True Colors.

     Here I am watching Mad Men recaps where they have a writer/director comment before every commercial break. (IDK the characters' names since this is only the 2nd episode I've ever seen but) One young wife is planning to leave her husband because he isn't who she thought he was... like, she just found out he gave her a fake name. The director guy goes on to say that he wanted the scene to question the idea of "Is it possible to be loved when people see who you are?"

Well, is it?

      Here's the thing, I'm not sure. I'm not sure I even like who I am. I mean, I love myself but I'm not the nicest, most honest person there is. Let's be serious. My self-centeredness is the ultimate catalyst behind my success and... childlessness. (Teen pregnancy is a bug in the water out here.) But that's not something I think I should apologize for. I mean, isn't it a good thing I have no children? But men might not like a woman so motivated.

     Speaking of motivation. $$ is the motive. Money is ALWAYS the motive. (Here's when the gold digger rears her head) Since I have my own goals --spiritual, personal, professional AND financial --is it wrong for me to want a man with similar goals? Perhaps I won't end up with a sports player who might've lucked out and gotten drafted. Or a Hip-Hop artist because they're all either "on their way" to the top or bottom.  But, YES, I want a man who is pulling an acceptable weight. He needs to play the right cards to be on my team. I would never ask a man to support me but if something were to happen (accident, loss of job, etc.) we need to be able to live comfortably off of one person. My comfort level is simply higher than some other women.

     On the same note, men like women who dress nice and have nice things and look good but don't want to put in the work to maintain that. If a woman is trying to live off of you, that's one thing. But the tokens of appreciation are distinct. I don't want a birthday card, I want birthday at the spa. I don't want a pair of cheap synthetic shoes from Bakers, I want (to say Louboutin but I won't) a little Tory Burch or BCBG. But when my lifestyle changes, the things I want are going to change as well. I'm not asking for off the runway pre-ordered merchandise here (although that'd be niiiiiiicceee).

     So what man would want me if I told him the truth? Yes, I want all the love & physical attraction but I also want to be pampered and spoiled and treated like a queen. I only ask because I am sure of my ability to treat a man like a King. No one said it wouldn't be 50/50. I'm willing to do what a woman should do. Cook, clean, care and comfort.  Meanwhile, I'm an educated woman with a degree under my belt and more to come. All I know is that I won't be broke... so he shouldn't be either. As my homie, Brit Owens, would say "I can't bring no broke man home."

    

Hard to Read.

"You ain't needy, greedy, needy or easy as these other breezy's."
T.I. in Drake's "Fancy"


    On one of my nerd days, I picked up Ogilvy's "On Advertising" and came across a passage on how black lettering on white background is easier to read than black on white. With that said, I'm forcing you to read my blog in the more difficult way.

      Perhaps I want this blog to be difficult to read. I don't want people to breeze through this (or any of my writing for that matter) with ease, forgetfulness or disdain.  I reread my own blogs and notice the typos and grammatical errors. Some I fix, but those that don't affect the readability stay. I dont have the time nor the mind-space to focus on you. Sorry, but as I said in my first post ever, "The Grand Unveiling", this act of writing is for me. Not for you. With that said, I think some blogs should be difficult. Especially mine. (Maybe a new genre of writing called "Requires Thinking.") My blog is as hard to read as I should be.  Additionally, as difficult as my fellow women should be.

    "But now the next time we chill shit can happen lol" was the text I got from a friend this morning. Last night, she was debating whether she should fuck on the first date. It's always a no in my book, but... to each his own. Problem is, EVERYONE would know if she did. That I guarantee.  Us women shouldn't make ourselves so accessible.  From my experience, it seems that the ease makes men lose interest and gain a sense of entitlement over you. The same sense of entitlement that causes one to floor the gas in your car because it's yours. You can damage your own property, so what?

      If you read my blog from last night, "Celibacy", (I'm not as bad a drunk blogger as I thought! Lol) you'll read that I sent out some unreturned texts last night. Today, there are a lot of texts I'm not returning. Am I the only one that remembers The Golden Rule?

   I typically don't speak on behalf of anyone but myself, but Ladies, yall need somebody to have your backs. Here it goes:

From my Ladies to the Fellas: You will NOT respond to me when YOU find it best. You will think of me first. You will give me the attention I need and deserve. I will not be pushed to the side or treated anything close to second rate. I understand my worth, and trust, I will show it to you. You do not own me. No one does.  No one will. If you want this, this is going to be hard. Very hard, indeed. Cuz I ain't easy.

Celibacy

The 3am Blues.

      I might be the only person leaving Ultra NOT tryin to get some tonight. I went out with 3 girls tonight. One is waiting on a guy to come over, one was dropped off at an afterparty and the other on her  way to pick up her daughter ( I don't really want to explain).

      Me? I'm home. In my mother's basement. Now, it's not that I can't get any, but do I really want  the any that's being offered to me? I just got off the phone with a guy i gave my number too (out of boredom).  Both outside of the club and for the couple of minutes we spoke, the conversation focused on "Who else did you give your number to?" Where's the game at?

     Where's the "I think you're beautiful"s and the "I'd like to get to know you"s (IDK how to punctuate those but you get my drift.)? Not to mention, the guy I want to talk to didn't return my texts and here I am in limbo trying to decide whether or not I should delete his number. This is a debate I find myself in weekly.

      What am I even looking for? The battle I'm currently fighting is one in which I try to determine whether I want love or sex. I want both. But I'm unsure of how to get  both. Any advice? I'll llisten to ANYTHING.

Well, ladies and gents, I am simply blogging under the influence. Hope you enjoy my sorrows.

      My phone is ringing... but I think the man on the other side of the phone thinks he's halfway into my panties (nothing good comes at 3:17am) so I'm going to let him and you all wonder what comes next. Goodnight XOXOXO.

Misery Loves Company

“And her friends say I ain't the one to go for. 

She just get jealous cause you always get approached more. 

Oh well, tell her fall back. Caught up in some old shit? Tell her call back. 

Tell her get a man that ain't cheating on her ass wit a girl that I know. 

Yeah tell her all that.” 

Drake -- A Little Bit

Just finished rewatching Episode 5 of Basketball Wives. I admit, I watch the show religiously and WILL tune in for Season 2.  In this particular episode, Gloria Govan  is singled out as the "shady ass bitch" because she doesn't want to associate with Royce, because is NOT a wife, just a girl would be lucky enough to sleep with a basketball player. Gloria is thrown into a battle with the other wives on various levels stemming from misunderstanding and envy. Funny how a good relationship can bring you joy and unhappiness all in the same stroke of fortune. 

Bad TV is bad TV and as unhealthy as my obsession with it might be, I can’t help but to find small life lessons in the most unexpected of places. Now, I’m not saying I want to be one of these Basketball Wives (completely) but Gloria seems to be the only wife concerned with maintaining her relationship. The other wives talk incessantly about how the Govan’s relationship is headed downhill, but what do they know? Just because they have no faith in their own relationships, should Gloria retire all trust int he man she vowed to love until her death? 

Is that the green of envy?

Now for the lesson I learned:

At the end of May, I met a guy who... is...exactly. Exactly what I hoped for but wasn’t expecting. Thinking I could trust my friend’s opinion, I shared my thoughts, to which she responded by telling me to stop talking to him. Apparently, I was falling too hard too fast. I didn’t have enough walls up.   And (the best part) it was “all game anyways”. 

In sum, I wasn’t a bitter enough bitch. I wasn’t ruining it fast enough. I wasn’t arguing wit him often enough.  I wasn’t opening my legs to him soon enough. 

Envy is greener up close.

"I'm ready to meet whoever it is I'm going to be with" I confided to my best friend since the first grade. I hoped she'd tell me that she was happy for me. Maybe that I deserved it. I naively wished she would have more faith in that I'd find him than I had. 

     “I didn’t expect that from you. I thought you’d want to chill since you just got out of school. You know, do you,” she explained. Since she just got out of an unproductive relationship and is really just “tryina fuck” whatever guy is at the top of her list at the moment, I don’t know how I could’ve expected a different response. Besides, I’m the only friend she has without children or responsibility. The perfect club partner. I always was #1 wingman. Now as I enter the [not telling] month of my partially chosen celibacy, she doesn't understand why I'd wait on this guy. Much less why when he's around, I've chosen not to sleep with him. 

What do you do when you can no longer trust your friends’ opinions? Who do you confide in? No one. Family. Him. The list of confidants narrows and your left to debate the next step by yourself. Perhaps this is a chance for maturing and growth. I don’t know. And the person I can see who seems to understand the situation is Gloria. 

What I learned from Gloria: Don’t go to the reunion. Rather, places where bitter, upset bitches congregate to spread the hate. 

     So here I am. In the house, because I’d rather not have to avoid the conversations. I've found myself having to dodge the questions. I give minimal detail. A relationship is between TWO people, unless you’ve agreed on an different arrangement. But I’m not Penelope Cruz or Scarlett Johansen & this isn’t Vicky Cristina Barcelona. 

    You can keep your friends close, but your friends and your enemies might be one in the same. Keep your eyes open. 

<3 Miss Lady-Thousand

Letter

Send this open scribe through the airwaves... vibe with me.

Hey...

Tomorrow's the big day. I know, I'm growing up.
You might not like it but, it's happening.

Remeber how I tried to wipe off my lisptick before I went into the house because I knew you'd trip? Well, I wear it proudly now.  It's MAC and Nars now.  I'm a lady now.

You'd be proud. The poetry gets standing ovations now. More than ever. I have fans and the greet me in the streets. I wish you could see. I'd introduce you to them. They young though... but you like them like that, right?

You was a ladies man. A real ladies man. Had ladies and treated them like ladies, except if they wasn't. You taught me the ropes and you had no idea. I watched you stumble in from my bedroom windows and even though I'm not a guy I learned my life lessons from you.

I'll never let a guy treat me like you treated those blondes you and Max brought to the house real late a night. But I'll make a man buy me gifts like you used to for Jackie. She had the most presents under our tree ever year. Jewerly. Clothes. Shoes. Everything she wanted. You loved her. I know. I know love when I see it.

I had a good guy once. I think you might have liked him... probably not though. Anyways. That's over.

Me and Lisa hang out now. I was in DC with her last weekend. She doesn't talk about you much, but it's cuz she misses you. Mami's doing okay. She aged quickly for a bit after you left.. (or were taken, I don't really know how to feel about that all still). She got her degree and is working a good job now. She's coolin. Now that all that papers stuff is worked out, I'm gonna take her out. Take her around the world with me. Anywhere she wants to go.  You know... we all never had anybody really except fro eachother.

Jay is still coming hard. If there's a heaven, I know they play Jay up there. I felt you in Kingdom Come. I tried to get mami to listen to the Made it joint... but she wouldn't understand. Nobody does really.

There's a lot I think we'd talk about now. I've matured now. I want your advice sometimes but... I've learned to depend on myself now. If I don't have your opinion, idk if anyone else's but my own could suffice.

I just wanted to say that you'll be on my mind on the big day. Like every big day. I miss you.  But I'll be alright. If there's a heavan, I know you're watching. If not, then you are my heaven.

Love you big bro..

<3 Maggie.

Meet My Girlfriend, Success.

As I sit down to write this, it's exactly 10 minutes till Graduation Day. It's be a quick, long four years.



I don't know how I made this far. I mean, I know why people didn't think I'd make it this far. As I left the New York offices of Travel and Leisure, my brother-in-law asked me, "Did you ever think you'd be here, Like, make it here coming from Central Falls?" Now, this man is no stranger to me. I've known him since I was 10. He knows exactly where I'm from. The exact cloth from which I was cut. I looked at him and responded, "Other people may not have thought so, but I always knew I'd make it here."
"That's why I like you guys," he said, obviously referring to myself and my sister, his wife, the Tax Attorney. The cloth my sister and I were cut from isn't refined. If it had a recordable thread count, I'd say... 12. While we (my sister more than my mother and myself) appreciate the finer things in life, we know the worst things in life. The worst has the tendency to grab a hold of you. Once you let the worst overcome you it becomes difficult to move, to maneuver through the world. I sometimes feel like I'm walking with a mirror in front of me, telling me to remember who I am. Remember where I'm from. Remember where those stern features in my expressions come from. Remember the color of my skin, the texture of my hair. Honestly, sometimes it's hard to let those things go.

There comes a time when the past no longer matters. Graduation Day is one of those times. Nothing matters anymore. It doesn't matter that Top Ramen was a staple meal in my home not because of preference but because of lack of option. It doesn't matter that I spent years alone in a world full of acquaintances. It doesn't matter that I tried to drown myself in obligations, liquor and weed to overcome the passing of my brother in hopes to forget he existed. And it doesn't matter that it worked for a while until it didn't anymore. It doesn't matter that I came from a place that produces criminals, teenage mothers and dropouts.

Since 2006, I've crossed mountains I probably shouldn't recount in detail, but as my mother and sister sleep upstairs in the hotel room, I can see from the front windows of the subpar "business center" of Baltimore's Brookshire Hotel, the Inner Harbor and its iridescent lights gleaming with the passive brilliance I've come to know Baltimore for. And those two women, I've come to know for their patience and impatience when dealing with me. "Get your shit together," my sister said to me before I was almost dismissed from Loyola. And that's exactly what I did.

I was heard-headed. I was disobedient. I was irrepressible. Unruly. Loud. Angry. Bitter. I was hard. Literally. It was hard to get through to me. My skin had become so tough that my own mind had to work from the inside out to tell me that there was something wrong.
You see, this is a moment for me. Because there's a great chance that I wouldn't have been here. If I don't look happy tomorrow it's because this means something different to me. Like... marriage to man. Men can go forever as bachelors, and most probably would. It's women who marry out of expectations, for selfish reasons. Men though, see it as a serious commitment. A milestone in life. A life-changing episode and a who-the-fuck-knows-whats-next occasion. Yea, I'm marrying this degree.
I'm putting in my everything. I need something. You see, I've been through it all before. I will not do that again. This is gonna work, God Dammit. Me and Success (that's my degree's name) will be together forever. No prenuptial. No divorcing. We will go to counseling and all. She's my ride-or-die. (Why's it a girl?)
It's now 12:32am. I'm going upstairs to do my hair because I have to be at the arena by 8:30am because my momma gotta see me grab that degree.
MOMMA I MADE IT,oh & meet my Girlfriend, Success.

To send or not to send?

Dating Dilemmas.

I'm newly single for the first time in 2 years and...dating is the worst. The absolute worst. When I meet new guys and have that first crucial conversation, I am often (if not always) disappointed. The newest phenomena I've been encountered over and over again is the text message saying, "Can you send me a pic of you?"

Now, I always respond No. Just that one word and press "send". One guy responded with "Well, I guess you don't want to go out with me either". Well, not anymore, no. That night he invited me to a place called "The CrackPot". As if I want to go anywhere named Crackpot. He hasn't called since I gave him another no. Thank, God.

I met another guy down at the Baltimore Harbor. He was playing the sax... I think. Some instrument. We talked for a while and he seemed genuinely interesting. We exchanged numbers and then, as I walked off, he called back to me. "Can I take a pic of you in your outfit?" he asked. Once again, I responded with my ever-handy No. I don't need to tell you how that ended.

#MyOnlyQuestionIs What is this? Am I the only one being asked for pictures of myself? Do you ladies send them off? Don't we all have Facebook? I've got pics on there. He can look at my profile pic if he needs to. OR.. he can see me in person. How about asking me on a date instead of for a picture. Bizarre.

Asking me to send you a pic #UNDATEABLE. 

The Problem Here is You.

 What happens when you deserve more than a man can give you.



"I tried to be nice. but i have to say you need get over your I deserve this shit. Cuz you wont get everything you "deserve". You don't deserve as much as you think you do and neither do i. That's what I have learned and I hope you learn it to."

-Excerpt from an email from my Ex

 I've been breaking/broken up with my "Ex" since April 25th. It was the day I found text messages between him and various girls ( one of whom I had previously had my eye on because shelooked easy) on the Blackberry I had given him. I took the phone, sent all of them text messages and left his house a new woman. Since then, I (idiotically) tried to be his friend. I don't really do "friends" with men I've been involved with, but he was a great friend while we were together... and recent updates on his health made me feel like he needed someone, and that someone should be me. Because I love him. Meanwhile, when I asked for his company, or his time, the same consideration wasn't returned.  So yesterday, I ended the friendship and with it all ties.

I got an email from him today. He explained that his schedule is hectic and he has no time (remember, this is the same guy on the Starbucks date with the ugly chick). He's one of those guys who makes time only for what he wants. If you aren't high on the "Wants" list, you might as well not be on the list at all. So, I responded to the email saying that I deserve more than he was giving and could give me. The quote above is  how he opened his response. Needless to say, I called him and it didn't go civilly. I'd describe the conversation for you but I'm trying to limit the curse words in this blog. The conversation began with a "Don't you ever fucking disrespect me" ( I really do add the "g" when I'm upset) and ended with a "FUCK YOU," followed by the dial tone.

Now for the meat of this blog: If a man says "you don't deserve as much as you think," he doesn't realize your full potential. Negativity can be the most destructive force to a person's success if you don't separate yourself. But, never forget it. I will never forget how little value he placed on me as a person. And I promise you he will one day realize that he should have held onto me.  He does not deserve me. The man a woman needs in her life is one that will support her on any endeavor she tackles. He will stand beside her in the spotlight and pick her up if she can no longer see the light.

Additionally, he truly believes that he will not get everything he deserves. How can I be with a man who is willing to settle for so little?  Here's the thing: He had 2 job offers last summer. A secure teaching job at a private school, or a teaching job with some company no one has heard of.  He chose the latter, deciding with his heart instead of his wallet. He bought a new bed, Macbook and car; all of which have to be paid monthly on top of his student loans for his 5 years of undergrad (takes him a long time to learn, trust me). Now, the bills are piling up so he has to DJ more gigs on top of  the job he now hates it (he only admits that every other day, of course).

 It seems that second rate is good enough for him (that girl was third rate) and he insists it should be good enough for me. Once you make exceptions for any given situation, you affect the outcome of your life as a whole. Imagine me, marrying this broke school teacher because he doesn't think he deserves better. This $22,550 in student loans says I BETTER never be broke again.  In sum, if you settle for less, you will get less.  That's all. I settled for him in the beginning and we see where that left me.This isn't deeply philosophical, merely common sense and purely truth.

Plus, I had to get that off my chest. Whew.





A Poem by Ciara

My Love

Anything you ask, I'll be right there to do it.
But if I react, you tell me to relax.
Too late to take it back. Cuz boy you put me through it. 
This circular motion is all we do.
I'm so sick of going back and forth with you.

You should have been happy to have me. 
Said you wanted to have some kids, build a family. 
Now I wish it wasnt true.
It's killing me to do, what I go to do.

The problem here is you. 

[Recovering Under Cover Over] Love[r].

"I'm a recovering under cover over lover. And now my common law lover says he wants another." -E. Badu.

Love... umm.. love...blows, sucks, sucks-and-blows simultaneously, happens, fades, blinds, binds, completes, destroys. Yea, man. Love. 

Love, I believe, is what transitions you from one stage of life into another. The Virginity stage is incomparable to any other. When I speak of virginity, I am speaking of both sexual virginity and emotional virginity. When neither your heart nor your insides have been torn apart by brutal and, sometimes even, kind men, who have their own methods of destruction. It is in essence the period of  innocence and naivety. For men, it is always a game --something to figure out, accomplish, win over. For women, love is and has always been accompanied by pain.We cannot escape it. Okay, I'll leave the "we's" behind speak for myself now.

I enter every relationship expecting the worst because Murphy' damned law seems to be the ultimate decree as to how life is to proceed: whatever can go wrong, will go wrong. I was trying to figure out how to get started on this blog and read a brilliant friend's blog, Eff Everything by Lauren (don't know if I should put her last name).  Her first blog commented on Love (yes, I will capitalize this bastard throughout) and the celeb relationships vs. real life relationships... you know, the usual stuff we all concern ourselves with, comparing ourselves to people we DO NOT KNOW. Anyways, she goes on to end the piece discussing how Love "isn’t smooth sailing, don’t get me wrong, but love is self first. When you find that, everything else will fall into place." Genius.

And depressing.

Where does that leave those of us not walking through parks swinging intertwined fingers in the spring sun on our way to romantic picnics? What do I need to find Love? I have a picnic basket. I've had this damned picnic basket for two years. No picnic. Who am I? Yogi Bear? Depressing. Ain't it depressing? 

Not only do you have to find that "special someone" but you must now find yourself as well. Yourself seems to be the hardest person to find. You can look in the mirror everyday and not know who you are. And when you think you know, then you fall in love, and love changes you. You wake up out of love a completely different person --I can assure you.

I was in a relationship with a great man (mostly, if he was that great, we'd still be together, right?) for my last 2 years of college. I practically lived with the man. I grew. Man, I grew. I became a woman with him. I cooked breakfast, lunch and dinner. Washed his clothes (when he would let me). Cleaned his house. Made his bed. My world revolved around him. I envisioned myself marrying this man. Having his children. I hate children. I am telling you that I grew. Until he wanted to be young again. He is five years my elder, but sadly just getting into his "cool". He hadn't gotten girls in high school, or most of college, but now the big time DJ is attracting attention unlike anything he had had in the past. And here I was, in love. Ready... ready to "go to the sto'" for him (please, get Erykah Badu's new album. Please.). Yet, asking for his time was asking for too much.

He no longer wanted me. It shames me to say this but I begged for the first time in my life (AND THE LAST) that he wouldn't leave me. I'd have done anything.I cried and I cry still. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. Sincerely.

A week later, he was seductively sipping a latte with his date outside the Johns Hopkins Starbucks (Oh, yes this M.F. was). Besides loudly announcing that "she ain't cuter than me," my heart-felt response was, Word?


Lauren, sweetie, I have to disagree. It's not Eff Love, rather, Eff Him. Only after I found Love was I able to find myself. So you see, the reverse is also absolutely possible. Because I did Love him. Part of me still would, if I hadn't found myself already. Lauryn Hill describes a line in her song "Lose Myself" as a double entendre: "I had to lose myself, in order to Love you better,"  meaning that one has to lose themselves in Love in order to Love better. At the same time you also have to lose out, lose something, to understand how to Love better. Sometimes that thing you lose is yourself. Only after you have lost yourself to the ungracious recipient will you miss yourself. Nobody looks for something they don't think is missing. You need to lose yourself un order to find yourself and then Love yourself better.

We depend so much on the love of others, perfecting ourselves for others hoping to find love. Maybe the purpose of love is to show you who you really are.And who says love only comes once? It'll be back. Oh, it will be back. While my Ex can parade around whichever 10 (I know it's 80/20, but she wasn't cute) he wants, my next Love will be at least a 95.  I guarantee it. My Ex might have let me down, but I don't disappoint myself.


 So... overall, thanks for inspiration, Lauren. You said it best, Eff Everything. (Check out her blog, it's phenomenal, & much more put together than mine!)


For the grande finale:With some slight edits, I give you a poem by Shawn Carter,

 (Spaced out so it looks like poetry. Nice, huh?)

"Is That Yo B*tch"

 I don't love'em,
I  eff'em. 
I don't chase'em.
I duck'em.
I replace'em with another one.

The Grand Unveiling.

I punctuate titles. Somehow I feel that it completes a thought when a period is added to the end of any statement. Rather the period transforms it into a statement. Think... Janet Jackson's "Janet." I bought the album simply because of the punctuation. I'm getting off topic. This, Ladies and Gents is most likely attributed to the frog-shaped sippy cup to my left; full of none other than my revered, Polka Dot Riesling --don't judge me, I needed some liquid confidence and the sippy cup has a built in ice thingy. But really, this blog, "A Thousand Thinks", is named after that fact that can't stop thinking and I simply need somewhere to put all these thoughts down. Oh, and that Thousand is in noun form, referring to yours truly, Marjorie Thousand.

I've always been hesitant to blog because people, myself included, censor and alter their works towards the likings of the audience --as good writers are taught to do. But after four grueling (yes, grueling) years of undergraduate coursework studying old white men, I can finally break free from the constraints of  structured academia to explore myself . To let my mind wander aimlessly with an unmatched diligence. My "thinks" range from fashion to faith and all "thinks" worth conversation. I'm even up for suggestions (after I get a hang of this). I simply thought this would be the best venue.  

I am the editor. The writer. The subject.   I will not write for you. This is for me. This blog is me. If you happen to enjoy it, fine. If not, "it costs you nothing pay me no mind". (Oh yea, and there will be TONS of Jay-Z quotes because Jay-Z speaks to the way my mind works. T.S. Elliot and  E.B White, not so much). If you get passed the typos and grammatical errors (I'll keep the AP Stylebook handy) you might encounter something rare here: truth.

 I am going to be brutally honest. I will bare myself and my soul and I promise you integrity and candor. Most of all, I keeps it real. Some might even say, "keep it 100". I, on the other hand, keep it 1000 --so much that it's my last name.

 Wish me luck, 
 Miss Thousand