My (Omar's) Memoirs: Chp 1--Predictions

"My (Omar's) Memoirs" may look like an acronym for M.O.M. meaning she is really behind all this but it's not. I mean, she's cool and all--letting me use her blog, giving me life--but this little player's wings need to fly. I've got things to say, people to meet. And I was thinking about those people, you know, who would be my road dogs when I'm a teenager. I figure if I hang out here in the Bay, I'll be kicking it with some hip hop heads: Max with the Jew fro and Ronni from the Phils. We might even start a multi-genre, multi-ethnic band. But that's if I stay out this way. I'm thinking if I end up in Santa Cruz--if pops has his way--I'll be stuck in a tree somewhere chillin' in a cloud of smoke. That could be cool. I should save some of my teething rings and pacifiers then, in case I start tripping too hard. Fortunately, I'm cute so I can get away with anything, at least now that's the case.

These past few months have been cool. Everything was quite a shock a few months ago. Lots to get used to now. I heard my moms complaining about my poops like I don't have a sense of smell or something. That's when I play with her belly and make it jiggle so we're even.

Omar out.