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I'M A SUCKER FOR ______________. 2003-03-17 | 1:49 p.m. So I made the mistake of going to a party hosted by a girl from school on Friday night. The beginning of the evening was fine. I got a game of Kings started and everyone got drunk but as time went by it became apparent that some people simply couldn’t handle both wearing clothes and drinking at the same time. All I was trying to do was dance to a little Madonna and a couple other girls felt like it was time to pass out lap dances. Fine, fine, there’s nothing wrong with innocent flirting but when you get on the lap of another girls boyfriend and start rubbing your crotch on his thigh expect her to be at least a little peeved. All I can say is they’re lucky it wasn’t my boyfriend. I chose the opportunity to take me leave for the evening seeing as everyone’s eyes were transfixed on the gyrating couch. I quietly slipped out the door and smacked myself on the wrist for attempting to fraternize with the kids. I’ll never learn. So that’s Friday night. Saturday night more than made up for it though. My friend and I have hatched a plan to rule the universe. She is no doubt going to be pissed that I’m posting this idea here online but she’ll get over it. Okay so the plan... Well you know how I was talking about BBD. Well this spelling error sparked a conversation in which we decided to form a group where we turn all BBD songs into electropop with a french twist(thank you bettinas). The name will be Belle Biv Deveau. All songs will consist of drum machine, synthesizer and vocals. It’s simple. It’s elegant. It’s fucking brilliant. I feel totally confident that we will be all the rage in about 1 year. I love talking about multiple subjects in one entry so here’s number three. While at work I had no less that 10 people come up to me and rub my arm. They do this because I have one arm completely tattooed. You know what, I don’t like it. One girl’s hand was all wet and she fucking ran her fingers down my arm and oohhhhed and awwwwed while I gave her my meanest glare. The bitch didn’t even notice (I must be losing it or something because there was once a time when I could look at someone and the power of my eyes was enough to make them cry. In fact I used to get grounded based solely on the looks I would give my mom.). All other people got a quick feel before I snapped my arm out of their grasp. They would pose questions like "who does your work?" "Did that hurt?" "What does that mean?" and my answer to all of these was "You are an idiot, get away from me, NOW!" One guy tried to tell me to go to his buddies shop in Santa Ana. I said "no thanks, I’m pretty much set. I’m not looking for any new artists." He looked at me all hurt and shit but what the fuck, I don’t care who his friend is and I want him to mind his own business. I look at it like I’m doing the world a favor. I’m training people to keep it to themselves. For each ten or twenty people that come up to ask me about my tattoos at least one will go away scarred and never bother another tattooed soul. Oh yea and the girl with the wet hand, I actually had to take her hand and remove it from my person before she got the idea. Damn.
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