Yer Grammer Sucks

^Those are intentional mistakes, and if you didn't catch them, just leave. No really. Grab your glasses and leave. 


So I'm a bit of a grammar police officer. (A bit, she says. I'm like Sheriff Grammar).  This is something you should know about me. 


I admit that there are grammar mistakes that make me uncomfortable, but are not upsetting or even relevant to the majority of people. For example, ending  a sentence with a preposition. It's incorrect. It makes me want to hurt someone with tongs.

"Where's the party at?"
JUST STOP AT "PARTY." HONESTLY.

However, even I can acknowledge that it may not be the most crucial aspect of most peoples' (i.e. anyone who is not me) lives.

Then there are other things. And those things are SO wrong, SO horribly incorrect, I have to wonder how you sleep at night.
For example, I'd like to boil (my this is violent. I'm honestly peaceful. I swear. Really. No, really.) whoever started this trend:

Lamp's and Table's by the dozen!


AAAAAAAH, I can't even type it.  Where on EARTH did you get the idea that you needed an apostrophe to pluralize things? I mean, really? Did that come to you in a horrific dream fueled by a potent combination of Valium and Gin and Tonic?  And then you just HAD to put it ON THE PERMANENT SIGN on your BUSINESS ESTABLISHMENT without ANYONE WITH ONE QUARTER OF A BRAIN checking it for you?

I don't understand. Sign companies shouldn't let this happen! They should send it back.
Apostrophes are POSSESSIVE, or they indicate a CONTRACTION. That is all. They do not magically make singular words plural. All you need to do that is an "s."  No, really, that's all.

Alright, world, (and by world, I mean the six of you glancing at this. Did you know that my entire readership audience is from Russia? I knew Russians were cool) join me. Let everyone know that this isn't okay. When they try to use an apostrophe to pluralize something, just stare at them, confused. Then wander away.  Do this every time they talk. They'll get it eventually. I hope.

Freaky Colleges Like to Make Me Cry

Ugh. May as well bite the bullet and tell you I'm applying to college. ("You," she says, as if anyone is reading this.)  Correction: I've applied to college. Boom. Done. In their inboxes, waiting for a little gold star or whatever the hell it is they DO to applications that get in. 


And so far, I've heard nothing. Now, that's not really shocking. I mean, I wasn't expecting to. I applied early decision, and they clearly told me that I would know Mid-December. It is not mid-December. So should I be worried? You'd think not. You'd think. 


Except that for some reason, everyone in MY state has ALREADY BEEN ACCEPTED. EVERYWHERE.  The only thing at school right now is, "I got in! I got a lanyard! My daddy baked me a cake in the school colors!"


RAWR.  I expected this from the On-Site Admissions folks. Those are not the kinds of places I'm applying (HAVE APPLIED. PAST TENSE, NOW GIVE ME A DECISION).  But some of these kids are getting into other places. Like big STATE SCHOOLS.  You know, the ones that middle-aged people gather their friends around to watch football games of while they reminisce about how much they partied while trying not to encourage similar behavior in their children. Those schools.  The big rivalry here-I-am everyone's-uncle-and-his-dog-went-there we-have-specialty-stores-for-their-apparel type places. 


And these, these schools are handing out acceptances like they're Halloween candy! And that early, too!


Ugh. I should have tried to fry smaller fish. That was my problem. Well, in any case, I'm not going to college at this point. Maybe I'll sit home and write a blog no one reads. 


+3 Sad Life Points
(They're like points in a normal game, except instead of winning prizes or glory you win loneliness)

What's Funny Is That You're Reading This

You'd think for someone who can barely keep a diary (and keeps telling herself it's not diary), the "Let's start a blog" train would not leave the station. 

Hmm. There goes that. Well, I'm going to apologize up front, because the only reason I can keep a journal going (It's not a diary. Diaries are for lame people, like Dr. Seward. And sociopaths.) is that I write down every interesting thought I happen to have.  So I suppose that's out. You're stuck with what's left. 

The title? Are you wondering about that?  Yeah, I play the cello (My God, she's an orch dork, everyone run) and the conductor was conducting, right? (Shocker)  Someone asked him about a particular measure, and he squinted at his score, and said, "Hold on. This is a glasses moment."  

Voila. 

So here's how this is going to go down. I'm probably going to ramble incessantly about things that are on my mind, and you're not going to read it...yup. 

I'm loving it already. I know you are. 

Let's start by complaining. People love that, right? Listening to other people whine? America's second-favorite pastime? 

Okay. This one's from all the tall people in the world. And by "tall people," I mean anyone with legs longer than the average baseball bat. 

DEAR EVERYONE: 

STOP RECLINING YOUR GODDAMN AIRPLANE SEATS. YOU CANNOT BE THAT MUCH MORE COMFORTABLE, AND THE PERSON BEHIND YOU (me) WANTS TO RIP OUT YOUR INTESTINES WITH A FORKLIFT EVERY TIME YOU DO. 

Love, Tall People

Alright, well, I think that will suffice as a good first impression, eh?  Yeah. Yeah, that'll do.