Any suggestions of what I should name my IPhone?

On reading my Freewill Astrology Horoscope, I LOVE you Rob Brezney!, i'm now open to taking suggestions:

LEO (July 23-Aug.
22): Futurists predict that in 30 years many of us will have robots as our best friends. But I believe it's already the case that machines are our boon companions.You may not have a name for your computer or iPhone, but you interact with it as if it were an animate and intimate assistant. Music or TV or talk radio right be turned on in your home around the clock, providing a constant flow of comforting noise.I know people who derive a sense of coziness from the hum of the refrigerator or the rumble blowing through the heating vents.Have you
ever talked to your car? Kicked a temperamental appliance? Used a sex
toy? This is the best week ever for you to acknowledge your symbiosis
with the alien life forms we depend on. Now go kiss your laptop.Caress
your toaster.

Ok, so yesterday David, Theresa, and I went to see Framing Hanly.  Other than a few plays off Theresa's playlist on MySpace, I had never heard of them; but opted for a night out than my normal occurances on Saturday night.  I got over by her house early, like quarter to six, and played around on her webcam for a bit, talking about bullshit.  By the time David got there, it was like six thirty and we were all ready to leave.  Half way to Metairie, David points out that the show may not be till ten, when all the while we were thinking that it was at eight.  So, instead of turning around, we decided to just drive this shit out and play it by ear, as the club we were going to was in Houma, an hour and a half drive, easy.  So, with our TomTom to guide us, we left New Orleans and headed into the great unknown.  Past the city lights, civilization seemed to end.  I just kept getting images of The Skeleton Key and all the crazy things that happens in Terebonne Parish.  Now, other than Hurricane Gustav smacking the shit out of this city, it's got nothing really going for it.  Google it, you'll see.  Set off into the swamp, it's a world unto itself.  Long, scary, dark roads filled with all sorts of ungodly creatures and chainsaw killers waiting for cars to break down so they can feast on innocent, and not so innocent, fleash.  But, onward we went, through the dark and the mire, to see Flaming Hankly.  After we crossed the Leuling Bridge, we decided to break our fast, and stop at a local Taco Bell to get something to eat.  Little did we know that the TB was connected to a gas station!  Through the Pick 'N' Save and off to the left you have to walk to get to the TB door.  We order, of course EVERYTHING  is wrong.  I had to bring mine up because it had meat in it, ewww.  Sitting in the creapiest TB I have EVER been in, it makes the food go down sour as all the eyes of the waitstaff look at you.  You feel as if your burritos were the privious customers!  Quickly we bought provisions, which consisted of two red bulls each and a 6 hour energy shot, and we ran back to our car and spead away like the perverbial bat out of hell.  And hour later, passing throgh swampland and hoodoo country, comforted only by the computerized voice of the TomTom, we get to the little town of Houma.  After some parking issues, we find adequete parking, and two seconds later meet what will be the first set of manly dykes in this little city.  Theresa strikes up a converstation with them about the band while me and David hang back, wondering if this was such a good idea.  Before we knew what the hell was going on, we're following these two 'girls' down the 'street' to the gas station, which was a good twenty minutes walk!  Oh, just incase any readers is actually wanting to go to Houma, I just want to let them know that the honking and shouting out of the car windows is, apparently, THE thing to do in that city.  After another ten minutes at the gas station, we decide to leave the dykes to their own demise, and head back to the club.  We are about to walk in, when yet another bull dyke starts telling us, really Theresa, that we were not dress appropriatly for this club, like we would EVER be back in this fucking place again anyway!  We walk in and you could hear crickets.  The place was empty except for some frat-heads getting an early start on their alcohol posining.  Having a lot of time on our hands, we sat outside in a courtyard waiting for everything to start.  I enjoyed this a lot because they were playing a Creedance Clearwater Revival CD and I loves me some CCR!  Anyway, the first opening act started, a small band from NOLA with a woman who's voice was amazing!  Too bad everyone was too busy talking to themselves to notice.  By the time the second opeing band started, there were a lot more people in the club, but the band was only so so.  The lead singer's mic kept cutting out, but, what I did hear of his voice, was ok.  At twelve thirty, Franklin Hainy came on, these thin, waifish boys, hair in the eyes and tattooed to the brim, played the hell out of that club.  Here's what I had a problem with.  As the band started, a GILF and her two daughters like Cinderella's step-mother and ugly step-sisters, of which all three was completely drunk, stood right in front of me.  Now, the GILF alone was enough to make me puke.  Caked makeup and clothes no woman over 40 should wear, she looked like she's spent a lot of time climbing over car hoods to White Snake's new singles.  The daughters, both tall and gangly, were awkward in their bodies, one even seemed like she had a bit of polio, and never quite grew out of it.  The oldest, and most anoying daughter, stood on my toes the whole time, with her ponytail down my throat!  Now, noramally I wouldn't have a problem with this, except that the taste of her coconut shampoo was really too much for the TB that was not sitting well in my stomache.  By the time the show was finished, we jetted to the car, turned on the TomTom and prayed it would tell us in it's Stephen Hawking-esqe voice the right way out of this little piece of hell, called Houma.  At three in the morning, we landed back in Arabi, thanking the lawd for our Nawd, and went our separate ways.

Now, just to side note: I have NOTHING against dykes.  I love them!  It just seemed like EVERYWHERE we went in Houma there seemed to be more and more of them.  I don't know if they flock there when the weather gets cold, with their thick cargo shorts and combat boots, like the gays do at Fire Island, or whether there was just a croud of them that went on a hunting trip and happend to be there all at the same time, I don't know, but it just seemed like every time we looked up, there were women that looked and acted more butch that me.  I prayed for a lipstick lesbian, or a nelly gay, to even out the energy, but the Melissa Etherage was playing too loud. 

I have to comment on how CRAZY things get down here during Hurricane Season.  Like birds, or some large, slow-moving herds animals, people start getting the twitch to move out of the region during the possibility of an aproaching storm.  But, I don't think that its fair for anyone to hold press conferance after press conferance about the 'Mother of all Storms', working people's emotions, pressing steadily on that soft spot created by the Big K till they pack all their belongings, or what they've aquired since August of 2005, sedimentary liars to remind them of what they had before, and make a mass evacuation only to have city officials congratulate them on thier swift 'season' spending.  Their was individual after individual come on the TV, between stories of the 'near' destruction of New Olreans and Palin's pregnant daughter, who, like A LOT of people I know, spent their bill money, their rent money, and their meager savings, to uproot and leave by Mayor's advice.  THEN, when they get news that everything is ok, and their work calls and wants them in to work the next day, or said 'Officials' wipe their botoxed brow with an Armani sleeve and sigh about what a 'close call' this Parish has had, it becomes the individual's fault for leaving, for spending money ear-marked for bills, or not saving enough during this time to evacuate!  TOO many people have remarked that because of this they will not be leaving for another storm, and I, myself, also feel like I fit into that catagory.  I knew the media was partially crying wolf when I heard it, but what could I do?  And, I'm not saying that some parishs didn't get any damage, some most certainly did.  But, to send people in such a state to dismay over something that didn't just graze by, but completely missed us, despite what Anderson Cooper or Geraldo Riviera may have broadcast over the News is INSANE!  Oh, and by the way, I thought Geraldo Riviera should win an OSCAR for his performance around the Industral Canal!  Running through ankle-deep water screaming to his cameraman dramatically about how the levee was about to break while Anderson Cooper, two channels away, stands in the French Quarter, of couse like a big silverhaired gay moth circling around Homosexual Mecca, reports on how their's really nothing to worry about was HALARIOUS!  Oh yes, the Silver Fox is gay.  He played the flesh flute in High School, he's a pole smoker, fudge packer, a Streisand, a card-carring Son of Dorothy.  Ever wonder why Anderson Cooper was in New Orleans so quickly, especially when all incoming flights were canceled and contriflow was taking everyone out of the city on both in-coming and out-going interstate lanes?  BECAUSE HE WAS ALREADY DOWN HERE; attending the largest congrigation New Olreans has during the month of August, SOUTHERN DECADANCE.  The one time that every flamer in America, from two bit drag queens to staunch Republican businessmen, trapped in love-less marriages, don their leather but-less chaps and gag-balls and sing out in sillibant 's' in one unified voice!  But, to wrap everything up, I don't think it's right to play on people's emotions during such a time as Hurricane Season.  Like beaten animals their eyes change and they become feral, willing for nothing but safe passage out of their city.  And, that is what kills me.  Looking over the twin-span at the Lake I felt like I was betraying my city.  Like all the progress She has made since Katrina was not satisfactory and that with any wiff of 'storm' I walk out on Her, leave Her poor and pregnant with my intentions of rebuilding.  And, coming back to Her, like a penatant lover, still scented with another city's salt-spray, expect that things go back to normal.  Sigh, will anything ever be the same again?

I don't know what's going on, and a big part of me doesn't care.  I have so little time to denote to childishness, especially from people who are supposed to be adults.  Main thing is...I think you're crazy.  Yup, crazy.  I think that you need theropy and maybe some mood stabilizers or something.  As hard as it is so see this tail spin you're on, I can only respect your idiotic cutting-of-strings.  But, please hear me out on this, before you strike that lit match on the already gasoline-soaked bridges, I would be wary of how many you burn.  Some bridges can be built back, others stay in ruins.  Hopefully, instead of passing off your insane emotional issues on other people, which seems to be the norm for you, and spending money going to Universal Studios, you'll 'invest' in some good theropy time.  Either that, or brace for impact because you're going 120 and your feet from ground.  Other than that, call me when you grow up.

Love

Ok, so it's been a while since I've actually posted a blog here on the MySpace.  I think that it's becomming obsoliete now, something new has to come along.  But, i've given all my stalkers out there a new avenue to spy on my from, check out my Knit Blog by the link of my MySpace profile.  Go and check out what i'm making, what i'm doing, and for all you haters out there, KEEP THE HELL OUT MY BITNESS! :)~  Anyway, check out my knit blog by clicking below:

www.knittapleez.blogspot.com

Have fun