Mama always said I'd grow up to be a Classless Monster

July 25, 2006 - 11:40 p.m.

Hello lovers. How you been? Sorry I’ve been a distant daddy, always busy at the office and down at “ReRuns” having a burger with the guys.

I had a good time in Arizona, but I apparently missed the boat in writing about that one, cuz it happened weeks ago and since then I’ve been up to all sorts of mischief.

My class is over, Professor Lamarr Johnson is a homo and there’s nothing I can do about it. I got like an 89.95% in his class which means: “B” – and I’m like horrified. If I can’t get an “A” at 30 years old, AND I’m paying for that shit outta my pocket, well then I really am as dumb as everyone else I grew up with. And the burnt balls of it all is that, in going to Arizona, I missed a quiz and attendance points. So that’s 4 points….that woulda led me to that “A”. But that’s ok, as long as I know I only got a “B” because I was across the country double fisting bottles of wine, then life is ok.

Do I sound better to you? Good, because I feel better, so much better than last time I was on here, and right now I’m doing a bit of a “Night at the Roxbury”- type dance in my chair here, jamming out to music that all of sudden sounds REALLY good.

I’ve been out on a couple of dates, had a couple of smooches, and I think this plays a big part in my “recovery”. I’m finally getting all of that male attention that I’ve been starved of, for so long. Pathetic, really. Now I just need some dick, and I’ll be easy like wheezy.

My Phoenix friends gave me a midnight beatdown and withheld my jug of wine until I relented and joined the MySpace 7th circle of hell. MySpace can be so gay and annoying. But it can also serve a purpose or two. I actually have connected with a few old friends, and frankly, I didn’t think there was anyone on the planet that I let go, that I would actually give a fuck about getting back. There’s a small few. And of course, the networking, it really works. I’m all up in everybody’s grill, all like: “Hey, there are 10 friends that separate us, but you’re fuckin KYOOT and I want a ride on your motorcycle.” That sort of thing.

So, the inevitable: Are you on GaySpace? If so, please email me at shawnamooney at gmail dot com and I’ll hook a nigga up with a friend invite. I don’t feel like posting a link here yet, cuz I haven’t fully decided what I want to do with that site, and if I end up selling pictures of my pussy online I might not want you to know about it.

Oh, speaking of that booshit, dig this. That dog-dick of an ex-boyfriend I have must have heard through the grapevine that I was on MySpace, cuz he went and looked at my page and then tore me front to back in a couple of emails this morning. It seems he is none too happy that I made “friends” with a few of his friends on MySpace, but guess what? Most of them wrote ME and initiated that shit. C’est la vie, mother fucker.

“Stay away from my friends. I don't want you walking their dogs, myspaceing them, or emailing them or basically corresponding with them in any way or form. If you want to "man bash" with your ex's that's fine, that's your deal. Same old Shawna, never anything good to say about anybody. I feel sorry for you. Really. Honestly.”

[I didn’t say anything bad about him to his friends, so I have no idea where that accusation came from…]

And then later:

“Everyone knows I bought and fixed up the tandem bicycle for you and then you use it as a flirtation device. -in front of my friends! You come off as monster! You have no class. You should be ashamed of yourself!”

Can you believe that shit is VERBATIM? I know you think I made that shit up cuz it’s off the charts of ridicu-lotta, and I can just envision it scribbled with a stubby pencil on a sheet of notebook paper torn roughly from its spiral bind, and then folded 20 times into the shape of a Chinese throwing star, before it gets shoved through the slots of my locker.

What a Fag. What a motherfuckin PLATE GLASS WINDOW. How transparent is that shit? Yeah, you’re really pissed that I have “friends” on MySpace? Or is it that I’m DATING, and I have a flirty little profile with sexy pictures where I go on about how much I love boys? And I have boys on there flirting with me, thinking I’m the next sliced bread. And I may have mentioned that I have a 2 person bicycle and that I need someone to ride with me.

[And um, ‘flirtation device’? I think the fool has heard one too many pre-flight announcements from the flight attendants about “Floatation Devices”. Yup.]

Do you think I dignified his cry baby antics with a response? You know I DIDN’T. Let him rot.

Not to mention…that when we broke up I gave him all of his shit back, and he gave me nothing but my house keys, and only because I demanded them. Then a week or two ago, I wrote him an email and was like, “Seriously. Put my shit. Into a box. And mail it to me. And do not respond to this email.”

I asked for my lingerie back, just to be kind of a bitch. But what is he going to do with it? Give it to his next girlfriend? That would be hilarious.

Needless to say….he never sent my stuff. I guess no one told him that in the adult world, we don’t steal each other’s belongings for no reason at all. Like I wronged HIM, somehow? Funny.

That’s about all I got right now. All I know is that I am THRILLED to be in the dating scene right now, cuz I finally know what I am doing, and what I want. I plan to spend the rest of this summer riding on the back of boys’ two-wheeled vehicles and making out with everyone in the city. I’ve got a fake tan, abs of steel, and some white fucking TEETH. I am so ready to go. And damn, I LOVE smooching. Fug.

Love you all, miss you all, and thanks for all the outpouring of hellos and support and a slap on the ass. Send me your GaySpace profile and I promise I’ll post comments and maybe even pictures of boobs or something.

*Heart* you,

Shawna

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