Friday, May 21, 2010


I'm not naturally a nice person.  If I didn't squeeze you out of my body or eat cake with you before I was old enough to know how to use a fork then I probably don't know when your birthday is.  If I do happen to have it written down I'm probably not going to send a card.  I just don't give a crap about birthdays.  I bother to celebrate them for the people I love because there's always a chance they do care but, seriously, your mom and her doctor deserve way more of the credit for your birthday than you do. 

I think there may have been a third day of puberty education when they taught sassy young girls how to become nice young women but I didn't go that day.  Day Two blew my mind.  How on earth do guys get a good night's sleep knowing they have a weapon that could go off at any moment?  It sounded like sleeping with a water balloon to me. Fascinating and terrifying but not nice.

Now that I'm older I'm working on niceness.  I don't want to be June Cleaver creepy nice, I just want to remember to use the word "Please" before "build a bridge and get over it."


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