Cat Power
Even though my hair is not fine or truly straight and when I tried blunt bangs they never laid flat, I don’t care. I’m getting rid of my streaks and I’m going to grow my hair anyway.
You know what that means? I will have ugly ass in-between hair for the next year.
No one look at me for the next twelve months.
Pops used to tell me CONSTANTLY: “Do good in school. Graduate. Get a good job. Then you know what, do whatever you want. Buy $100 jeans, go on vacation, whatever you want…” I swear I didn’t believe him at the time. I tried so hard to understand how some of my peers blew their money fast buying MAC makeup, premium denim, and still managed to jet set. I couldn’t imagine how they managed those lifestyles while making $10+/hour, cause I was over here racking up debt trying to hang.
In the end my wise-ass pops was 100% correct. My career has finally seemed to get off the ground and I’m soaring at a comfortable height. My position at work is stable, and paychecks are steady payin’ the bills and then some. The Mr. & I are FULLY enjoying the DINK (dual-income, no kids) life.
Its either feast or famine, and lucky us, we’re feasting right now and I couldn’t be more thankful.
In the matter of just one night I’ve decided to:
- Dye my hair a solid shade of black.
- Grow my hair about a foot longer.
- Get a ribcage tattoo.
- I’d also love to re-evaluate my closet and get rid of a lot of crap.
Fuck. What’s wrong with me?
Ohh you know what—my period is coming.
[Regardless... I'm serious about my list... =p]
I was fortunate enough to have direction in my life, parents who saw a creative spark inside me, and their support to lead me in the right path.
I’m one of those lucky people who get to go to a job they truly enjoy in a field they absolutely love.
Love what I do. Do what I love.
I’ve come to the realization that this list is mainly for me, and what turns me off in the opposite sex. I do realize this shouldn’t even matter, since I’ve dated/loved/abused the same man for the past nine years. But I’m used to talking mad shit, and no matter how girly I may be sometimes, I’m still a tomboy at heart and down to kick it with five guys and pretend that I have a penis just like they do.
_ Do not, I repeat DO NOT hold onto your lady’s bag for her. Its just pathetic, don’t do it while she’s shopping, don’t do it cause she wants her hands free, just don’t do it. I’m talking about an extended period of time, sometimes I hand of my purse to the husband for a quick minute, but never do I force or ask him to hold it like a servant. I see men who do this and all I do is shake my head with shame.
_ Don’t quote pop stars. Don’t quote Gaga, Miley Cyrus, or Ke$ha unless you’re honestly gay. I’m so serious. I can’t stand any of those beezies and I was born with a vagina.
_ On that note: DON’T BLAST FEMALE POP MUSIC. OMG. This should be obvious, but once I heard Gaga’s “Telephone” blasting from an unassuming guy’s headphones on BART, and man… it was weird. I guess maybe he thought he was enjoying his music on the low since he was listening from his iPod? Ehh, nope. And just so you know, he looked as straight as an arrow.
I’m just sayin’.
I really shouldn’t be blogging at the moment, considering the fact that I can’t tell you how many alcoholic beverages I’ve consumed tonight.
I LOVE MY LIFE AND EVERYONE IN IT.
I hate being invisible.
I fucking hate it.
It occurs much more frequently than people realize. It used to happen to me pretty often, somehow I’d magically slip through cracks and people seemed to look right through me. It happened all throughout my younger years, up until I finally seemed to find my place in high school and truly found my calling in college. It even manages to happen now, when some stupid beezy fails to realize that the chick standing next to my husband (i.e. me) is in fact with the flyest dude in the room, and even more so—his diamond girl, aka wife.
Stupid ass girls.
It gripes me so hard, and I’m not even the jealous type.
I guess I just can’t get over the fact that these women have enough confidence to holler. Its far beyond me. I’m way too prideful to be that forward, and if I had to date now, I’d never survive. Haha, NEVERRRR.
I am fully aware that my husband is hot balls. FULLY AWARE. But seriously, you can’t check the ring on his left hand? Don’t notice the lady he’s been dancing with most of the night? Are you blind? Don’t notice that on Facebook his name is tagged next to a chick’s who happens to have his-name hypenated onto hers? Are you stupid?
Faaack. I could go on.
Maybe I’m just jealous, cause I neverrr get hollered at, never by anyone decent that is. 15 year old boys and crackheads don’t count.
Yeah, thats probably it.
Ehh, maybe not, cause I’m still ready to cut the next bitch who doesn’t see me standing next to my man.
REAL TALK.
I have one year to wile-the-eff-out before I let the husband impregnate me. EXACTLY ONE YEAR.
Trust me, some days I already wish we had a young one to make fun of, and love… Haha, can’t forget the last part.
UNTIL THEN: I am packing my year with the people I love, places I have yet to see, food I haven’t had the pleasure in consuming, and plenty of alcohol for my liver to work hard to eliminate.
I’m so excited for this next year of my life, 27 is turning out to be quite nice.
Vegas—was a blast.
Not because the clubs are crackin’ (cause THEY’RE NOT), not because I bet a bill to hit red on roulette (cause I didn’t), but because open containers of alcohol are legal on the streets, and because I ended my summer of 2010 with just some of my favorite people.
The memories, quotes, & laughs will forever live with me. Thanks Abby, Dean, Paul, Mark, Rami, Rob, Jay, Jen, & Jeff.
