOBBY HUNDREDS vinyl gold: the joker, fly like an eagle, take the money and run (the hundreds has a shirt with this songs namesake, it's also a woodly allen film, lets pretend we know it's in reference to the song), rocking me (lyrics in the song read "went from phoenix arizona all the way to tacoma, philadelphia, atlanta, L.A., northern california where the girls are warm so I can be with my sweet baby yeah" dunno just makes me feel special), jet airliner, abracadabra (matchbox 20 remade this song, it was on the sabrina the teenage witch series soundtrack, I know because I owned it circa 200), etc.