Why did this chick say I sound like I have luscious lips? I’m not even sure what that means but it kind of annoyed me. Was she trying to say I sound like Jimmy Walker or something? I wasn’t smacking or popping my lips either. She rubbed me the wrong way. For starters, she kept calling me boo. I despise the word boo. It reaks of insincerity, especially when you don’t know me from the last three dudes you called boo. I give women nicknames all the time but I don’t generally let them give me any nicknames.

I was talking to a chick last night, I’ll call her Lynn. We’ve been associates for a while now. She was telling me about what’s been going on in her life and all I could say was damn. She told me that she’d been fucking around with one of her kids’ fathers. He’s a crackhead who’s done rehab and supposedly has been clean for about six months. Why she told me that shit, I have no idea. Lynn broke up with her last man last week because, well actually she gave a few reasons, but I think the biggest reason is that he wasn’t banging her walls often enough. The dude she was fucking with before Mr. Nowallbanger apparently is a crazy stalker. The stalker called child protective services on her saying that she abused her child when he actually meant to say grandchild. He also told her that she couldn’t fuck with anyone else or he would put a bullet in her head and the dude she was fucking with. Apparently, stalker guy is a junkie too. Oh, I’m so glad I never fucked her. I could’ve but I didn’t. I knew bits and pieces but I didn’t know she was fucking junkies, stalkers, and whatever.

Why do chicks keep lying about shit and not remembering their lies? Don’t ever have some dude smiling up in my face after being introduced as your friend only for me to find out later that homeboy had his dick up in you. I swear I’m going to scream and then shake like a baby the next woman that tells me someone is their friend and later find out he’s really her ex-man or former lover. That’s disrespectful, dishonest, and is immediate grounds for dismissal from the team and/or my life for lying about a fundamental and material fact. Besides, is there really anyone out there who doesn’t know that exes are exes for a reason? If you haven’t resolved the issue(s) or situation(s) that broke you up in the first place then continuing to fuck them and/or keep them around will only confuse and complicate matters.

I still want a stalker though, a Freaky Deaky crazed, dick-hungry, non-violent, hot, cum freak stalker, who is as freaky sexually as she is mentally. A stalker that I can play with or she can play with me. I’m not sure if getting a stalker makes it onto my freak list or not. I do think it’s kind of hot though. Even though I personally wouldn’t want to fuck with someone that had a stalker of her own. One of these days I’m really going to have to sit down and write up that freak list.

I was thinking about signing up for one those blogging sites (the name escapes me at the moment) that are supposed to generate more viewers to your blog. I had a couple of problems. One, some of them didn’t seem to have a category that fit my blog. Two, they seem to only want G, PG, and PG-13 rated blogs to enroll. Pussies! I’ve seen some for the X-rated blogs but I don’t fit there either. (Sigh) Misfits can’t get in where they fit in because they don’t fit in.

If I’ve never sent you a card, letter, or anything why do people automatically assume or act like I know their mailing address? I might now the general area and even the street but unless I’m sending you a lot of letters or visit you a lot there’s no way I’m going to memorize your address.

If I had a bigger family, I’d probably be the type to publish a family newsletter. It sucks that I don’t because I actually like doing geeky stuff like that. I usually mail out Christmas cards to all of my pen pals, close family, and my best friends. Compared to the cards I get my Christmas cards are so much cooler!

I may actually break down and finally get a cell phone before the summer. People tell me I’m weird because I’ll give you my home number way before I’d consider giving you my cell number. Actually, I prefer being called at home over my cell phone anyway. I guess the few people that will actually have it are special. I either really like them or really want to bone them. Fuck that telling people to put their phone numbers in my phone garbage. I know too many people that will run off with your shit. Besides the chick giving me her number won’t be nearly as hot in my eyes if she drops my new phone and breaks it.

If I even acknowledge you when wrestling is on then you’re okay. If I have a conversation while it’s on then you’re cool. If I ignore wrestling to talk to or hang out with you then I’m either in lust or in love. Either that or it’s boring as hell this week, LOL! Watch my phone blow up at 9:00 PM Monday night.

Some people love clothes, I love my toys and gadgets. I’m also dying to get my hands on a laptop computer, portable GPS system, and a cell phone jammer. I’d really like to get my hands on a sugar mama to buy me all of those things and more. Seriously, people always think I’m playing when I say that but I really would like a sugar mama.

As soon as I heard the Red Wings were taking on the Oilers in the first round I had a feeling things might go bad. Seems like Edmonton has our number and the fans are pissed. I guess the Wings will either be cleaning house or rebuilding in the off season. I hope the Pistons don’t pick up the new coach playoff curse.

The Head Nurse is starting to get on my nerves. It’s starting to get to the point that I don’t even want to let her suck my dick. If she begged me right now to slob on it I’d turn her down. She is this close to getting on my “Never Ever Call Me Again” list. Then again sucking my dick may be the only way for her not to put on the list and show me she isn’t playing games.

Blogger really needs to get an auto save feature. You should’ve heard me cussing when my browser decided to crash. I usually do a much better job of saving by saving after every other paragraph but I fucked up. Oh well, I only lost three paragraphs and I remembered most of it. It’s funny too because Blogger seems to be the only site I regularly use that my browser crashes on. I don’t know if it’s them or Blogger but since Blogger has been acting kind of janky then I’ll blame the B.

Have you ever had a conversation with someone and felt like they fast forwarded to the middle and assumed you already knew the beginning? I logged into my Yahoo messenger and received a strange and unexpected offline message from someone I chat with. She told me that she thinks we are drifting away. Huh? I don’t hear from you for weeks or months on end and you think we’re drifting away? She wants to know what’s happening and why we’re being drawn apart. She always seems short and abrupt with the answers she gives. I feel like I’m bothering her even when she IMs me first. She’s not the only one though but I digress. Speaking of huh? Did that memo get lost in cyberspace? Maybe somebody slipped me a roofie or something because I don’t remember us being drawn together which I believe has to happen before we can be drawn apart, right? I guess I should ask her if she likes me or something. Then she tells me that there is someone who likes her and that she’ll talk about it later.

(SIGH) People are about to start making me go back to my old ways. I mentioned in Monday’s post how I used to be the king of hanging up on people. Anything that annoyed or pissed me off got you a conversation with my boy tone… dial tone that is. I hate when I’m talking to a chick and all she does is talk about other guys or any one guy in particular (that isn’t me). When I was younger there was a point that it happened with every chick I met in every conversation. One day I just snapped and a new motto was born. “Bitch, I don’t want to hear that shit!” Click. The way I see it is you’re talking to me and I don’t want to be subjected to hearing you sing the praises of every Tom, Dick, & Harry you’ve ever met or been with. If I ask, that’s one thing. If you’re honestly telling me to help me get to know you that’s okay too. However, when you seem to have a dude of the week you’re fixated on then that’s just bragging or some other shit I have no interest in hearing. You’re on the phone with me so sing my praises, compliment me, and stroke my ego. If you feel the need to talk about old boy so much then maybe you’re talking to the wrong man. Got it? Good.

Alrighty people, some people think it would be funny to listen to me give advice. So if I get enough interest and questions I’d like to do a regular Dear Freaky post. So here’s the deal. You want some advice? I’ll advise you. You can e-mail me your questions (I’m sure you’re bright enough to find the address) and please use Dear Freaky in the subject line. I’m not going to use your name, e-mail address, or personally contact you unless you specifically request it. You can also post your questions in my comments and/or chat box (just let me know it’s for Dear Freaky). You can even do so anonymously if you’re scaredy cat. Disclaimer: I have no idea what kind of advice I’m going to give you. You read this blog. The advice I give could be serious, sarcastic, brutally truthful (remember the truth like a lot of other things is subjective) or anything else that comes out of my warped little mind. In other words don’t ask me anything in Dear Freaky that would hurt your feelings if I shit all over it in my reply. It’s not personal.

Juicy finally called while I was writing this post. I was in my zone so I didn’t want to be interrupted and answer the phone. Since I’m finished, I guess I’ll call her and see what’s UP?