People like to write more than they like to read.

Study after study shows that people don't read the internet.

People skim the internet.

Yet most internet writers fill the web with long prose that go one forever.
Tedious, never-ending sentences. Pointless chatter in thick paragraphs. Incomprehensible marketing speak on every mouseover.

Blah.

People can't thoroughly read the internet. They just can't.

Because computer screens emit light. Reading your long-ass blog about your trip to the grocery store is like asking someone to read a grocery list burnt into the sun.

Ouch.

Words are different in print. You write a book, people are going to take the time to read it. Because paper doesn't glow and cause nearsightedness.

But you write some ceaseless diatribe* about how your boyfriend is an ass and your friends suck. And you have no consideration for the people reading (if they do read). The end is never in sight and your whining gets worse and worse.

Seriously, would you read that crap if someone else wrote it?

Or you're an advertiser who waxes poetic about your new product for pages and pages. Meanwhile, the user just wants to know what your keyboards look like up close.

I suppose people just like the sound of their own voices, even if they're in type.


*I've always wanted to use the word diatribe!

Batman, you're killing me.

Hello again, my love. It's been a long time.

I forgive you for not calling or writing or sneaking into my bedroom window. You're busy fighting the Joker. I get it. That's why I've been patient.

But that should all be over soon. Sometime around, hmm, July 18th I believe.

Something tells me, though, that it'll never end. There will always be some new villain lurking in the shadows.

Some other villain that warrants all of your attention.

Some criminal that's more important than me.

I miss you, Batman. Come home to me?

Sure, we've never actually dated. Or even met, but that doesn't matter! Love knows not physical limitations. If not having a physical relationship is a problem, I can get real physical real quick if you catch my drift.

Just give me a chance, oh Dark Knight.

Is it because you need to save someone? Because I can play the damsel in distress! I've got a pair of handcuffs right here. I'll just affix them to the bed right here and ...

I guess I'd better not give away too much.

I'll be waiting for you to save me, my evening warrior.

Until later,
Veronica XOXOXO

April showers bring May powers. Part 5

Alice stood on her back patio and drank her morning cup of coffee. The skies looked crystal clear, not a cloud in site.

She went back inside and checked the weather channel one last time. The week's forecast was perfect. Nothing but sunny skies, warmth and most importantly complete and total dryness.

"Lisa," she called to her daughter, "time to eat breakfast." The young girl came running around the corner, doll in tow, and she plopped down in her designated dining room chair.

"Cereal today?" she asked her mother.

"Cereal it is!" Alice confirmed. "You know what? Let's eat outside this morning!"

So they did.

"It's the sun's fault" Part 2

Sometime between the hours of five and six o'clock A.M. Eastern time, the dawn came.

The sky went from an inky purple to a rich orange. The Sun was making his way around the globe just like he did every morning.

He loved traveling over the oceans best. This particular morning, he was greeted by a team of dolphins.

As he approached the east coast of North America, he heard a shout.

"Mr. Sun!" a young man on a bike shouted. "Mr. Sun, I need to serve you!"

This was odd. Most people didn't directly address the Sun. Curious, he sent out his essence in glowing, human form to the Earth.

The Sun softly landed upon the gravel of a parking lot. The young man shielded his eyes with his arm and approached the bright figure before him.

"These are for you," he said as he handed over a sealed envelope. "Consider yourself served."

The young man hopped on his bike and rolled off.

The Sun, now extremely curious for he had never been given typed letters before (long gone were the days of sacrificing things in the name of Apollo), read the papers with confusion.

"I'm being taken to court," he wondered aloud, "for causing skin damage, mental anguish and for wreckless environmental endangerment?"

The Sun plopped down on the ground and crossed his legs. "What in the hell is wrong with these people?"

As he stared off into the distance, a watery humanoid emerged from the nearby ocean. The Sea had witnessed the odd interaction and wanted to talk to his friend.

"Is that what I think it is?" asked the Sea. "Is some human trying to take you to mortal court?"

"Bizarre, isn't it?"

"How is it even possible?" The Sea took the paper from the Sun and skimmed it with his eyes. He looked up and stared blankly at his glowing buddy.

About fifty feet from the duo, a whirlwind occurred and a womanly figure made of moving dust particles and debris stepped out. The Wind approached.

"These humans get dumber and dumber every century," she inferred.

"This is truly terrible," said another figure of dirt, Mother Earth. "They're stupid enough to wipe out existence as we know it."

The Sun looked around at his fellow Elements. "What am I going to do."

They all stood silently for a moment. Then the wind whispered as she blew away, "Get a lawyer."

The DSL is up and running!

Speaking of running, check out a good cause: Out For Blood

My friend Karin is killing her body to raise money for blood cancer awareness, education, and prevention. Show her some love in the financial sense.

This stuff affects your life and you don't even realize it.

R.I.P. Stanley.

Where is my internet service?

I had a doctor's appointment, an MRI, another doctor's appoint, a surgical procedure and a followup in a shorter amount of time than it took to get DSL.

And I STILL DON'T HAVE OPERATING DSL. Naturally, I'm a little pissed.

So I'm venting the way I vent best. In haiku.


How is your service?
DSL can kiss my ass.
Suck it long and hard.


Stop asking questions.
I have told you everything.
Just. Fix. The. Problem.


Their internet works.
Am I in the Twilight Zone?
Monsters on Maple?


You provide one thing.
And you can't even do that.
How are you open?

If it were legal.
I would blow up your HQ.
And dance on ashes.

Suck my biggest toe.
After I run a few miles.
Cause my knee is fixed.

Did I say that I had Internet at home?

Apparently I was misinformed.

Four times.

Avoid ATT DSL if you can. It's really not worth the wires it runs through.

Nouning is really fun.

"Let's party."

A pretty common phrase, right? You've probably said it yourself a few times, or at least tried some variation of it.

Face it. "Party" is no longer just a noun. It's a verb now. And quite the verb, actually.

I party. You party. He/she/it parties. We party. They party.

Let's go partying.

Last night, my friends and I partied.

Any English language snob would turn up his nose (or perhaps vomit with disgust) and declare that using "party" as a verb is a complete tragedy. That English as we know it is being bastardized and soon we'll all be speaking monosyllabically to one another in caves.

I wish I had a more intelligent response. But I'm too busy blogging*.

Think about it. The beauty of language is that it's constantly evolving. After all, we don't all speak ye olde English on a dialy basis, do we? That stuff died a soldier's death long ago.

I saw tweak the lexicon. Create new words. And stretch definitions as far as they can stretch.

Within reason, of course. We don't all want to sound like yokels.

* Oh! 'Dis!

Let's blog in under a minute!

Holy crap, I'm so excited.

I finally finally FINALLY have internet at my humble abode.

So I can blog again right before bed.

That's when I prefer to write. It's my high-time, if you will.

Not "high" as in on drugs, but "high" as in "super-awesome."

Be prepared, my loves, for the Queen is back.

Walking hurts.

Walking hurts.

Walking shouldn't hurt.

Walking should be easy by now.

After getting cut up, sewn up, worked out, walking should be a cinch.

And it isn't.

My doctor wants to see me on Thursday.

He's going to tell me why walking hurts.

And how much more cutting up, sewing up, and working out will make walking normal.

And until then, I'm not okay.

How old are we?

Had lunch with my coworkers today.

It was a pretty typical lunch. Eight of us. Four pizzas (thin crust). Two cars. Nothing out of the ordinary.

My group left first. The other group had cigarettes before heading back. As my car drove past, someone commented, "They're busy talking to the owner."

Didn't think anything of it.

Got back to the office and was getting settled when I hear, "Yeah, she's here."

My boss and two other male coworkers enter. They hand me a business card. "The owner said to give this to you."

What?

"Are you serious?" I asked.

I took the card and saw a name, a phone number, and the following message:
If you don't have a boyfriend... Call me?

"Are you fucking with me?" I asked.

They started laughing. "Seriously, guys, are you making this up?"

They weren't. And they thought it was the funniest thing in the world.

Apparently, Mr. Restaurant Owner asked the group if I had a boyfriend. My boss wanted to answer, "Well, she has a daddy." Mr. Restaurant Owner is a little older than me. And by little, I'm thinking twenty years.

Not that a twenty-years difference is a problem. The fact that I'm in a relationship, though, is.

And the fact that he sort of passed a note. If only he'd included a check yes/no option.

Okay, not really.

All in all, I'm flattered. But now I've get to endure the teasings of my male counterparts for the next month. Or at least until something else exciting happens around here.


UPDATE: Is it Hit-On-Veronica day? Some dude just asked me out on a date using Facebook. I suspect my coworkers may be behind this. Or at least I hope so.

I want my sucker!

I fondly remember the days when I was rewarded for going to the doctor.

I'd get a Safe-T Pop. Or perhaps a few stickers.

Usually I had to get stuck with some dull needle and injected with stuff that gave me a fever in order to collect my sticky reward.

Those days are long gone.

Today, I got injected with some crazy, medicinal cocktail that made my ligaments look like white paint on an X-ray. This injection lasted for a continuous five minutes.

That's right. Non-stop injection for five whole minutes. In my joint, no less. (And I can barely walk, too.)

And they bandaged me up with some cotton ball and a piece of tape.

Come on! Really? At least give me a Snoopy band aid.

"It's the sun's fault!" Part 1

From a very young age, Jason's mother had slathered sunscreen onto his tiny face.

When he was a teenager, the girls would offer him a tube of SPF 30 while swimming or hanging out outside.

As he got older, he'd read in magazines and see on the news that direct, prolonged exposure to the sun could cause severe damage. Even Jason's doctor warned him that someone with light skin needed to be cautious.

But Jason just chose not to listen.

He was invited to a lake party one day. He donned his swimming trunks and a smile. And that's it. As his peers greased up, he opted out, bragging that he "didn't need that sissy shit."

Hours went by. The sun's rays beamed down on the party-goers. It penetrated their epidermis and darkened their skin.

And burned Jason's.

The next day, he awoke with a sunburn so severe, he could barely get out of bed. He took a cooling shower. He bought the drug store's entire inventory of aloe lotion. And he drank enough water to fill a large fish tank.

Jason felt he had been victimized. He was fully aware that sunburn could happen, he just never really thought that it could be so bad.

So after careful contemplation, he did what any red-blooded U.S. citizen would do.

Jason called up a lawyer.

And he sued the sun.