Lazy Bitch
I’m lazy, okay? This whole “getting famous” thing is taking a lot fucking longer than I had initially anticipated. I’ve dreamed of fame and fortune since that long ago day when I picked up my first guitar with the plastic strings, popped the collar of my red jacket, and began to strum and swivel my hips while watching myself in the mirror. I was five. Okay, I have to admit that that wasn’t my initial dream. I gave up on being a fireman after a bad pull from a wishbone and I set my sights on marrying Elvis. Then I found out he died before I was born. And THEN I decided that I’d just BE Elvis. I feel like this is pretty fertile grounds for some kind of analysis about stalkers and psychosis and maybe people that wear other people’s skin. Five minutes ago I had absolutely no intention of writing any of that. The point, somewhere, is that I know that I need to be irritating the shit out of you with new blog posts, perhaps even two a days until I whip my slack ass...