I promised myself...

I wouldn't quote Stevie Nicks in this post. And I really won't. I can't promise the same about Lisa Lisa & Cult Jam. You can't make me.

I just got off the phone with Stumpy. Apparently, she's going to be at TIA on a layover tomorrow evening, and wanted to know if I could meet up with her. Mind you, we haven't seen each other since, quite possibly, undergrad, and it would be the most wondrous of wonderful things to have a mini Beaver reunion...

But tomorrow is my "late night" at work.

Yet another reason to hate my job.

I think I'm going to try to finagle an early exit from the office tomorrow, should J.Co be so kind as to let me go. Because, if I can't go, and I miss the one opportunity I've had in several years to see Stumpy, I'm gonna lose it. And not in that quirky, "Eminem doing his impression of Pee Wee Herman" way, either.

Oh yes, my hurt will cause an inferno. (See? I told you I couldn't promise you anything!)

A lot has been happening lately; thus, my neglect of the World. But hopefully, after I turn in my resignation letter (how the hell do you word those, anyway? "Thanks for all the shit. I'm out!"?) and things settle, we'll be back with a vengeance.

For now, sleep. As Mr. Chappelle says, "Night night. Keep your butthole tight!" Or something of that ilk.