as the other half of two point five comfortably writes from the placates of her soft, cotton Hello Kitty robe to post her premier thoughts about how it took us forever and a day to start this thing--what i like to call giving a visual picture to the clutter of what others would call our brains.
i hope the masterpiece looks more like the ingenious work of Ernie Barnes and not randoms globs of paint. i waste away from boredom surrounded by the ennui of nothingness and the dry mechanically cooled air of an empty gym, otherwise known as work; ON A SUNDAY FOR BRITNEY'S SAKE.
however, i'm laughing because i know it was like trying to slide your debit card quick enough in the ticket machine at the movies with nine inch nails, for Tatiana not to use SAT words like propagate, pellucid, pendulous, and pulchritude.
my thoughts also revert back to my daydreams about my current crush (i seem to have a lot of those these days), and the CNN segment of how some evangelist lost his following because he can no longer rationalize that Jesus would refuse to help any of God's children. It so peculiar that the most sundry of things make Americans tick (Americans, meaning that's what i'm going to call those that carry bibles, or what have you, but are quick to condemn). Considering America is the mutts of all mutts and i'm not just talking about ethnicity either. i'll stop there, no need for wedgies to form.
simultaneously, i am visualizing my twelve day wardrobe for my long awaited trip back home. Notice any meandering, if you do don't feel bad because that pretty much describes Ms. King and i when it comes to conversating (ha! ha! and goes the red indentation that such is not a word).
i definitely was not first to post on the site, however i wish all those that are listening to "violet stars and happy hunting," a special cling of champagne glasses. Kudos goes out to Janelle Monaé—literally overnight i'm officially your biggest fan.
the hustler flow from the speakers of the gym bring me back to life as a hum along, "I'm so far ahead of my time, i'm bout to start another life behind you, i'm bout to pass you twice, back to the future and gotta slow up for the present i'm fast, ---- can't get past my past!" Oddly, as i look out the window a rotund-like fella has on a smedium shirt that reads, "i'm not smiling, i'm passing gas." How grotesque and strangely fucking hilarious.
sadly, back to my reality of folding towels and aimless imaginings, i gotta get a job that pays salary. No more hourly joints. i'm out!
our self-proclaimed rhetoric, critique, and beautiful bullshit rants will presume the next time our black hole like brains slows down enough to give us the inclination that it's time to do laundry. Just to add, i desperately NEED a pair of Aldo's fuschia Sarnia pumps.
lemons or lemonade people! And lastly, a special lacing of Adidas' Superstar shelltoes go out to Reverend Run because of you Hip Hop will always be in my heart.
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