Saturday, August 24, 2013
Sorry for Being Kind of a Shitty Blogger
I mean, not really, but kind of. I do wish that I were better about making time to write here more regularly. But it's summer, and there are lots of other things to do. If I have to choose between going to the pool and writing about Amanda Bynes' latest exploits (they got the conservatorship, thank god), I'm going to choose the pool (although I'll be thinking of Amanda the whole time, I swear). Also cable television is so consistently rewarding. The We network has been playing Sister Act 2: Back in the Habit on loop all day, and who can possibly compose a sensible English sentence while experiencing a young Lauryn Hill's transformation from juvenile delinquent to choral angel once again like it's the very first time? Oh, and did I mention that I hate my neighbors? They're to blame, too -- it's so loud in here all the time that I can barely even think, much less entertain with my various PG-13 (mild profanity) exploits.
On the other hand, I'm not even really sure that anyone is reading this thing any more, so in a way I'm kind of apologizing to myself for not doing a better job keeping my journal. And to my future biographers, I would guess. This thing could be such a treasure trove of information about my alcohol intake and wearing of costumes.
I mean, not really, but kind of. I do wish that I were better about making time to write here more regularly. But it's summer, and there are lots of other things to do. If I have to choose between going to the pool and writing about Amanda Bynes' latest exploits (they got the conservatorship, thank god), I'm going to choose the pool (although I'll be thinking of Amanda the whole time, I swear). Also cable television is so consistently rewarding. The We network has been playing Sister Act 2: Back in the Habit on loop all day, and who can possibly compose a sensible English sentence while experiencing a young Lauryn Hill's transformation from juvenile delinquent to choral angel once again like it's the very first time? Oh, and did I mention that I hate my neighbors? They're to blame, too -- it's so loud in here all the time that I can barely even think, much less entertain with my various PG-13 (mild profanity) exploits.
On the other hand, I'm not even really sure that anyone is reading this thing any more, so in a way I'm kind of apologizing to myself for not doing a better job keeping my journal. And to my future biographers, I would guess. This thing could be such a treasure trove of information about my alcohol intake and wearing of costumes.
