Shit happened in the last few weeks but I'm too important to remember things.
We did go out last night. We were the talk of the town, blahblahblah, the usual. Candy talked to some old guy in suspenders for a while, and get this: it wasn't Larry King! Turns out he was a bondage photographer. FUBARRR.
Also, apparently there was a shooting (or some sort of altercation? imnotareporterok) at the Loop and Candy thinks white people will stop going there. GOOD. As the only white chick, my chances of being boned by an "urban" man are sky high. In the immortal words of Rusty and I, "If you're a black man and I wouldn't fuck you... You're doing it wrong."
NOTE: see what I did there? I made a snarky snark on people who think they can get away with using "urban", "inner city", or "African American" [wtf?] to describe anyone with a skin pigment you wouldn't see in Twilight. I bet people like that get a minor brain hemorrhage when they meet a black person from West County. Ffffffuck.
Anyway, I'll have to hold onto my dreams for another day because this white flight ain't taking off as long as there's still FroYo.
I think one of the nicest things that we created as a generation was just the fact that we could say, "Hey, I don't like white people." - Nikki Giovanni
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