My old ass is in trouble. Trouble, trouble, trouble! Played my second game of the week last night and my knee is in pain. Pain, pain, pain! Ouch. I've got 'till 8:30pm Thursday to take care of myself in time for my third game. I'll likely just have to man up and battle through the ouches.
Now this is what I'm talking about. Inevitably, friendships always take themselves to the next level by way of the massage. When either friend start asking for rub downs, it's time to start thinking about each other in a whole new light. I don't know where KFC really wants to go with this, but so far she's asked me to tell her a bed time story, blow her a kiss, and give her a massage. That's not a just friends sort of deal... as far as I'm concerned. Not that I really appreciate conversing with her to that. My 4 hour long talks with the Quasi Buddhist from late April were ten times more exhilarating (though, after the second one, they quickly went to shit). I can't complain. Having someone to talk to at night sure takes the edge off of being a-fucking-live. But I'm going to have to flip on her if I hear one more diatribe on how awful her ex was!
Still got on this stinky ass shirt. And you know what? I'm not taking it off, nor washing. Fuck it.
"...y'all don't do much but drink 40s, look dumb on the block/
damn near 40, still running from cops..."
Beanie Sigel on I don't do much
Today I feel:
geriatric
Really, it's a good time now to call my woman friend that is for massaging my back after basketball games. I guess I could reciprocate by listening to her sensitive talking on the phone or something. In that way, she'd be a specialized friend, just like all my men friends. But first, I'd have to meet said specialized woman friend.
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