It's Friday Y'all!!!

Can you tell that I'm happy about it????? Huh? Can you? Man. I need this weekend. I need it bad. Sunday is gonna be busy as hell, so basically all I have is Saturday. But it's all good. I'm gonna lounge to the fullest. The Royal Satin sleeping crown is calling me right now, I can hear it. And I shall answer it as soon as I can. My little cousin started school yesterday, and she was going on and on about stuff being "in style". I'm so damn glad I'm old (compared to her, LOL). Because it hit me, I don't know if my clothes are in style or not. And the best thing about it is, I don't give a flaming hot damn. My main concerns when picking an outfit are: 1. Does it match? 2. Do I have to iron it? 3. Which Nikes am I gonna wear with it? 4. Is it clean? That is all. I could care less about whether it's a Rocawear shirt or some Baby Phat jeans. Because I work in a lab where no one sees me until I leave to go home. Plus I'm in a white jacket all day. So no one cares what I have on. That little girl went on and on and on. I wanted to scream after a while. These demon-troll-istic kids are so materialistic it scares me. I'm like, "damn... when did I stop giving a shit?" I don't know when it happened, but it did. And I'm glad it did. Or else I'd be much more broke than I already am. ACS college loan services and Ford Credit could give a shit about whether or not I'm rockin an Ecko Red outfit. I'd just better pay they ass. And that has become what is important. That, paying my tithes and offerings, and supporting my Nike habit. I care about nothing else. Countdown to the cornrows has begun. I am hella determined to hold this straw set down until Sunday night, but my resolve is wavering. It doesn't help that it's already in the high 70's at 9 something in the a.m... nevertheless I must continue on for a couple more days. I was scared to work too hard yesterday, didn't want my head to spontaneously combust due to the immense amount of Elasta QP and Wonder 8 oil the stylist sprayed on my head TWO DAYS AGO... damn. I need my 'rows back. I'm sick of this baby-doll hair. I want my regular hair back. I cannot understand for the life of me why some people don't get hints. I no longer feel elated that certain men feel that I'm relatively the shit. It's the dream of most adolescent ghetto women to be that uber-bitch that dudes can't get over. I was no different. In spite of my nerd status I managed to pull this off, too. I paid the price in heartache initially (I was so trusting and retarded back then), but I received my vindication for my pain once they realized what they'd lost and came slithering back. Then I could tell them to... uh.. go away (in much meaner terms). That was the best revenge back then. But now, as a grumpy, jaded, bordeline evil and bitter adult, this shit ain't fly anymore. Because they never go away. I'm sick of the stalkalistic emails, drive-by stalkings, phone calls and voicemail messages. I'm tired, y'all. I just want to go on with my life. It's getting difficult. I wish I could post some of the emails I get, but I don't dare. I'm telling you, every so many weeks this happens. And it isn't funny anymore. I wish I could just take a really long nap and make it go away when I wake up. Damn. Well, lemme get to work. And today, I've got a very special mandate for a very special homie all the way on the other side of the country (but right up in the territory of the Her Imperial Majesty's Kingdom): *clears throat and extends scepter* Ms. Reddy, You have been hereby ordered to step away from the Royal Macaroni and Cheese. Your threats have become an Imperial Offense punishable by Final Level Baseheads. The Imperial Band of Compton Corner-dwelling Crackhead Warriors has been notified, and you will be hounded relentlessly for single dollars and 50 cents, forced to buy bootleg movies that dont work, stolen perm kits, spare tires, old ass Cross Colors pants and swap meet Paco pants, and oranges offa someone's tree in my Neighborhood. All this and other crackish guerilla tactics will be unleashed upon you, should you fail to comply with the Royal Mandate. You have been warned, govern yourself accordingly. LMAO... love ya girl, LOL... Y'all have a good day. That is all.