So, here I am, chilling, listening to OutKast, lurking on one of my favorite blogger's website, wondering what the hell am I doing home on a Saturday night.
Then it hits me.
I don't have nobody to chill with anyway.
I mean, let's start from jump. Cinnamon Sugar is hard at work, The Captain is at home with her "husband", Jessica Simpson is a full 700 miles away from me, and Little Bit is playing kissy face with another dude...
So, I'm nursing this cool Corona, hoping my celly jumps off.
Of course, it's as quiet as a high school right now.
Reading m.dot's blog on chicken and steak had me thinking two things. One, I could go for good steak right now. Medium well, right amount of seasoning, some mashed potatoes, some broccoli, and a tall mug of my favorite fire water? Man, I'll be right for the night. Alas, no steak in the crib.
Two?
For every woman I speak to, every woman who puts me in their life, am I the chicken to them, or the steak?
Ah, who knows.
Damn, James, SpottieOttieDopaliscious just came on.
A year ago, it was nothing for me to hop in the whip, drive out to VA Beach, and cruise the Strip. Wilding out with my cousins, trying to holla at a couple of jawns for the night, doing some PLP, then heading back to my crib for the after party.
I'm older now, and gas is a full 50 cent more than what it was. Can't cruise like I want to.
Somehow, tonight, as much as I joke on the cupcakers and the cuddle buddies about not having the ability to speak up and say what they really want, I would rather be bullshitting with some female, knowing ain't nothing jumping off between us, than to be cursing out this damn bottle for not having anymore beer in it.
Damn, I'm done already?
Going to go get another refill.
Damn, Damn, Damn, James.
See you on the flipside, as long as you don't flip sides.
~E. Brock
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