Are we there yet?

Ya' know that point where you're so exhausted that you start hallucinating and everything seems to be on the verge of some grand punch-line? I believe the medical term for it is "slap happy." Yeah, that would be me right about now.

Child Neglect
So, I've been going full throttle and working on so many different projects at once. With me, it truly is feast or famine and right now my fat ass is all up on the buffet. First, my baby, my pride and joy of all the events I've ever put on -- IMpulse. There are just so many things that need to be worked out in the next five days. It's going to be fucking huge, this much is true; I'm just thinking I don't have enough time in the day to devote to it.

The Cut
Then, there's dealing with the Studio 54 performances. I think everyone got the message to figure it out on their own when I sorta snapped yesterday. It was something along the lines of "if she can't get her ass to one rehearsal then find someone that can." Hence, let's welcome Summer K. Night to the disco party of the year. Genre, if you're reading this -- I'm really sorry for being so short.

Return to Sender
Now, the new gig. Buzz Atlanta is on the streets right now. Hell, Richie was allegedly walking from table to table at Cowtipper's giving it to boys he thought were cute. Oh, that Richie, he's such a character. I'm so glad I don't have to live with him anymore. So, yeah, the delivery company was supposed to drop off all 65 boxes at Bobby's bar, but whoops some jackass in the Florida office marked Bobby's bar as a residential address. So, guess what? Yup, a field trip out to umm, yeah, an hour away in rush hour traffic. (see: brain dead)

You Must be 21 and Up to Enter
We got back to the city and split the chores of distribution. Why did I have all the porn stores and video booths? I also discovered that there's a fraction of gay men that go from one to the other and back again. I had inadvertently gotten myself on this little loop and got some "come hither" looks from some of these gentlemen. Yeah, that's really special, ain't it?

Other than these little beginning hiccups, I like the gig. There are some things I don't like, but I guess it gets better with time or until I get pissed off enough to cuss everyone out and call it what? A day. Trust, it won't be the first time I make that exit from where I worked. I've become pretty efficient at it too. It's easiest to skip over the piss ants and go straight to the source of your headache. Just another friendly tip from me to you.

Hints, Allegations and Things Left Unsaid
I also promised to never mention a certain someone on this blog ever again. I've been censored -- on my own blog. That's really funny on so many different levels. That should say something about the nobody I'm not talking about.

**(Update: This shouldn't be a problem from here on forward.)

For Promotional Use Only
All right, so my last bitch and complaint of the day. I made this kick ass CD for a friend of a friend with "black girls" on it. Yeah, you figure it out. So, utilizing my pretty impressive collection of MP3's I made a 17 track compilation of some of the best R&B, hip-hop soul, hip-hop, jazz and remixes of said genres. It had some Deborah Cox, Goapele, Etta James, Angie Stone, Diana Ross, Bassment Jaxx and various other "black girls" on it. It kicked ass, hell, I even put the bitch in order from oldest to most recent in sort of a timeline sequence.

Lactose Intolerant
Why is that bastard asking me for a second CD? I was gagged. Let's say I make him a second one. Just by the magnificence of the first one, the second one is going to suck and pale in comparison. What I had created was true art, bouncing and transitioning effortlessly between decades and styles all with critical acclaim and/or popularity status, but not overkilled popularity.

Oh no, you won't find any Velveeta in this batch. Even the Deborah Cox selection was her "House Is Not A Home (The Mixshow Edit)" release. No ma'am, you won't find any "Absolutely Not" or fucked up circuit anthem on this exquisite collection.

You want a second CD, go to Napster ya' asshole.

How's that? From slap-happy to bitch-slap pissed in no time flat. Damn, I've got skills to multi-task.