Blogger blogger blogger
Can't you see
Sometimes you really
(sung to the tune of "Biggie Biggie Biggie Can't You See") (um, by, B.I.G.?) (See previous post re: bad music taste)
I used to be Da Bomb at the internet. I could HTML up my own website and all. This was before the second wave of internetism. Before blogs were a dime a dozen, or a dime a hundred. Now, I can't even post from email or figure out how to get my flickr/twitter on the site. Woes.
Anyway, I forgot that blogging can sometimes be fun, I mos. def. love reading them, and sometimes it's fun to write them as well. As such, here I am watching a 3rd overtime in the Stanley Cup finals game, half-blogging, half-watching tv. I'm from Detroit, I'm, like, obliged to watch this. Kind of like how I'm obliged to state my loyalty to either MSU or UM, or drive a Ford, or talk about the shitty unemployment rates. Woes.
Anyway, I'm not sure why, but at the ripe old age of 26 I've learned I have raging allergies. Self-diagnosed, of course, but still. There have been many of the sneezing incidents at work, with various fun snacks (apples, baked doritos (wow, so healthy!), egg salad sandwich - how graceful) and lots of the red-eye, "I swear I'm not a pothead" looks on a fresh Monday morning, and lots of itchy nose ("I swear I'm not a cokehead!").
Another thing? So I love Madonna, and I got a total kick out of this handwritten note on display at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame that she wrote as a college freshman at U of M. Almost any girl who grew up in the 80s has a place in her heart for Madonna, but seriously... how on earth does she look like that at 50? I can't put my finger on it, but she reminds me of the kind of slutty girls I hate when I go out... I don't like that! It's MADONNA. Maybe I'm just a granny.
I have no witty or full-circle way to end this post... so here it shall end. I just farted.