I'm convinced that a deflated balloon is the saddest visual in the world. So much promise, so much spirit gone to waste. After an absolutely wild weekend in Vegas, I'm laying in my bed typing at a solid 4 WPM trying to figure out what time it actually is and if I can eventually holla at the homie homeostasis.
Synopsis: Didn't hook up with a D-list celebrity, but fell in love roughly 359 times with the bevy of beautiful women around me. Balled the eff out. I seriously lived beyond my means every night and at reasonably little cost--shit just didn't make sense. Bottle service at the most lavish night club, being involved in ridiculously adequate male:female ratios, and being indifferent at the fact that Jermaine O'Neal was trying to hang out at our table. Basically, I pretended I was a low-grade rapper that released a decent-to-solid mixtape and just lived life accordingly--the "I am in no way rich enough or cool enough to be here" swag.
Glad to be back. Also glad to see that Craw posted a ton when I left.
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