2004-04-18

Word, motherfuckers. Word. I spent the bulk of my free time this week mixing our little demo onto the old computer which has the sound software, converting it to the new computer, putting it on a CD, listening to it and realizing it's totally mixed wrong. Rinse. Repeat.

Also. Applejacks, folks. They're the new thing in town, and they make living a little bit sweeter.

I partied "hard" in a soft-core way on Friday, and was pretty out of commission Saturday, despite birthday parties and dinner plans. I got home in time to see Kelis sing her Milkshake song on SNL.

My lady friend likes hip-hop on in her painting studio (aka the garage) and was tuned into this song by last November. She promptly put in a request for the album in her Christmas goody-bag, which posed a problem. I had to go to the record store to buy it. I went to three places of the generic variety, which were sold out, and then found myself walking into the hippest record store in town.

You know the kind. String-bean grungy boys with messy hair and no ass are thumbing through every record in the store at lightning speed, save for when someone walks through the door and they look up casually to assess the coolness factor.

My factor was pretty clear when I was immediately pounced on by the Lord O' Records to see if I needed help. "Um, yeah," I mumbled, "Do you have Kelis?" It was as if time stopped, the music died and everyone started laughing, but I suspect I've exaggerated the moment in my self-esteem-issued head.

Anyway, yeah, the album has been on repeat since January first, motherfuckers. My life is better than yours. I could teach you, but I'd have to charge.

One last thing. Um, hi. Can I just say I wrote a three act play with Manboy Janet Reno, Condee Rice and Curious George and nobody said anything about it? What are you people, furbies? That was the best thing I ever wrote, which maybe isn't saying anything but still, hmph. Good thing the meaning of "diary" is "talkin' crazy-like to yourself."