The (Infamous) Life: V.2.4

Man, Listen

The (Infamous) One — Sun, 04 Dec 2011 08:14:45 +0000

Michigan State fans are the absolute worst. You’re free to debate me on this but I’m right and because of this, you’ll lose so there’s really no point in wasting your breath.

It’s not bad enough that I bleed Blue and live smack dab in the middle of Spartan country and spend an annoyingly large chunk of my time on MSU’s campus, but these fools are HORRIBLE. When they win there’s no shortage of annoying #GoGreen tweets on my timeline, but when they lose? That’s when shit goes left and I get annoyed with them all over again.
”We beat U of M doe.”
”But U of M ain’ eem make it to the ‘ship.”
We beat U of M this, we beat U of M that.
Nigga, so? You beat Ohio State, too. Talk about that. Bastids.
But whateva, it’s all love.
♥

Gobble, Fuckin’, Gobble…Bitch.

The (Infamous) One — Fri, 25 Nov 2011 04:50:00 +0000

There’re fifteen minutes left in Thanksgiving and I’m already sick of leftovers.
I’m too tired (see: lazy) to come up with an actual post about why I’m thankful for today being over, so…yeah. Happy Thanksgiving and all that jazz, folks.

So, Um…Yeah.

The (Infamous) One — Wed, 09 Nov 2011 02:27:02 +0000

By now you’re well aware of my annoyingly pathetic “So, there’s this guy…” story, so I thankfully don’t have to go into too many details. Which is good. I don’t feel like having to rehash them and I’m pretty sure nobody wants to read any of that simp shit.
Which, I suppose, could also be considered bad. For me, that is, not you.
What I plan to do next will probably earn me the title of Queen of all Simps. You might want to crack open a bottle of wine, stream Drake’s—aka: King Simp— new album and light a few candles before turning off the lights and hitting the jump. Remember, I warned you.

I should be off somewhere with absolutely no fucks to give about that assholeface, Darian. But, a rather annoying trait that I just can’t seem to shake is an unwillingness to do the things that I should, especially when it comes to him.
See, common sense says that I should leave it alone. Let him go about his business while I do the same, leaving the assorted chips laying where they’ve fallen and remained for too long. My heart, on the other hand, basically said, “fuck alla dat shit, bitch. Here’s what the fuck we’re gonna do,”¹.
So I’ve decided to write him a letter.
If you’re one of the people who’ve actually followed me and my various blogs through the years, you know that I’ve already tried and failed to do something similar to this a couple of years ago. I ended up over-thinking the whole thing and, long story short, it was just an immensely bad scene. I didn’t get the chance to tell him everything that I need him to know and I just…I have to.
This isn’t a plea to “get him back”–technically speaking, I never lost him–or a misguided attempt to “get back at him” or some feeble means of seeking “closure” or any of that other made for TV bullshit. This is something different. It’s about something that actually matters to me. Something that always has and always will no matter what.
This is, has always been and will always be about him.
I just hope he takes the time to read and learn from it.

^{1 Elle is actually much more eloquent than this on a regular basis, but she felt the need to get my attention and, well, that did it.}

So Typical

The (Infamous) One — Wed, 02 Nov 2011 05:12:42 +0000

Tomorrow will arguably be one of the bigger days of my life, but instead of getting some much needed and well deserved sleep, guess what I’m doing?

This.

It’s 0115 and I’m sitting at my laptop and I’m irritated. Not because I’m not even remotely tired and have to be on the road in less than five hours although, I won’t lie. That is a rather significant part of my current exasperation.
Exasperations?
Whateva; you know what I mean.

Well Shit, Muhfucka, Gotdamn.

The (Infamous) One — Tue, 25 Oct 2011 04:34:17 +0000

I am absolutely terrible when it comes to keeping up with…well, anything, really.

My twenty-second birthday was a couple of months ago and I swore up and down that I was going to stay on top of this blogging thing if it killed me. I even went as far as mentioning it in my last post on The (Infamous) Life. I had it all planned out, too. I was going to sit still long enough to actually get some real writing done and I was going to blog, gotdammit!
…I didn’t do any of that shit.
Not that I didn’t try. I did. I still do. It just seems that I’m unable to write anything when I’m really trying to now.
All my words and works seem contrived. Fake. Phony. Forced. They’re annoying as hell to write and I hate reading them over even more if that’s even possible. Which sucks for me as a fledgling wordsmith with a real passion for the written word.
This is my life. Well, not blogging, per se, but writing; the written word. Writing is how I shape my life and my world. I swear to God above that with my words I’ll one day make an impact of this world of ours. And I mean that. Just wait and see if you’re one of the many who don’t believe me. I can’t wait to prove you wrong.
Bit I can’t do that if I keep on keepin’ on trying to do this in an orderly, more or less orthodox fashion. So here’s to unconventionality.

Addendum

The (Infamous) One — Fri, 22 Jul 2011 07:10:40 +0000

I almost forgot.

Note: due to WordPress and my template of choice hating me, you’ll have to click to get the full effect of my .GIF in all of its Yaki swinging glory.

I just needed to get that off my chest. The person I usually gripe, moan, bitch and complain to/at is fast asleep. I mean, really. I hate having to resort to complaining online. It just seems so…desperate and annoying. Well, that’s probably because it is desperate and annoying, but desperate times call for desperate measures, dammit! Wait. how many times did I just say “desperate”? Four? That’s far too effing many. Someone remind me to invest in a thesaurus, smh.
lol. Don’t mind me, folks. I’ll be back on my bullshit soon enough.
Speaking of, I need to get to work on this piece that I told my sis and site affiliate DMVixen I’d write for her about breaking up/keeping your relationship off of social networking sites such as Twitter and FaceBook. The plan was to originally submit it to another “urban”—I loathe and despise that classification, by the way—blog, but I lost the notebook I had planned it out in so, y’know. The piece didn’t get written and I didn’t offend anyone.
Which sucks. Being offensive is one of Ren’s favorite pastimes.

0230-0235

The (Infamous) One — Fri, 22 Jul 2011 06:55:07 +0000

I’m trying to be my usual, angrily ranting, self but my head and my heart aren’t in it. Which sucks. I love going back and rereading my angry rants. They make me giggle because I find myself to be hilarious.

But not now.
I’m probably going to kick myself for this, smh.

I’m tired. And no, I don’t mean a physical, big ass yawn and even bigger stretch before bed tired. No. I’m tired on a much deeper—possibly even soul—level.

I’m tired of the fucked up circumstances and situations I keep finding myself in. Of the copious amounts of bullshit I’m forced to cope with because no one wants to and someone has to. Of having to listen to everyone and their problems while my issues go unaddressed because “Jeez, Ren. What about me?” I’m tired of acting like everything is everything when it’s clearly not, so y’know what?

The bullshit stops here.

Let Me Just Say…

The (Infamous) One — Fri, 10 Jun 2011 12:13:32 +0000

You irritate the fuck outta me. Actually, since I’m being honest? You make me wanna choke the shit outta you. Twice. Once because you’re so much better than this but you act like you don’t know that and again because this—what you’re doin’ right now—ain’t it.
But you knew that already.

Look. I love you. I’ve always loved you and I always will. I know you know that.
Speaking solely as a friend and someone who wants to see you happy, this needs to stop; you’ll never be content heading down this path. Never.
But this is neither the time nor the place for this particular conversation. I will, however, say this and be done:
You weren’t built for the li[f]e you’re livin’, Darian.

L. Elizabeth

Free-Write: 0150-0235

The (Infamous) One — Tue, 03 May 2011 06:35:00 +0000

This is an ungodly hour made for booty calls, fuckery and debauchery yet here I am, wide awake and doing none of the above. Not that, y’know, I’d be making a booty call or anything like that. The only piece of ass I’m thinkin’ about tappin’ lives a bazillion and four miles away from me, besides all that, I’m not that type of girl and I digress.
I was probably going to neglect this blog for another week or so while I wrote up a couple of posts for the original (Infamous) Life, but seeing as I’m up with nothing to do but search the interwebnets for porn, I’ve decided to be semi-productive and do a quick free-writing exercise.
Woot, whoo-hoo and yay.
Lawd knows what I’m about to say, so, if you’re up to it, hit the jump for more.

There’s this guy—Y’know, the piece of ass I so desperately want to tap? Yeah, I hinted at and about him once already but it bares repeating—and he’s probably the single most annoyingly amazing person that I know. Honestly, he is and I effin’ hate it.
Jerknuts has somehow wormed his way into my heart and now that he’s there? I can’t get him out. What’s sad is I don’t even want him out; I actually kind of like the fact that, on those rare occasions that I see him, my heart kicks me in the chest whenever he crosses my line of sight. Kind of. Not really. The heart palpations are much like him: annoying at best.
I don’t know man. Somehow and somewhere along the line, he came to mean a lot more to me than he should. Maybe it was because of his voice—I’ve always loved his voice. It may even be those stupid, beautiful and so sad eyes of his. Hell, it’s probably something far beyond the realm of the physical; I dunno. I just know that he somehow became the salt on my apple and the sugar on my strawberries: he just makes (my) life better and he’ll probably never know it because I’ll probably never tell him. I don’t know how. I suppose, of course, that I could just say it the way I did here, slightly random food references and everything, but that just doesn’t seem like it would be enough to get my point across and dammit, I have a point to make.
Or would that be I have a point to get across?
A point to make while trying to get said point across?
Ugh. Moving on before I do something stupidly human like call Darian, knowing that he probably won’t answer because he’s an assholeface but more because I miss him more than I’m willing to say here in the somewhat public domain.
Ahem.
With the semester coming to a close and my typing/tutoring gig coming to a much needed end, I’ve been doing some thinking about whether or not I’ll be attending school in the fall…or at all.
“You’ll never get anywhere in this big ol’ thing called life if you don’t have a degree, Ren! Is that what you want? To be stuck in Lansing for the rest of your life? Do you honestly see yourself becomin’ the third baby-momma of some aintshit son of a bitch that probably finger banged one of your girls on the fourth floor during lunch in high school? Do you?!”
…What, I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, shuddup judgin’ me.
No, I don’t wish to become the first, second or third baby-mother of some aintshit SOB that that probably finger fucked one of my more skanky (I have ‘em, and so do you) friends in HS and I’d sooner jump in front of a beanbag gun than stay here in Lansing for the rest of my life, but, since I’m being more or less 100% truthful right now? I don’t think that school’s for me. Well, not the school I’ve been going to at least. I’m sure there are some perfectly lovely colleges and universities out there, I just don’t happen to attend one.
One of the major things I’ve been trying to figure out is what in the he-haw hell am I going to do with my degree once I get it?
Sure, a Bachelor’s in Psychology sounds like it could lead to plenty-a-many promising career choices, but it really doesn’t.
I could become a child-care assistant? And make around $10/hour? Really? I’ve had babysitting gigs that paid me more than that, smh.
The truth of the matter is, there really isn’t much that you can do with a BA in Psych and herein lies the problem, boys and girls. I don’t plan to spend an extra 3-7 years (of my freakin’ life!)after I graduate from school back in school trying to earn a damn Ed.D, Psy.. D or Ph. D. With the way the world and economy are now, I won’t be able to find a job, I’ll be bazillions of dollars in debt and that ol’ conniving bitch Sallie Mae will own the soul of my first born child on some Reaper shit. But, on the bright side, I’’ll have a specialized degree I can brag about to any and everyone who’ll listen as I’m forced to wait tables and scrub toilets to support the liquor and chocolate habit my quest for an all important education will inevitably leave me with. Oh. I’ll have some extra letters at the end of my name, too. Just picture it, I’d be L. Elizabeth ________, Ed. D (or Psy. D. or Ph. D.)
Hmm, maybe an education is worth it simply for the fact that I can change hardly used email siggy and sound like a pretentious asshole of a douche. Hmm…sounds slightly appealing.
I am, by the way, being sarcastic. I wouldn’t do that.
I feel like I’d become one of the many fucktardedloserheads that I know that think their advanced degrees in the field of I Have a Masters but No Job make them so much better than those of us who’ve yet to graduate and I can’t have that on my conscious, now can I?

Aspire un pene, pendejo

The (Infamous) One — Thu, 28 Apr 2011 06:07:00 +0000

I’m gonna be honest, I have anger issues. I get annoyed with things and people quite easily and, when left unchecked, my annoyance can easily turn to violence.
I’ve been known to throw shoes, books, tantrums and the odd small electrical appliance and I’ve traded blows with guys and gals alike ^[1] but there is only one person who inspires me to commit targeted acts of public emasculation. That person, who’s lucky I’ve made a habit out of talking to Jesus at least twice a day every day, is Small Dick O’Jackassface.^[2]Each and every freakin’ time this fool crosses my line of sight, I get a really bad taste in my mouth and honestly?
I just want to falcon punch him in the dick.

He’s a close minded, hypocritical jerkface perched ever so precariously on a high horse^[3]with a stick up his ass. Not only that, but he’s obsessed with being right by any means necessary and I feel that there’s something a bit wrong about that, but eh, what do I know? I’m just a girl who’s miserable and unhappy with herself because I refuse to hide my unhappiness behind a smokescreen of sugar coated quotes that’ll do nothing more than leave a cavity void in my life because they’re not addressing the real issue(s). What do you expect from someone who makes it a habit to constantly spew out sarcasm and negativity about everything? I mean…this is how we do it on some Montell Jordan in ‘95 shit.
*shrugs and sighs*
That was petty but dammit, it felt good to get that off my chest.

♥

1 Long story short: Outside of The Egg Donor and the immediate fam because I don’t have a damn death wish, if you hit me you get hit back. Ass whoopin’s come in one size fits all ‘round here…and I just realized that “traded blows with guys and gals alike” sounds vaguely pornographic…

2 This, by the way, isn’t his real name. I changed it because I’m an asshole and have little to no problem admitting it, plus, I’m not crazy enough to put his gubment name out here in these interwebnets. Also, my description is completely accurate.
Son is on this side of six inches completely erect (I’ve got the pictures to prove it) and he’s got the nerve to walk around like he’s got some pun totally intended cocky, Mandingo of the Tribe Dick Slang, able to make you pay off the rest of his student loans with the stroke alone swag. Psh.

3 Due to the fact that I loved the original Superman movie when I was younger, I’m going to refrain from making any rude remarks about said high horse pulling a Christopher Reeve on Small Dick O’Jackassface.