Hm.
Well, I haven't updated in a while, and I would like for this update to be bangin', so let's just see how it goes.
Sooooooo....
I got texting back last week. The no texting thing was getting crazy, and nobody called me like I thought they would. I also didn't make an effort to call anybody, so it evens out.
I called Greg the other night to get my facebook and myspace passwords back, because I was bored, and he won't give me them. So I guess I'll have to stick with that.
So, remember my post about the song I wrote for that girl?
You think I'd learn my lesson to never write one for a girl again, right?
Wrong.
The only difference this time, this girl asked for a song.
But mid-writing, I kinda started liking her. And the lyrics aren't like too overbearing, but I guess you could say *cute*. The music for the song, however, is banging. One of the favorite music piece I wrote. If you like post-punk songs in 6/8, then this song is for you.
But, instead of actually performing in front of her, I started to record it. The music track is down, and hopefully I'll have vocals done, and everything mixed by this time next week.
I think I'm investing too much time and energy into this song, because I think, no, I know, that shit's gonna blow up in my face. Again.
But the friends that do know about this song think that I will get some ass from it. Their logic is because they say the girl is a hoodrat, which I don't want, but this girl is really nice, and she's a good person on the inside, and that's all that matters.
I don't want to, but I'm gonna prove them wrong.
Oh, I got a hair cut yesterday. I no longer have the swoopy bang that flips above my left eye.
It no longer does that flippy thing like that guy in that band does sometimes.
This style is now a faux hawk. I found a picture of Ewan McGregor (sighhhhh (no homo))
sporting a short, but well cut, faux hawk, and I instantly went "I want that."
So I gots one, and it's not in the style of my one friends Jew-FroHawk. It's just a little bit better. Just a little bit.
I got this cut at a place called Great Clips. I usually visit my hairstylist (no homo, again) Perry, who works at Panache in Northfield. He's a good dude, likes Morrissey, so its a win win. He's the only guy I can trust with my hair, so when he was all booked up the other day, I had no other option. I was very wary of going there, but the lady did a good job. But after the cut, I go home, and on the tv is a Great CLips commercial, the likes of which I've never seen. It's a bunch of people around a Louisiana BBQ, all sportin' fresh cuts. Honestly, the food looked better than the hair.
And one last thing. Soon, I will be better than Billy Talarico in Call of Duty. And when it happens, shit is gonna get real.
That's all I have to say.
Love,
Max.
No comments:
Post a Comment