News from Nan

Bartolo an' me got a new song in da works. We singin' it on Friday at LOFT After Hours. It's about a toxic relationship--I got plenty of inspiration for it. I ain't had nuthin BUT toxic relationships these past few years...but I think it's because I've been in a toxic state o' mind. Doin' lots of cocaine does that too you.

I ain't doin' drugs no more and I ain't really even smokin' cigs that much either. What I'm doin' is workin' on my career, so I can become very very famous an' then everyone who wuz mean to me can eat shit. Anywayz, back to the men in my life. They all been scared little babyfuck boys who don't know how to treat a lady. But maybe it's my fault cuz I ain't always a lady. I'm a lady inside, however...ya just gotta peel back da layers of fishnests and jizz.

I dunno what I'm lookin' for in a man anymore. Someone who ain't afraid o' me. I guess I come off scary? It's all an act, however. I'm really quite sweet when ur not bein' a fuckin' dildo, which most people are. And the people who are nice are usually just pretendin' to be nice; they're dildos underneath. Especially girls. I don't know many girls i can be friends wiv, cuz most o' them are scared, jealous, fucked up cunts who just afraid you gonna make 'em feel inferior, an' I don't have time for dat shit.

Until I meet a fella who's got the balls to really look me in the eye and see what's really there--not what he wants to see or what he thinks he sees--then I gonna just kick it wiv' me little ole self. And in the meantime, sing songs about the cunts who fucked it all up.

Panty Diaries

I don't like wearin' panties. Not when I ain't onstage. That's ironic, ain't it? Or is it? What's the correct definition of irony again? Someone once told me that irony is smoothin' out the wrinkles in the fabric of your baby-faced reality. I replied, "Shut the fuck up. I don't like gents talkin' while I'm blowin' 'em."

Back to knickers. I hate them. The only proper panties are a g-string. Anything else and you might as well be in grammar school. But when I'm flossin' a g, I tend to feel like I'm bein' bookmarked for future reference. 

So I go commando, as you American birds say. It's quite nice. My last trip to the bikini wax place, I had a nasty little ingrown hair. My lady, she's real skilled. She pulled out a number of rather medieval lookin' devices and went at it. That's commitment, when you willing to cut someone open in their private area so they can shag without feelin' self-conscious. Thank God for the waxin' lady.