As you all know I have had some drama this past week. I don't even want to talk about it anymore. When I was younger I thrived off of drama. It let me know I was alive. These days I honestly hate the shit. For serious.
The drama this week has made me tired. I don't fight over men. To me they all do the same damn tricks and have the same set of equipment. I don't care. Take your bullshit elsewhere. You aren't mad at me, you are mad at your man. Slap your man around. He is a balding idiot. And I know for a fact he is an idiot because I used to date him. He had plenty of nicknames. His friends call him Shotgun. But in my experience he was more Mr. Softy.
Either way I am depleted. My recording session was postponed because Debbie Harry was laying down background vocal tracks, an all day event for a whole album. I didn't get my man's email until I got there. I took the day and just mozied and made plans with friends after I talked to my parents. So far today has been drama free. Last night I was so tired from this crap I fell asleep as soon as I got home. I was out delivering a telegram and saw a street fight. I was like, wow, someone's drama and it ain't mine.
Tonight I plan to clean my house and deliver a Marilyn Monroe. Tomorrow I plan on interviewing web designers and composers for my musical. I also plan on making more videos and wearing the new bathrobe my mother sent me. Oh and to get in touch with my dress maker and puppet designer cause May Wilson is being upgraded. No more drama. No more drama. Save that shit for the stage girl.
Speaking of drama, Mary J. Blige, you better pay your taxes girl. You and Lauryn Hill.
Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Paperback 877-Buy-Book, Amazon.com
EBook available on Nook and Kindle
Audiobook available in the spring of 2013
Portion of proceeds go to RAINN
The drama this week has made me tired. I don't fight over men. To me they all do the same damn tricks and have the same set of equipment. I don't care. Take your bullshit elsewhere. You aren't mad at me, you are mad at your man. Slap your man around. He is a balding idiot. And I know for a fact he is an idiot because I used to date him. He had plenty of nicknames. His friends call him Shotgun. But in my experience he was more Mr. Softy.
Either way I am depleted. My recording session was postponed because Debbie Harry was laying down background vocal tracks, an all day event for a whole album. I didn't get my man's email until I got there. I took the day and just mozied and made plans with friends after I talked to my parents. So far today has been drama free. Last night I was so tired from this crap I fell asleep as soon as I got home. I was out delivering a telegram and saw a street fight. I was like, wow, someone's drama and it ain't mine.
Tonight I plan to clean my house and deliver a Marilyn Monroe. Tomorrow I plan on interviewing web designers and composers for my musical. I also plan on making more videos and wearing the new bathrobe my mother sent me. Oh and to get in touch with my dress maker and puppet designer cause May Wilson is being upgraded. No more drama. No more drama. Save that shit for the stage girl.
Speaking of drama, Mary J. Blige, you better pay your taxes girl. You and Lauryn Hill.
Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Paperback 877-Buy-Book, Amazon.com
EBook available on Nook and Kindle
Audiobook available in the spring of 2013
Portion of proceeds go to RAINN
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