What I'm Not

I'm not as blog-dedicated as this guy.

Not as creative/original/talented with the typed-word as this girl.

Not as outlandish, outgoing, or brutally honest as this rad dude (can't say I haven't tried though)

My blog isn't as fun to look at as this one.

I don't keep a running bucket-list for the whole world to see. Not because I'm against the idea. I love the idea and I do have one buried deep in a sock drawer, or a backpack, or.... fuck where is my bucket list? I don't post it because I know myself well enough to know I have trouble sticking to things, whether it be spoken, written, or signed in blood. As the months remaining draw thin I'm proving myself correct again. Kudos to this guy. And the frosh.

I'm also not using my blog to persue a specific topic, as the kraze does so consistently well. And in a totally different but equally compelling way, the aprodite.





In the end, my little home-away-from-home on the interwebz reflects my real dwelling place pretty well. Jack of all trades. Master of Nothing. I never seem to be here as much as I want and when I am here more often than not it is for a fleeting moment. A post-it note on the door reminding me to turn the air conditioning down or check the cat's litter box before I go to __________. Lot's of poop/pee/dick jokes. Not enough substance. As the greatest English teacher I will ever have would say to me without fail," Too much telling, not enough showing."

[This is usually the paragraph where I promise to "do better" and post more often with more quality. Maybe the school year will bring a renewed passion for my telling of all things mundane/nonsensical, but for now I'm pretty meh. In the mean time, do what I do and read these blogs. They are what I am not.

Good
















Before shit gets too depressing....






I bare thee farewell with one last parting gift: