In Which She Writes Promises Her Blog Can't Cash
2 years ago
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Thursday, February 5, 2009
You Can Kiss My Ass If...
You are a grandparent to my child and did not even send him a friggin card on his birthday.
You are the superintendent of my kids' school district and you keep having these 2 hour delays because 7 snowflakes fell out of the sky.
You say "mani-pedi."
You have a really fast, really expensive sports car and you drive 19 when the speed limit is 25 and you are in front of me.
You live in my snobby, pretentious neighborhood.
You throw your little baggie of dog shit in my trashcan after the trash men have already come.
You asked me to be a bridesmaid in your wedding and are forcing me to wear the most God-awful, pouffy dress ever to have been created by anyone, anywhere.
You are a grown woman and your name is "Sassy" or "Cookie." Stop it.
You were once married to my husband and when you come to pick up your son for your weekend visitation you ask if you can use my bathroom. And you shit in it. And then you advise that I don't go in there for a while .
You let your 27 little kids run around the library screaming and don't even attempt to keep them quiet because that book is just so darn interesting.
You are a recording that keeps calling my house asking for Rosalie Adams.
You are not a recording and you keep calling my house offering me special offers.
You put onions and pickles on my Double Cheeseburger after I specifically said no onions, no pickles.
You bitches know who you are.
You are the superintendent of my kids' school district and you keep having these 2 hour delays because 7 snowflakes fell out of the sky.
You say "mani-pedi."
You have a really fast, really expensive sports car and you drive 19 when the speed limit is 25 and you are in front of me.
You live in my snobby, pretentious neighborhood.
You throw your little baggie of dog shit in my trashcan after the trash men have already come.
You asked me to be a bridesmaid in your wedding and are forcing me to wear the most God-awful, pouffy dress ever to have been created by anyone, anywhere.
You are a grown woman and your name is "Sassy" or "Cookie." Stop it.
You were once married to my husband and when you come to pick up your son for your weekend visitation you ask if you can use my bathroom. And you shit in it. And then you advise that I don't go in there for a while .
You let your 27 little kids run around the library screaming and don't even attempt to keep them quiet because that book is just so darn interesting.
You are a recording that keeps calling my house asking for Rosalie Adams.
You are not a recording and you keep calling my house offering me special offers.
You put onions and pickles on my Double Cheeseburger after I specifically said no onions, no pickles.
You bitches know who you are.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
My Best Friend
My best friend is Elvis' biggest fan.
My best friend calls me "sister."
My best friend has the most amazing memory in the world.
My best friend will ride the biggest scariest roller coaster and not bat an eye.
My best friend can find humor in any situation.
My best friend is the most positive person I know. Her glass is always half full.
My best friend is an awesome basketball player.
My best friend was there for me when my mom passed away.
My best friend loves vacationing in Florida.
My best friend has hopes and dreams for her future.
My best friend was there on my wedding day.
My best friend keeps me in her prayers.
My best friend has written me a million notes-all of which I've saved.
My best friend makes me happy.
My best friend probably sounds a lot like your best friend.
My best friend has Down Syndrome.
But it doesn't make her who she is-it is just one part of the wonderful, amazing, loving, person she is.
Love you Sister!
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