So I tried to run game on the Apple store today, but it didn’t really work out. I did, however get invited to a spoken word night by the Black Apple Guy and I chatted hard with the Design Guy. Now I know that a: my computer is going to die soon, b: I should throw away Font Reserve and get Font Agent Pro, and c: I could surely get a part time job at the Apple Store.

Now, most people who know me know that if I’m hardcore about anything, it’s my hair, my people, and Apple computers. In that order. Wireless internet and Oreo cookies round out the top five. My life would truly make a 180 degree turn if I could work at the Apple store. I don’t even care what kind of job it is; I would sweep the damn floor if I could still get that discount. I would wear my little employee shirt with so much pride. I would use it as a conversation opener, “Yeah, you know, I work at the Apple store and…” Oh, man. This is going to be great.

I really suck at getting jobs in general, but I’m pretty good at getting good jobs that are going to get me somewhere. I’m not sure where iPod pushing is going to get me, but the Design Guy assured me that my knowledge of pro software would be a huge plus. My only weakness is lack of retail experience, but I could make mention of my side hustles to make up for that. Let’s just think good thoughts and count on a busy retail season.

DAMN I look horrible. I’m STILL fat, despite the fact that I excercise and I’m good if I eat one square meal a day… no snacks. I’m convinced that I’m either pregnant or this damn Paxil (which does nothing for me, by the way) is making me retain ungodly amounts of water. Fat people sweat, and having to walk a good mile uphill in 98 degree weather every day leaves me feeling like a soggy dog by the time I get anywhere. Somebody thought it would be great if 85% of my sweat glands were in my forehead, so I’m thisclose to carrying a little rag in my back pocket and pimping the sharecropper-chic look. This morning, by the time I finished getting dressed (why am I about to sweat to death sitting down, naked, in an air-conditioned room?) I notice that I’m perspiring across the bridge of my nose. The bridge of my nose? Who sweats there?

So while I’m looking like an overworked stripper at 9am, I’m also starting to resemble a fat crack fiend, since sweaty hot skin = breakouts galore. And of course, I always break out in the middle of my forehead. This just gets better every minute, doesn’t it?

So all of my clothes are too small, since like I said I’ve reached the proportions of a wildebeast. This forced an emergency expenditure of a couple hundred dollars to buy pants that will fit my grossly enlarged ass. (Of course, it only speads on the y rather than the z-axis) This prevented me from buying any shoes, so I’m wearing flip flops I bought for $2.50 at the Children’s Place like they’re Rainbows. Let’s not forget about my tits, which have charted previously unknown territory in the alphabet by now… even the $80 bras I’ve been buying for the past year don’t fit. But you know what? I have to make do because even the big-bra people don’t make my size now. Great.

And back to the pants: I have to buy two sizes up from what I actually fit into because MY BELLY IS FUCKING HUGE. I’m expecting at any moment for a little skinless creature to bust out of there a’la the Alien movie. I look pregnant. So much so, that even though this is impossible, I’m going to the doctor tommorrow to figure out what the hell is wrong with me. So my denim Hammer-pants pants are actually too big, but I HAVE to buy them huge to button across my stomach. I should have just cut the bullshit and bought maternity jeans. If anyone wants to send me a gift certificate to A Pea in the Pod, please do.

So, in short, I look like a cretin. No, I don’t know anybody. No, I haven’t made any friends because I’m too ugly to share air with and I leave my room as little as possible because I feel like a rolling sack of shit. There is only one postive thing occuring in my life at this moment, and that is:

my hair looks fucking great.

The color came out very nicely, and for a $100 hairstyle, I’m making it last as long as possble. If the rest of me looked as nice as my hair does, I’d win beauty pageants. It’s perfect. I can say with absolute conviction now that God really hates me this week. Really.

It’s so late and I’m so tired, but… just.. ugh. This thing about Kill Whitey Parties came across my desk and while I can always formulate a response, I’m too tired to write it out. I just want the record to show that the topic has been duly noted and shall be commented upon within the day.

I am also extremely concerned about the current weather conditions in New Orleans. From my understanding, everyone who is unable to make it out of the area is being put inside the SuperDome. I know that N.O. has to have a few skyscrapers or something… the wisdom of herding thousands of frightened people into an enclosed stadium is eluding me. Apparently everyone is being seated in the upper rows of seats because the field may flood as well, but can you imagine the panic that could break out inside that place if that happens? It doesn’t matter how far up people are; if water starts covering the field, there will probably be more injury and loss of life due to people trying to rush up or out of the place. I just pray that the storm is not as bad as it’s expected to be andeven if it does reach that point, a bad situation won’t turn even worse.

My mom and I were thinking about it, and we concluded that the following steps might be useful in a time of crisis and mandatory evacuation:

• open up the other lanes of highways for outgoing traffic. There only needs to be one lane for incoming.


• use the city’s school and public busses to evacuate people who otherwise can’t leave their homes for lack of transportation.


• people always go crazy stockpiling water and nonperishables before the evacuation order, but then end up leaving the stuff in their homes when they do evacuate. Round up all that stuff somehow and send it along on the busses or to shelters.

Or maybe FEMA has considered these things already. I doubt it, though.

I’m expecting to see some activity in the white bootleg market after August 30. Thanks Kanye!

Heard ‘em Say, track 2 on Late Registration, features the vocal stylings of Adam from Maroon 5, so perhaps this will generate some heavy crossover interest. I mean, it worked for John Mayer. It’s a beautiful song, and I’ve got it on repeat with Faithful, Back to the Basics, and Chi Ali’s Age Ain’t Nothing But A #. That last one is from way before Robert tried to justify his banging underaged Aaliyah. Cop it post-haste.

I know I just posted like three minutes ago, but with the dissapearance of Olivia Newton John’s boyfriend and NOW the missingness of music producer Julian Irwin, I had to speak out.

Didn’t I call it? Back when I made mention of the white man on the boat I told y’all that white men were becoming the new white women, but nobody was trying to hear me. I guess Ms. Figueroa was the only person of color whose whereabouts were unknown, and once the authorities got that mess all over with (funny how they found her killer so quickly once the media deigned to pick up the story…) they could move on to bigger and better things, like missing white guys. I’m really starting to wonder if the American public is really this bad, or if the mainstream media underestimates people. Are (white) folks really that bad that they will work themselves into a frenzy over some “missing” men before they can care about a nonwhite?

I am in no way discounting the loss of anyone; as I’ve said before It’s a terrible situation that I’ve been through myself and it’s awful when someone is missing no matter the gender, race, or age. But honestly, who the hell is snatching up grown-assed white guys? What’s the reason? Are they being sold into man-sex slavery? Organ harvesting? At newstime Olivia Newton John’s boyfriend is looking like he faked his own dissapearance (was getting physical that bad?) and the producer guy sounds like he hit up on a bad acid trip. For all the hubbub and consternation over unbalanced media coverage, the face of the great American concern has changed… but it only grew a beard and a harder jawline.