name: amber
age: 22
location: new orleans
aim: sapgirly mail work
August 19, 2006
It's sad. I have completely forgotten HTML. Moreover, I have forgotten how to use an ftp client, how to create a cascading style sheet and all the little tricks I knew in Photoshop. I have ceased to be a web designer.
And that's why I'm posting here, I suppose. I meant to make a new site from which I would start fresh. Perhaps GoLive will make sense to me at some point in the future... Because now it is a bunch of meaningless symbols with little inflexible icons. "No, no," I tell GoLive, "I want my text to go above the header image!" It is completely unresponsible. I suppose I need some sort of tutorial course.
In any case, many, many updates can be expected as I spend all day at work sitting around playing on the internet. It is worth note, however, that this is the weekend. As you might have guessed, I have nothing to do when I'm not working anyway.
I've been writing like a crazy person, as if anyone cares. My creative writing class has me spinning like a top, ridiculously cutting out print from newspapers, magazines and vibrator packaging, taping individual words to fair tickets, like "ultimate" and "evening" and "walls." I just wrote about my father. And I've written about my mother and my brother and lots of other people, including Josh.
You can't have Weezer. I refuse to discuss Weezer with you. Yes, I love Weezer. No, you don't love Weezer. You can't love this; it has nothing to do with you. You are not allowed to love anything from this particular part of me. You can love my shoes. You can love my Spanish essay. You can't have my music. Everybody, seriously, you have to fit the mold to love my music. If you don't fit the mold, just pretend you have no idea what we're talking about. It's too important to me. You're embarrassing me. You can't have this. Or you can have it but you can't discuss it with me.
If you're havin' girl problems i feel bad for you son I got 99 problems but a bitch ain't one
[Verse One] I got the rap patrol on the gat patrol Foes that wanna make sure my casket's closed Rap critics that say he's "Money Cash Hoes" I'm from the hood stupid, what type of facts are those If you grew up with holes in ya zapatos You'd celebrate the minute you was havin' dough I'm like fuck critics you can kiss my whole asshole If you don't like my lyrics you can press fast forward Got beef with radio if i don't play they show They don't play my hits well i don't give a shit SO Rap mags try and use my black ass So advertisers can give 'em more cash for ads...fuckers Howa know what you take me as or understand the intelligence that Jay-Z has I'm from rags to ritches niggas i ain't dumb I got 99 problems but a bitch ain't one Hit me
[Chorus] 99 Problems but a bitch ain't one If you havin' girl problems i feel bad for you son I got 99 problems but a bitch ain't one Hit me
[Verse Two] The year is '94 and my trunk is raw In my rear view mirror is the mother fuckin' law I got two choices y'all pull over the car or (hmmm) Bounce on the devil put the pedal to the floor Now i ain't tryin' to see no highway chase with Jake Plus i got a few dollars i can fight the case So i...pull over to the side of the road I heard "Son do you know why i'm stoppin' you for?" Cause i'm young and i'm black and my hats real low Do i look like a mind reader sir, i don't know Am i under arrest or should i guess some mo'? "Well you was doin fifty-five in a fifty-four" "Liscense and registration and step out of the car" "Are you carryin' a weapon on you i know a lot of you are" I ain't steppin out of shit all my papers legit "Well, do you mind if i look round the car a little bit?" Well my glove compartment is locked so is the trunk and the back And i know my rights so you gon' need a warrant for that "Aren't you sharp as a tack, you some type of lawyer or something'?" "Or somebody important or somethin'?" Tah i ain't pass the bar but i know a little bit Enough that you won't illegally search my shit "We'll see how smart you are when the K-9 come" I got 99 problems but a bitch ain't one Hit me
[Chorus X2]
[Verse Three] Now once upon a time not too long ago A nigga like myself had to strong arm a hoe This is not a hoe in the sense of havin' a pussy But a pussy havin' no God damn sense, try and push me I tried to ignore him and talk to the Lord Pray for him, but some fools just love to perform You know the type loud as a motor bike But wouldn't bust a grape in a fruit fight The only thing that's gonna happen is i'm ma get to clappin''n' He and his boys gon' be yappin' to the captain And there i go traped in the kit-kat again Back through the system with the riff-raff again Fiends on the floor scratchin' again Paparazzis with they cameras snappin' them D.A. tried to give the nigga shaft again Half-a-mil for bail cause i'm African All because this fool was harrassin' him Tryin' to play the boy like hes saccarin' But ain't nothin' sweet 'bout how i hold my gun I got 99 problems, bein' a bitch ain't one
everything is more beautiful with less detail. we could dance in oblivion and i would paint you with a blank canvas. that would be love.
the lines would all be smooth, with no color, with no definition, something you can see without looking and i couldn't tell you apart from the others. and i wouldn't care either way.
Everybody is so perfect until you get into it. And that beauty never comes back. You never get to a second level where things are beautiful again. Sometimes you are blind to reality but that is different from seeing reality for what it is and finding it beautiful. This is life...obscurity is our only absolution.
