You're a joke. I don't know why I waste time with you. You lack substance and relevance. Nobody reads you. Nobody cares what you say.
Your words are simple and lame. A third grader could write you.
I was reading old blogs I wrote (I'd written? Grammar Avenger? Help?) in college and they rocked. Then, it occurred to me that I might very well be washed up at age 25.
Where's the passion? Has advertising stifled my creativity or just tightened up my sentences?
I don't know... I do know that omitting curse words from my blog has made it sound silly and romantic. But then again, I am silly and romantic. Just not passionate, apparently.
Whatever, Blog. You suck. I hate you. You're worthless.
Please die,
Me
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Dear Gas Pipe,
Seriously? I mean, come on. You're making the rest of us look bad.
Here you go. You can thank me later.
And for those of you who take pleasure in the stupidity of others, go here.
Peace,
Me
Here you go. You can thank me later.
And for those of you who take pleasure in the stupidity of others, go here.
Peace,
Me
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Dear Future Child,
I don’t know you, but I miss you. I want to wrap your golden locks into braids and ribbons or tuck it under a baseball cap. Then, I want to take you to the park. It’s a gorgeous day and you deserve to enjoy it. Plus, if you were here, I wouldn’t be at work. Hopefully. No, definitely.
If you were here, I’d push you on the swings as high as you wanted to go. We’d pretend you were an eagle flying in today’s perfect blue sky. Next, I’d spin you on the merry-go-round until you begged me slow down.
I always feel bad for the kids at the playground whose mothers won’t let them swing high and spin fast. I’m not going to be one of those moms. Don’t worry; we’ll strap you in tightly. I mean, if worse comes to worst, just remember you’re a kid. You can afford to break a bone or two. Plus, we’re insured, so it’s all good, baby.
Later, you’d stand at the top of the slide and bravely announce that you were coming down. I’d meet you at the bottom with open arms. We could play tag, hide and seek and red light/green light. Any game you wanted, love. I’d take you fishing in the nearest pond. If there weren’t any ponds, we’d explore creeks. There’s nothing like getting muddy, right?
We’d have a picnic and munch on peanut butter and honey sandwiches, Granny Smith apples and these. They're so tasty and only have 30 calories per serving. Trust me, they're money. I eat them all the time.
Anyway, kiddo, I was just thinking about you and wanted to say hi. Also, I wanted you to know how much I loved you (before I even knew you).
See you in a decade or so,
Mom
If you were here, I’d push you on the swings as high as you wanted to go. We’d pretend you were an eagle flying in today’s perfect blue sky. Next, I’d spin you on the merry-go-round until you begged me slow down.
I always feel bad for the kids at the playground whose mothers won’t let them swing high and spin fast. I’m not going to be one of those moms. Don’t worry; we’ll strap you in tightly. I mean, if worse comes to worst, just remember you’re a kid. You can afford to break a bone or two. Plus, we’re insured, so it’s all good, baby.
Later, you’d stand at the top of the slide and bravely announce that you were coming down. I’d meet you at the bottom with open arms. We could play tag, hide and seek and red light/green light. Any game you wanted, love. I’d take you fishing in the nearest pond. If there weren’t any ponds, we’d explore creeks. There’s nothing like getting muddy, right?
We’d have a picnic and munch on peanut butter and honey sandwiches, Granny Smith apples and these. They're so tasty and only have 30 calories per serving. Trust me, they're money. I eat them all the time.
Anyway, kiddo, I was just thinking about you and wanted to say hi. Also, I wanted you to know how much I loved you (before I even knew you).
See you in a decade or so,
Mom
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