Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Tuesday Morning Digest - and a moral
by Irena the Croatian
I am divorced for a reason. And I pleasantly remind myself of it every day.
Dear Mr. West and Inc.
Maybe I should title this blog to my ex-husband. Ha Ha. OK... no. I've been writing too many blogs. But nobody understands me better then myself. Another reason why I'm single – and happily so.
The point of this blog... I don't know how many of you MySpace degenerates read this. Really, for all I care - nobody has to. I write these for me, for me to amuse myself with... well... myself. It's almost another form of masochism. Or is it a psychological masturbation... who knows. Too bad I don't ever find the time to re-read my own blogs. But I will... one of these days. Another reason I write these and leave them public is to remind you - my favorite society of the aforementioned MySpace degenerates that I still exist. And that I'm still as fucked up as you are. If not even more. Actually, scratch that. I'm more fucked up then you are. And if I don't respond to your MySpace message that says "oh my god you're so pretty and your profile is so interesting and you're so awesome" it's probably because I don't think you're fucked up enough for me. And I'm more then probably right.
In any case... today's moral is to be nice to your parents. Seriously. Every time you've ever fucked up, every time they've ever called you on it - they were right. And if you're lucky enough to have them within a driving distance away, I hope that you're taking that drive as often as you can. My family is in Chicago. I would sell my soul to the fucking devil right now to see my mother. I would do it in a heartbeat. For you, Mister Mark West and for your incorporated family. If I had any soul left, which I'm sure I don't - I would sell it to see my mother. Because it would be worth it. Even if it's for five minutes, because maybe during those five minutes I'll feel like collapsing, laying my head in her lap and crying. Or maybe I'll just keep up on what she taught me to do.
So fuck you, Mark Jason West, and fuck you with all the strength of this world combined.
Now that I'm still pissed off about this, here are a few post comments... if I could go to work - I probably wouldn't be posting ten thousand fucking blogs during the middle of the day. And I very well could go to work if I would alter my life to fit Mr. West and Family, Inc's specifications. I'm sorry I don't conform to Texas' ideas of what a parent should be. My toddler likes Wallace and Gromit. And she prefers the 'hippy' diapers. And fruit peel is good for her. And so is chocolate. And yes, potty training on a toilet versus a plastic potty is better. And no, my tattoos aren't washing off, and yes - my daughter will speak whatever language I teach her to speak.
Posted at 8:45 PM
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