How You Living, Butchie Smalls?

No mansions or benzes, no m's to my friends but it's still stupendous.

SATURDAY (P.M.): Work. Go home and get my fresh on. Hit the club. Crazier than usual: an astounding Beyonce impression, ass-smacking, chicks kissing, and a funk band covering the Clash, along with the usual bump-and-grind suspects. Hit Fumari, say hi to Liz, and have the Best Hot Chocolate in the City. Crash out at the crack of 4.

SUNDAY (A.M.): Curse construction and the fact it's 9. Pancakes. Pancakes.

SUNDAY (P.M.): Change your font on the blog with a click of the keyboard the first time out without ruining anything else. Get back to work. Covering the marathon's after-party. Find out the DJ ain't no joke when he warms up with "Pump It Up". Proceed to plow through entire shift doing 15% ticket tacking and 85% dancing. "Let's Get Retarded", "Sex Machine" (!), "Don't Stop Till You Get Enough", "Don't Phunk With My Heart", admire the courage of those who put in 26 and still had enough in them to grind to "Yeah", and yes, the Macarena & YMCA. Find out apparently the funniest thing ever is the Jon Lovitz dance. For the uniniated, close your eyes, put a smile on your face, and shake your upper torso like a video honey on X. Get off an hour early. And download!

Current music: "Touch" by Amerie, which damn sure better blow up