**gag!**
I think I am going to throw up. Puke. Hurl.
(aren't you glad you decided to visit my blog?)
If I have to write another danged piece of advertisement I think I'm start gagging. Unfortunately I have two more pieces to write before I can call it a day. Then I have to revise them. And turn in another series of them for inspection.
It's all a bunch of bunk.
I wrote an ad for a nursing home the other day. But before writing the ad I decided to get a little info off of the web. I Googled the place expecting to find it's home page, with a peaceful picture and pictures of patients in soft robes watching a mime in one of their "In house entertainments." Instead, I found a national listing of "dangerous" nursing homes. This one was in "code red" (the highest level of danger, because it's "inmates" (that's what they called them!!!! INMATES!!!) were likely to develop bed sores. They were "code yellow" (the middle level of danger) because of the likelihood that the staff would steal the "inmate's" drugs and hock them or use them for themselves.
I proceeded to write a touching ad about how everyone should put their aged parent in this facility.
Never believe everything they say in advertising.
I am here in Bedford, Indiana.
Alone.
No peers or persons in my age group.
It's hot.
I feel fat.
I have a headache and my blood sugar is doing wacky things to my head- making me dizzy and squeamish.
I have dyed my hair for the 16th time- it is STILL strawberry blonde. I give up. I'll never get the cool ash blonde I want.
I'm tired.
I don't like desk jobs.
I want my mom.
I want to go home.
Yes. I just threw a blogging temper tantrum. No, I am not going to handle this in a mature manner. For Pete's sake- I'm going to be twenty in almost 2 weeks. Let me hold on to my remaining childhood! Ugh. I don't want to grow up.
Yes. I am ranting and raving. The problem with the whole thing is that it's not as easy as it used to be. Since my exposure to "choice" language I have had to be careful even in my seemingly unrestrained ravings. Too many tempting, shocking words pop into my head. The other day, while talking on the phone with a friend she delivered a shocking, mind-numbing piece of news and I said, "What the h--- was she thinking!?!?!" Then I apologized. But see- I can't even rant without restraining myself, and that's not very nice.
And then, when I rant I'm all by myself. I really need someone to rant to. Someone who will just sit there and listen. Who won't add their own rantings, try to fix it all, or correct me. That's irritating.
Yes. This is just one big whinge.
But, I'm coming home tomorrow!!!!!!!!!!
And I'll see my wonderful brother, Al, and he will listen to me- just listen. I have yet to find a guy as wonderful as my brother. I'll get a hug from my mother and we'll "girl chat" for hours in a way that has become easier and easier with each passing year. Erika will come running to see me and will give me an enormous hug- we'll bounce on the trampoline, go shopping, and give one another fashion advice. ("Courtney-the-beautiful don't put mascara on your bottom lashes." "Erika-the-gorgeous always press khakis before wearing them, and don't plaster your bangs so.") Trevor will promptly tell me that my skirt is too short, my shirt to low, and that I should try to be a better testimony. He will then throw his arms around me and whisper, "I'm so glad you're home, Sportney." Then he'll start waltzing me around the kitchen, because Baptist though we are, we still love a good swing. Dad will give me a big hug, and I'll smell his Old Spice again. We'll talk about the trip, the roads, the car. He'll ask me if everything is squared away at Purdue for the next semester. I will descend on Amanda at work where we shall both pelt one another with various miscellaneous, random facts from our lives, and proceed to torment little kids and "Mr. Dave" in the pool all afternoon.
I am living for tomorrow.
I will try to stop whining.
I think I need to change my music. Josh Groban is making me dismal- he also brought on today's previous blog, although I can also blame that on my co-worker's boyfriend and the monstrous bouquet he sent her. Argh.
I think I will leave now. I probably won't blog anymore until next week.
Toodles. Maybe I'll see you this weekend!
(aren't you glad you decided to visit my blog?)
If I have to write another danged piece of advertisement I think I'm start gagging. Unfortunately I have two more pieces to write before I can call it a day. Then I have to revise them. And turn in another series of them for inspection.
It's all a bunch of bunk.
I wrote an ad for a nursing home the other day. But before writing the ad I decided to get a little info off of the web. I Googled the place expecting to find it's home page, with a peaceful picture and pictures of patients in soft robes watching a mime in one of their "In house entertainments." Instead, I found a national listing of "dangerous" nursing homes. This one was in "code red" (the highest level of danger, because it's "inmates" (that's what they called them!!!! INMATES!!!) were likely to develop bed sores. They were "code yellow" (the middle level of danger) because of the likelihood that the staff would steal the "inmate's" drugs and hock them or use them for themselves.
I proceeded to write a touching ad about how everyone should put their aged parent in this facility.
Never believe everything they say in advertising.
I am here in Bedford, Indiana.
Alone.
No peers or persons in my age group.
It's hot.
I feel fat.
I have a headache and my blood sugar is doing wacky things to my head- making me dizzy and squeamish.
I have dyed my hair for the 16th time- it is STILL strawberry blonde. I give up. I'll never get the cool ash blonde I want.
I'm tired.
I don't like desk jobs.
I want my mom.
I want to go home.
Yes. I just threw a blogging temper tantrum. No, I am not going to handle this in a mature manner. For Pete's sake- I'm going to be twenty in almost 2 weeks. Let me hold on to my remaining childhood! Ugh. I don't want to grow up.
Yes. I am ranting and raving. The problem with the whole thing is that it's not as easy as it used to be. Since my exposure to "choice" language I have had to be careful even in my seemingly unrestrained ravings. Too many tempting, shocking words pop into my head. The other day, while talking on the phone with a friend she delivered a shocking, mind-numbing piece of news and I said, "What the h--- was she thinking!?!?!" Then I apologized. But see- I can't even rant without restraining myself, and that's not very nice.
And then, when I rant I'm all by myself. I really need someone to rant to. Someone who will just sit there and listen. Who won't add their own rantings, try to fix it all, or correct me. That's irritating.
Yes. This is just one big whinge.
But, I'm coming home tomorrow!!!!!!!!!!
And I'll see my wonderful brother, Al, and he will listen to me- just listen. I have yet to find a guy as wonderful as my brother. I'll get a hug from my mother and we'll "girl chat" for hours in a way that has become easier and easier with each passing year. Erika will come running to see me and will give me an enormous hug- we'll bounce on the trampoline, go shopping, and give one another fashion advice. ("Courtney-the-beautiful don't put mascara on your bottom lashes." "Erika-the-gorgeous always press khakis before wearing them, and don't plaster your bangs so.") Trevor will promptly tell me that my skirt is too short, my shirt to low, and that I should try to be a better testimony. He will then throw his arms around me and whisper, "I'm so glad you're home, Sportney." Then he'll start waltzing me around the kitchen, because Baptist though we are, we still love a good swing. Dad will give me a big hug, and I'll smell his Old Spice again. We'll talk about the trip, the roads, the car. He'll ask me if everything is squared away at Purdue for the next semester. I will descend on Amanda at work where we shall both pelt one another with various miscellaneous, random facts from our lives, and proceed to torment little kids and "Mr. Dave" in the pool all afternoon.
I am living for tomorrow.
I will try to stop whining.
I think I need to change my music. Josh Groban is making me dismal- he also brought on today's previous blog, although I can also blame that on my co-worker's boyfriend and the monstrous bouquet he sent her. Argh.
I think I will leave now. I probably won't blog anymore until next week.
Toodles. Maybe I'll see you this weekend!
posted by COURTNEY at 4:39 PM
3 Comments:
Okay. I wanted to scream reding that about the grandmas in straight jackets. but my roomie was on the phone- no can do. TOO FUNNY.
BTW, you are ALLOWED to rant now and then. if not in real life, you at least have the luxury of ranting in your blog, cause other than sounding intellegent and a real nab, i think you have that right.
--mols
by real nab i meant like a real catch, not a nag. i re-read that and got very concenred.
wow,,, glad you made it home alright.
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