"brett wut happnd 2 u?"
Well, as a no-longer-illegal adult, I can answer for myself and avoid the hassle of parent e-mail notices. It was my birthday on Friday, see, and there was some celebrating. Now it would be quite rude to dishonorly ignore my guests and fart out a few irrelevant paragraphs or maybe even analytical anecdotes, just to do a similar routine for the following days. Heck, most/all who would read it were probably attending one of the said parties.
But it wasn't a merry long-weekend of pure and untouchable joy, no, for there was an irony-saturated lesson to be learned.
My future intentions involve purchasing the Nintendo Wii and going to the bathroom every once in a while, and I share those plans with apparently 45,000 people who probably have a Blogger and play as Falco.
A few chums and I had it all set up: leave school on (date at time) and arrive at our nearest Gamestop at the appropriate time. Armed with lawnchairs and cuddly fleece blankets, we colonize the parking lot as we daydream of how awesome Twilight Princess will be and the precise building of our respective Mii's. Maybe we'd even get on TV for being so gosh-darn passionate and cool. Oh, how naviete can make life ideal.
I'm on the computer too much. Often times hours melt by as I accomplish little and tell myself "I shouldn't be doing this; I should be (verb)ing with (noun).) Rarely does the (verb)ing commense, however. Due to this, my email is consistently maintained, despite my accumulating amount of saved messages that really have no effect on life. But if somesome sends me a virtual letter of any sort: I see it.
That wasn't the case this weekend. I somehow avoided the computer for 2.31 days straight and spent quality time with friends and family that I wouldn't trade for a whole lot. However, on Saturday morning, my butt found its home on the stained charcoal office chair (lol nostalgi-ass!!) and I noticed my Hotmail, complete with 80 or so new messages, all of which were unread, by only one was worth viewing.
To be continued...
Can he do that,
Brett...
Well, as a no-longer-illegal adult, I can answer for myself and avoid the hassle of parent e-mail notices. It was my birthday on Friday, see, and there was some celebrating. Now it would be quite rude to dishonorly ignore my guests and fart out a few irrelevant paragraphs or maybe even analytical anecdotes, just to do a similar routine for the following days. Heck, most/all who would read it were probably attending one of the said parties.
But it wasn't a merry long-weekend of pure and untouchable joy, no, for there was an irony-saturated lesson to be learned.
My future intentions involve purchasing the Nintendo Wii and going to the bathroom every once in a while, and I share those plans with apparently 45,000 people who probably have a Blogger and play as Falco.
A few chums and I had it all set up: leave school on (date at time) and arrive at our nearest Gamestop at the appropriate time. Armed with lawnchairs and cuddly fleece blankets, we colonize the parking lot as we daydream of how awesome Twilight Princess will be and the precise building of our respective Mii's. Maybe we'd even get on TV for being so gosh-darn passionate and cool. Oh, how naviete can make life ideal.
I'm on the computer too much. Often times hours melt by as I accomplish little and tell myself "I shouldn't be doing this; I should be (verb)ing with (noun).) Rarely does the (verb)ing commense, however. Due to this, my email is consistently maintained, despite my accumulating amount of saved messages that really have no effect on life. But if somesome sends me a virtual letter of any sort: I see it.
That wasn't the case this weekend. I somehow avoided the computer for 2.31 days straight and spent quality time with friends and family that I wouldn't trade for a whole lot. However, on Saturday morning, my butt found its home on the stained charcoal office chair (lol nostalgi-ass!!) and I noticed my Hotmail, complete with 80 or so new messages, all of which were unread, by only one was worth viewing.
To be continued...
Can he do that,
Brett...
posted by Warx at 8:11 PM
1 Comments:
U rite gud.
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