Westhampton or Plum Island?Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Monday, July 27, 2009
stupid WKND
U know when you say I'll go out when it stops raining and then it rains all night and u end up listening to the audio version of the official preppy handbook?!
Friday, July 24, 2009
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Best Kiss Ever!!!
Except maybe Cruel Intentions. Or, the Cruel Intentions part of Not Another Teen Movie.
I Don't Read Your Blog Anymore
You should know that I don’t read your blog anymore. Maybe this is a relief to you. I know it is a relief for me. I’ve been so nervous to tell you. Now I have more time to work on my novel, which is, uh, not about you.
I’m sorry if you notice a sizeable drop in page views, but I just don’t have the time anymore to look over your documentation of failed goatee attempts, or read about your Nair experiments, your Dollar Menu short-cuts, your DUI defense fund, your long-term investment strategies (Valtrex and scratch tickets?), gout updates, morally complicated and debilitatingly expensive holistic treatments to common maladies, the whole 2012 thing, the recaps of those devastatingly precise and graphic love letters you found between your father and the decidedly male robot he created in grad school at RPI, your efforts at restraining order reform, your cousin’s liveblogging of his police impersonation trial, the vintage porn reviews, your webbed-toe surgery, your Invisalign debacle, your Guardasil overdose, the Accutane class-action suit, the tongue scraper testimonials, the weddings you haven’t been invited to, the sins you committed when you got stuck in that elevator, the increasingly disconcerting color of your urine, your feud with Hardees, your feud with the shopgirl from Men’s Warehouse, your messy entanglements with airport security re: your pubic razor, the perceived slights from Applebee’s bartenders, your sexualization of glinting kitchen utensils, your Bonnie Raitt obsession.
I no longer have time to read about the terrible food and uneven wireless at the psych ward, how nobody blogs on your wing but everyone’s writing a memoir, save-the-dates for your court appearances, your desperate requests for character witnesses to be downtown by ten a.m., clean-shaven a plus, your Dan Brown flash fiction, your slam poetry, your Since You’ve Been Gone Youtube tribute videos, your latex allergy, your sheepskin allergy, your Saran Wrap allergy, your Clown College conquests, your Barber College plagiarism case, your Keene State reenactments all over the place, and all those TMI drunken confessions, like how you frenched your cousin when you were both high on buttons in the mesa, poking holes in each other and the sky and the hot red rocks you both laid down on.
I’m sorry if this negatively affects your revenue from Google Adsense. I’m sorry if there are fewer anonymous comments on your posts. I’m trying to be fair here. I’ll tell you what, I’ll link to your blog from this blog, even though I won’t read it, so that other people will be able to read the blog that I don’t read anymore. Maybe you’ll get more hits than ever after this blog takes off. Then you would owe me big-time! This blog might be the best thing that ever happened to you. The second best thing. Maybe someday you’ll miss me, Good Ole Ms. Icy Veins, who’ll just as soon not read your blog as look at you.
I’m sorry if you notice a sizeable drop in page views, but I just don’t have the time anymore to look over your documentation of failed goatee attempts, or read about your Nair experiments, your Dollar Menu short-cuts, your DUI defense fund, your long-term investment strategies (Valtrex and scratch tickets?), gout updates, morally complicated and debilitatingly expensive holistic treatments to common maladies, the whole 2012 thing, the recaps of those devastatingly precise and graphic love letters you found between your father and the decidedly male robot he created in grad school at RPI, your efforts at restraining order reform, your cousin’s liveblogging of his police impersonation trial, the vintage porn reviews, your webbed-toe surgery, your Invisalign debacle, your Guardasil overdose, the Accutane class-action suit, the tongue scraper testimonials, the weddings you haven’t been invited to, the sins you committed when you got stuck in that elevator, the increasingly disconcerting color of your urine, your feud with Hardees, your feud with the shopgirl from Men’s Warehouse, your messy entanglements with airport security re: your pubic razor, the perceived slights from Applebee’s bartenders, your sexualization of glinting kitchen utensils, your Bonnie Raitt obsession.
I no longer have time to read about the terrible food and uneven wireless at the psych ward, how nobody blogs on your wing but everyone’s writing a memoir, save-the-dates for your court appearances, your desperate requests for character witnesses to be downtown by ten a.m., clean-shaven a plus, your Dan Brown flash fiction, your slam poetry, your Since You’ve Been Gone Youtube tribute videos, your latex allergy, your sheepskin allergy, your Saran Wrap allergy, your Clown College conquests, your Barber College plagiarism case, your Keene State reenactments all over the place, and all those TMI drunken confessions, like how you frenched your cousin when you were both high on buttons in the mesa, poking holes in each other and the sky and the hot red rocks you both laid down on.
I’m sorry if this negatively affects your revenue from Google Adsense. I’m sorry if there are fewer anonymous comments on your posts. I’m trying to be fair here. I’ll tell you what, I’ll link to your blog from this blog, even though I won’t read it, so that other people will be able to read the blog that I don’t read anymore. Maybe you’ll get more hits than ever after this blog takes off. Then you would owe me big-time! This blog might be the best thing that ever happened to you. The second best thing. Maybe someday you’ll miss me, Good Ole Ms. Icy Veins, who’ll just as soon not read your blog as look at you.
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