impulsions

yesterday around 7:00 pm i decided to get this done...actually, i only wanted the text but when i got to the tattoo shop i decided to get the bird too. 

please don't be mistaken...i have wanted this tattoo for a long time and last night just felt right. in case you were wondering it is located here:

not on my ass as the photo may suggest. 

This guy named keith did it for me (he was yawning when i first me him, inspiring no confidence in his skill/concern for my lifelong commitment). It hurt much less than i had expected so i was pumped about that...i fear i may become an addict.

my one true lothe

football.

it's not even the game itself...it's the whole intuition of football. to me watching a game of football is one of life's most arduous tasks. then again, i tend to hate most things in life that are typically accompanied with an ice cold beer (grilling, fishing, bromancing). even if i had any knowledge of the rules it would still just be beefed up men, who all seem like pricks to me, pumping their chests and proving that they are the alpha male. i can't even come up with a female equivalent to watching football because no matter how hard any mans man tries to deny it...they sweat sex and the city. 

football fans are a collection of everyone of those loud, semi-belligerent, born-in-the-usa, guys that you just want to slap because they want to get in everyone's faces about how great bush light is (and your drinking lemonade). not to generalize or anything. my boyfriend loves football and i love him. but when he tries to sit me down and explain plays and stats i slowly back away and him regress to his caveman like state and get hyped amongst other diehard fans. 

the superbowl is the OG bromance so i really can't blame him when he and the other cavemen take all of the good seats on the comfy couch, knock back a 30 rack, and ingest their weight in artery clogging food. it gives me an excuse to make chili and cupcakes so i guess everyone wins, except for the cardinals. but this year was different. i got conned into buying a square in a pool for 2 bucks so much to my dismay i had some investment in the hideous game, even though it was on a purely cerebral level. the concept that this event could be profitable to me in any way was heartbreaking and hypocritical. even if i had won i probably would have gone all judas on everyone's asses and told them to keep their blood money. but i didn't win so instead i'll just fantasize endlessly about the black leather slouchy boots from aldo that i could have bought with my winnings.

business is slow daddy

i was riding the t the other day and i had a epiphany 

people amaze me

existential right? no not really... people watching is one of those things that people like to say that they find fascinating and that "they could spend all day long doing" when in actuality they are just doing what everyone else in the whole world is doing when their friend is 17 minuets late to pick them up from starbucks. but really, on the t there was this guy. he was sexually ambiguous with a facial piercing and a guitar case. it had a weird mixture of cliche band and possibly ironic religious bumper stickers on it and he held it in such a way that he knew it drew attention to himself. for some reason i really wanted to hate this guy. he just seemed like i should hate him and yet...i didn't. in fact i wanted to know him and ask him about his music. ask him about his music??? what? i never fall for that, but that day i did. obviously i didn't ask him, but i wanted to. before i knew it i had gone from kenmore to park street with my attention not once being diverted from this man. and that is when i had my epiphany. this guitar playing, military cap wearing, dave matthews band loving, man had a life and a family and regrets and secrets and a passion. and he had no idea that i was analyzing them. so of course i wondered, "who is analyzing me"

this aint yo mama's blog

like most white college students this blog will be riddled with ironc, "i'm too whitty for my own good", slightly offensive (?) hip hop jargon. don't fear or blame me. blame Notorious, urban outfitters, and flavor of love. they should each be serving 12 to life for the murder of hip hop. thats whack yo.
Peace out Bitches