For those of you who don’t delve deeply into the Comments section of each and every post I write, it may come as a surprise that I am MOVING. So is my husband. And my cats. And all of our shit. We and our crap are relocating an entire hour away – which is really annoying because it’s just far enough to require wrapping everything you own in at least four layers of protective paper that costs about a dime per sheet, and close enough that you have no excuse for not driving back down to your old place the next day and giving it a really good scrubbing before turning in your keys. Anyway, I’m up to my ears in newsprint, liquor boxes (both the ones I’m using for packing and the ones filled with all the wine I’m downing to get me through this nightmarish process) and clear tape that sticks to itself way better than it does to cardboard. What does this mean? It means I’m wimping out this week, folks. Yeah, I know…I only posted once last week. Wah, wah, wah. I’m a terrible person for not being utterly dedicated to the blogging job that pays me absolutely nothing. So fire me, already.
Okay, now that I’ve got your panties all in a bunch, I’m gonna cool your temper down with the groovy stylings of the most chill, blogging bestie that a girl could ever have. That’s right, I’m reblogging…and I’m doing it Stacie Chadwick style. Oh, yeah. You’ve seen her name scrawled on blogosphere bathroom walls – For A Funny Freaking Time, Call Gemini Girl In A Random World. You’ve read her pithy comments on my site and thought to yourself, “If I could only know two people in this world, one would be Stacie Chadwick and the other would be Big Bird.” You may have even noticed that I sing her praises regularly in my blog, showering her with awards and waxing sentimental about how much I want to move to Denver so that I can share a margarita with a chick as slick as the Chadwickster. And now I have the honor of sharing with you the post that got her Freshly Pressed, earned her the love and devotion of George Clooney of Hollywood, CA (okay, George O’Clooney of Boston, MA) along with gazillions of plain ‘ol regular peeps like you, and caused me to yank out my eyelashes in sheer jealousy because I fully expected to be Freshly Pressed two weeks in a row. I know, we ALL did! I’m sorry for those of you who lost your shirt on that bet. Anyway, without further adieu, may I present the masterful musings of the grooviest Gemini in the stratosphere and her brilliant blog post, How Skate World Changed My Life.
After you read this, you may be tempted to unfollow me and follow Stacie instead. She is prettier, much nicer and is as funny as a one-legged parakeet. Oh, please. One-legged parakeets are hilarious. Anyway, don’t unfollow me, just follow Stacie – after you read all her posts. And change your underwear. What? It’s not my fault you haven’t been doing your Kegel exercises. If it’s too much to read both of our blogs each and every week, it clear what you should do – break up with your significant other. He or she obviously taking up too much of your time. Oh, and despite what the social worker told you, kids don’t really need to be fed three times a day. It’s a myth…just like that made up crap about two hours of sleep not being enough to survive on. So not true. Anyway, reading our blogs will make you giggle, and laughter has been proven to extend your life. As have pets. Think of me as a cuddly tabby curled up in your lap and Stacie as the beautiful chocolate Lab at your feet. No, I’m not saying that Stacie is a dog. Not at all. She’s a total hottie. No, I’m not a lesbian – not that there’s anything wrong with that. Friggin’ troublemakers. Read the goddamned post and shut yer pie holes already.
P.S. I’m sorry this has all run together like one long jibber-jabbery, whining rant without a single paragraph break, but it’s a bizarre formatting thingie – and I don’t deal well with those. I’m a blogger. If you want a formatter…well, crap. I can’t even tell you where to go because I know THAT little about formatting. Damn it!
When I was in middle school, we didn’t text, chat with our classmates on Xbox, or look up cute boys online. We couldn’t. It was the Mesozoic era, and the technology didn’t exist. So what did we do without the huge cornucopia of Apple-inspired abundance at our fingertips?
We hung out. Together. As in, a congregation of people in the same place at the same time talking, laughing, relaxing and having fun.
At first we were just a neighborhood group of 6th graders playing kickball in the cul-de-sac every day after the bus dropped us off from school. We were small. Like, short and super-pasty until we acquired our first sunburns of the season, blistered, peeled, slathered Noxema on our faces, burned again, and painfully prepped our oozing skin for baby oil and the long, tan, sunny days to come.
By the following summer, various groups morphed into an…
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