Friday, July 1, 2011
that everyone goes on a balloon ride. Just my luck. You know, it's funny how they always seems to save up those days of blissful perfection for when I am not around. All I am ever privy to is the struggle and the hard-work that gets them the funds to be able to have outings like this one.
But, no matter--I guess I can just take a vacation day or two-go skydiving or something much more exciting than a stupid balloon ride. Or I could just take another personal day, catch up on my soaps. Much better than riding in a balloon with a bunch of assholes.
Tickle your toes. . .
Ah, 7. The number in question. During this process of developing my first full-length work of prose, and a memoir to boot, I have considered...
where are my garden gloves to weed out your evils? where are my rubber gloves to scrub off your stupid? where are my surgical gloves to cut ...