Dear Common App

Merry Christmas. Or whatever.

O Common App, O Common App

How lengthy are your pages!

O Common App, O Common App

Completing you takes ages!

Parents, jobs, ethnicities,

And after school activities!

O Common App, O Common App

How lengthy are your pages!

O Common App, O Common App

You want to know my test score!

O Common App, O Common App

Now, for sure, I’m done for!

I tried to take the SAT,

But all of them, I bubbled “C”!

O Common App, O Common App

You want to know my test score!

O Common App, O Common App

Application's due today!

O Common App, O Common App

My grades and recs and essay!

I will check the mail each day

Rejection's just a blink away

O Common App, O Common App

Application's due today!

Dear Stress

We've been through this so many times and we've had so many disagreements that I think it's time we discuss our relationship in the open. I don't think this is working out.

At the beginning, it was nice. Being with you made me feel mature. You and I just clicked, especially when I started taking Honors classes. It made sense for us to be together. Talking with you (but more often about you) to my friends seemed natural, even if I claimed to see you more often than I actually did. Being "stressed" was cool, and I felt cool about it. Somehow, the distance worked out.

But then you started coming around more often. You kept getting into my face. Things escalated when I started taking AP classes. Those late nights of homework when you came and hung out deprived me of sleep. Even without the homework, you and your pal Insomnia played Halo until dawn. You're around me constantly. It makes me unhappy. When you're near me, I break out with acne craters and pimple volcanoes. And during my monthly "episodes", your presence is unbearable. I'm always complaining about you to my family and friends. Even they're tired of it. I bought a little rubber ball to squeeze, because of you.

I've been unhappy for a while, Stress. It isn't you; it's me. I don't know how to deal with you. In fact, I spend most of my time trying to relieve myself...of you. I think it's best if we start seeing other people. Well, you already have, being with every other person in our grade (literally). Anyway, I found a new man. His name is Motivation and he has a Ferrari. So, bye, I guess.

Stress-free,

Your ex

P.S. Tell your creepy friend, Senioritis to stay away from me. He tried to pet my hair yesterday.

Dear Infomercials

Tired of being ignored? Sick of taking up valuable air time? Are your ads just being made fun of instead of being effective?

Introducing a new informercial cure-all! A regular commercial!

See, the problem is you're not fooling anyone. Having 30 minutes of advertising does not make your product any more legitimate than a 45 second clip. And pretending to be a cooking show or fashion talk show or a documentary it's pretty blaringly obvious that your substance is more sparse than a 10 second Chuck-E-Cheese spot. Our attention spans aren't quite what they used to be, so just give us the goods and get out. Remember: if we liked long commercials, we would've loved all the shameless product placement in Transformers. Hey, wait...

Now, I know 30 minutes at the dead of night might be a little cheaper than 20 seconds during prime time. Heck, you could probably run your commercial twenty times on a cable channel if you wanted. But it's kind of like buying things at Costco. Just becuase soap comes in forty packs doesn't mean you should buy it, because it may end up being the smelly, gritty, odd soap that no one likes and you might be stuck using it for five years, because you're too cheap to buy nice soap. And forget about trying to catch late-night viewers with a thirty-minute ad, because they probably don't value your programming quite as much as early morning cartoons or daytime soap operas. They might not even remember your revolutionary new way of cooking steaks, or your customer testimonies might put them back to sleep.

I'm pretty sure you could save money- money that could go into the advertising division, the people who answer phones, a new coffee machine, or MAKING YOUR PRODUCT USEFUL. Maybe selling them would be easier if they worked well? If they did what they were advertised to do? If you hired better actors to pretend they liked the product? You know what, forget about improving the product. If you're going to make commercials make them awesome-superbowl awesome. Two minutes of pure action or comedy or drama would really spice up late-night television between reruns of Transformers Animated. Take a hint from State Farm insurance. They had really serious commercials about how car crashes kill children on playgrounds and that scary man would ask "ARE YOU IN GOOD HANDS?????" and then they toned down the commercials and show montages of family barbecues and game nights and the scary man would smile and ask "ARE YOU IN GOOD HANDS???". This is the opposite of what you should do.

Starting with the cheesy, happy commercials, turn it into a die-hard horror clip. Like improperly cooked meat choking the unsuspecting suburban family and poisoning Fido! Or how about juice spills that trigger ghostly attacks and supernatural horrors! Then have a scary man ask "DO YOU HAVE SHAMWOW???". That would definitely wake up the insomniac watching "paid programming". Maybe enough to pick up a telephone within the next five minutes to get the other cheap side-along knock-off for free.

I'm not satisfied with my commercials and I'm always looking for ways to make them more palatable at all hours of the night. In short, I am open for an after-school job as an advertising exec whenever you need me.

Dear Santa Claus

Hey, so I'm somewhat on the fence here. I can't decide if I should believe in you or not. It's a little early to be sending you a letter, but I need to know whether I should even be asking you for gifts anymore.

I'm considered too old to believe in you. When Christmas rolls around, my eyes sparkle and I inhale the holiday spirit. Suddenly, I'm filled with all the joy of life and love and I list all the things I love about Christmas. "The decorations, the shopping, the dinners, the presents...and Santa!" Then, I get strange looks from my parents and whoever else is nearby, even my little brother. "Aren't you a little too old to believe in Santa?" Is there a cutoff age I'm not aware of? Is there a certain age when you stop believing in something? Will I randomly not believe that wearing my pajamas inside out will cause it to snow the next day?

Plus, it doesn't make sense for me to stop believing in you if nothing has proven otherwise. Every Christmas morning, I get up at 4:00, slip out of my room, and hurdle downstairs to check my stocking. Every year, I find a sleigh's worth of gifts stacked beneath the tree and a sackful of goodies spilling out of my embroidered personalized stocking. Did these gifts materialize out of thin air? No! Of course not! They were brought by a fat jolly red-suited man who silently landed on my roof with a vehicle pulled by flying reindeer, slid down my unused chimney, ate some food we left out for him, and dropped off presents wrapped in my parent's wrapping paper with our names written on them with my mom's handwriting. Perfectly logical. This has happened at every single house I've lived in, even the apartment without a fireplace. Santa's even been considerate enough to frame my Pirates of the Caribbean poster. He's brought me awesome video games, fashionable clothes, and even a digital camera! He's consistent and punctual, so why should I stop believing?

And if I do stop believing there is a punishment: No gifts. I don't think I should risk waking up Christmas morning to a measly two or three presents from my family. Ugh. My stocking will sag without being stuffed to the brim. I might be able to see the trunk of our fake Christmas tree unobscured by presents. I'm afraid of waking up to a living room as empty as the midnight party for the next Twilight book. And I mean empty as in, devoid of sane people. I can't not believe and take that risk. Besides, my little brother would never let me live it down.

In conclusion, Santa Claus, I intend to keep believing in you, whether that means I am taking away gifts from younger, more deserving children or I am merely exercising my first amendment right to believe in an elderly man who lives in the North Pole recruiting elves to make next year's Christmas goodies. In fact, I defy my parents and their mysteriously light wallets to stop me from sending you a letter. Oh! But this one doesn't count. I'll probably pass the character limit if I start my list now. Speaking of which, I've been very well-behaved this year (no felonies!), so I hope you'll remember to put me on your list and leave the coal at home.

Dear Significant Other

Please tell me we haven't met yet, because, if we have, then I'm disappointed.

You see, significant other, I have very high expectations for falling in love. These standards have only gotten worse over time. In order for you to better suit my needs (though you're already perfect, sweetie!), let me explain my warped perception of romance.

Disney is your first enemy. Prince Charming is a name and a literal description. The animated Adonis graced my television screen and won my heart. This happened often with men such as Prince Philip, Prince Eric, the Beast, Captain John Smith, Aladdin and Captain Shang. While royalty or a topless scene was a plus, it was their utmost devotion, unflappable hair, and ability to sing that made me fall head over Hello Kitty sandals. For my love story, I imagined a chance encounter, a princess gown, a cartoon animal sidekick, as well as some sort of enemy with sinister eyebrows. All this would be choreographed and set to music. Also, I would be able to sing and dance and run in heels. Disney set me up for a lifetime of disappointment.

Meaning even after I am dead, I will still feel the sting of shattered dreams. The next enemy to your success is books. Stephen Colbert warned me of their evil intelligence-inducing powers, and I am sorry I didn't listen sooner. Books provided a music-less version of Disney romance with a sprinkle of realism that just couldn't be achieved with 2D romances. Ella Enchanted, for instance, taught me that girls with unfortunate circumstances could marry royalty through a series of convenient coincidences. In Harry Potter, your boyfriend should carry around a short stick that can kill people with green flames. And the most deadly of all, Twilight, changed the way girls thought about boys. I'm not saying you'll have to compete with Edward's lack of common sense or Jacob's infantile passions. But I might seem a little disappointed when you don't sparkle in sunlight or if you can't change into a wolf and simultaneously strip naked. I never quite found interest in more serious romance novels (THE NOTEBOOK), but I'm sure it will also raise my expectations into the upper atmosphere once I get around to reading it. Which, at this rate, should be quite soon for a hopeless romantic like myself.

Manga and anime have also preemptively struck our significant other-ness, but because they are so similar to books and movies, I'll not go into detail. Plus, too many of them involve preteen love-making which is a major turn-off for me.

To ruin our relationship even further, I have also seen plenty of chick flicks. These are a very dangerous poison, because they involve live action fantastic love stories with scrumptious actors. Sure there are plenty of bad ones, but there are twice as many good ones. I have been intoxicated by the story of an intelligent, unique girl who falls for the nerdy, yet surprisingly sexy guy. I have been brainwashed by the awkward situations that blossom into fairy-tale weddings or very very significant high-school dances. I'm not even waltzing into the avenues of chick-flicks that I like! Regardless of the plot line, handsome male actor, or percentage of ethnic characters, each chick-flick has the same theme: Impossibly handsome guy and impossbily gorgeous girl impossibly fall in love. But usually I miss the word "impossible".

When I meet/bump-into/accidently kiss you, I hope the moment is so wonderful that I forget everything I think/thought I ever knew about love. Our relationship will survive my ridiculous hopes for love. You are an outstanding guy that makes me forget about princes, vampires, and Ryan Reynolds. As my significant other, you cannot help but sweep me off my feet. Right?

Dear Essay

Please stop making me feel dumb.

I know how to write. I learned my grammar, my spelling, my rhetorical devices, and even my vocabulary (although my vocabulary could be easily learned by any fourth grader). I even know that it is not correct to use contractions in formal writing, and I also know that "utilize" is overly pretentious and pedantic, though not quite as overly pretentious as "pedantic". I do not use obscenities, nor do I talk about crude topics. I also know that passive sentences ruin an essay, and an essay is improved by active voice.

What I do not know is what to write about. The advice I find says to write in my own voice, expressing my own ideas. But the problem is that I do not care much for my voice. I am not a big fan of what I have to say. Of course, I do not have much to go on, since I do not write much. But I do not have much confidence in using my own voice. I can not trust what it might do. For example, my voice might rant about how unfair it is that untalented teenagers can be pop idols while the talented ones are forced to blog about their miserable existences. Or it might lecture about how nice shiny objects are.

I like other people's voices. They are more articulate and predictable. I can trust them to state their ideas eloquently, yet concisely. They have impeccable diction and a unique perspective to share. I know enough about my voice to classify it as boring and uninteresting and unoriginal. I am like the first half of a friendship. I can establish common ground and prove myself to be normal (as opposed to a lunatic or maniac). But the other voices are like the second half: sharing interesting bits of themselves and creating a dynamic relationship. And then there is the mathematically incorrect third half when the friendship transforms into knowing the other person better than yourself to the point where even telepathy seems too predictable. I am not sure where this is going, but that is really what my voice sounds like.

But let us pretend I was to write you in my own voice. My voice tends to complain, rather than praise. So I will pick an appropriate topic, for example, "The Noise when a Plate is Scraped by a Fork". Ah, wait. That is passive. The topic shall be "The Noise when a Fork Scrapes a Plate". Better. Now I need to decide what I want to say about this topic. "The Noise when a Fork Scrapes a Plate" is annoying, frustrating, torturous, futile, abominable, and very very loud at awkward dinner gatherings that are already quite unpleasant. Now, I might continue the essay, but probably not. My voice will most likely decide to complain about the essay to friends, family, and the unlucky stranger for a few days before continuing to write. Then, in a midnight second wind, the essay will be hastily finished with numerous typos, a pathetic conclusion, and a sense of despair. The essay will be an elaboration on the theme "The Noise when a Fork Scrapes a Plate Displeases Me" with little significance or meaning to anyone. Although I do believe that many people would sympathize with it and send me packets of plastic forks to ease the pain.

Please help me help you. I know you want to be written and sent off to fancy journals, colleges, and teachers's desks. But I really can't do that if you make me complain before I write. The only solution I can think of is writing about complaints. So that's all I'll do, until someone or something teaches me otherwise. Complaining blogger, out.

Dear Online Gamers

I'm singling you out of the plethora of creepy Internet peeps, because I spend the most time with you all. Of all species of strange beings, I have studied you most carefully. I have acclimatized myself to your bizarre habitats and partaken in your rituals and customs.

So, my main concern with your existence is your lack of social skills. While the online gaming may be a symptom of an inability to socialize in real life, it still doesn't explain a corresponding inability to communicate in virtual life. It's frustrating that even though I can't see or hear you, you all often come across as being...socially untactful. It could just be one word or phrase that makes a normal conversation into something awkward. Here's an example from any MMORPG (massively multiplayer online role-playing game). [Quick Question: Should I be ashamed that I know that acronym?]

WinkThief: Hi. Trade iron axe for mace?

DRAGONxxSlayerxxBallinxxPwn: Wanna b gf/bf?

WinkThief: No. Mace please?

DRAGONxxSlayerxxBallinxxPwn: Plz be my gf?

WinkThief: So no trade, then?

DRAGONxxSlayerxxBallinxxPwn: Plz, u supah smexiii. 8D

WinkThief was unable to receive your chat.

WinkThief has logged off.

There are obvious problems with this conversation, but they might be invisible to you all. Let me illuminate the mistakes. First of all, address the trade. People playing online games are out there to use everyone else for their own means. Such activites include unfair trading, hacking, and starting relationships with desperate sad sacks to get money and rare items and one super sad sack of a slave. Second, keep in mind that meeting a fictional representation of another person does not entitle you to guess their actual gender or sexuality. It might be offensive to be asking "WinkThief" to be your girlfriend if "she" is into girls or "she" is actual a "he" or "she" could not give a flying firetruck about your emotional needs. Third, the use of "supah smexii" is absolutely unacceptable in any gaming conversation. That's just tacky, noob.

You might say, "Well, I never do that! I'm a nice gamer." Don't worry. You annoy me in other ways. Also, nice gamers shouldn't be reading this.

WinkThief: Hi. Join party?

DRAGONxxSlayerxxBallinxxPwn: %#@& u noob.

WinkThief: A simple "no" would've been fine.

DRAGONxxSlayerxxBallinxxPwn: Whatev u gay.

WinkThief: I'm not gay. Why, are you?

DRAGONxxSlayerxxBallinxxPwn: n00b u so gay

WinkThief: *sigh*

WinkThief has moved to channel 12.

Amazingly, it seems that most online gamers condemn homosexuality and connect it with low-level players. It's not fair to us straight people when it appears you only want to chat with people who are gay. But if you have confused "gay" with some sort of insult, please go check out a darn DICTIONARY. Also, their diction is lopsided, weighing more heavily on monosybyllic slang and obscenities. Please stop using such n00b vocabulary. Go back and check out that darn DICTIONARY again.

Have some social skills and learn to communicate properly. You don't have to use complete sentences or even complete words. You can even keep those creative methods of swearing; it's kind of fun watching people trying to get around moderated chatting. The whole point of "role-playing" is being something other than your usual selves, and I find it hard to believe that an articulate, well-adjusted person would choose to be inarticulate and awkward in a virtual game. I don't think I'm asking too much of you...just maybe +5 intelligence or so.

Dear Test Writers

Hey, there's something very important missing from your tests. Well, besides intelligible questions, sensible answers, and grammatically correct directions, your tests also lack a customer survey. I would love to see a little questionnaire at the end of every exam, just to see what us test-takers liked and disliked, so maybe there could be some improvement. Your labors are still impressive; nobody could ever guess the crazy nonsense you people write. But maybe if you had some feedback you could make your work even better...for both of us.

You could ask us to rate your test on a scale from Hot to Not. Or we could grade your test with the same scale you grade us ("Hey, you might've given me a C minus, but I gave you a big fat FAIL!"). We could leave a few constructive comments. Or we could just enter one for a chance to win an answer key to next year's exams.

Okay, I'm just going to come out and say it. The tests so far really BLOW.

No, I'm not talking about the ones I bombed or the ones that I aced. I'm talking about all of them collectively. Sure, test-taking is a purely negative experience, but those multiple-choice monsters you churn out surely don't brighten my day. Every test has a makeup of 15 % stupid questions, 60% hard questions, 20% trick questions, 4% mystery questions, and 1% dumb questions about percentages. In fact, I would give you everything out of my pockets if you found a test that was clear and reasonable. Of course, I have no pockets, so tough tidy whities. Also, your tests all give terrible impressions. Instead of telling someone how I think I did, I usually have to aim for the mid-lower spectrum answer, just to be in the ballpark. Or I have to say the opposite of what I feel. An, "okay, I guess" is my usual answer, unless your test was easy, in which case I would go with, "not a prayer."

Do you even proofread these? It's always the first time I've read these exams, and I can pick out three or four commonly confused diction or missing punctuation ones. My favorites are the misspelled conjunctions with the double last letter like "but" or "as". I especially like the confusing multiple choice answers when there are three choice A's. If a test-taker is really lucky, you'll give them a question with the answer...in the question. It was very un-thoughtful of you.

I'm sure it's a difficult job and I should be grateful that you (try to) give us students an opportunity to show off our knowledge, but, for goodness's sake, you might as well take us out underage drinking . You certainly don't show off our good sides, and we get major headaches afterwards. Making up test questions isn't fun, but if you'd give us a call we'd be glad to help. That's why the little surveys would be great! Instead of asking us what ethnicity we are or what languages we speak at home, wouldn't it be better to get some help with the exams? We'd be happy to write questions for you and we'll stop calling you racists. Plus, then we can't complain afterwards, right?

I just want to make one little itty-bitty minuscule suggestion: MAKE BETTER TESTS. Ask about stuff we know (or should know) and ask it in a way that makes sense to actual people. Even if it sounds good in your head, you should run it by...one of us. Just in case.

Dear Preteen Couples

Puh-leaze. Barely double digits and dating already? Gimme a break.

Uh, wait. Please don't cry. Aw. C'mon. Just...here, take this candy. And here's some Pokemon cards. Can I buy you some ice cream? Calm down, okay? I'm sorry.

But, really, do you even have hormones yet? Hormones are chemicals that are excreted from the pituitary glands in your head that cause puberty to occur. Puberty is as fun as turning into a werewolf, without the vampires or emo romances. Also, you are bombarded by the desire to procreate.

Yes, children, carnal desires are part of what drive relationships. This is why I recommend not getting ahead of yourselves. I will not delve futher into this subject.

Anyway, for a preteen, I don't think it is appropriate to start thinking about...a serious relationship. What's that? It's when you say "I love you" (and not in the way you love Hollister or lip gloss). It's when just being together is enough, no pricey date needed. It's when you love a person no matter how crazy their hair is in the morning or how weird their laugh is. Unfortunately, I've had to imagine what this is like, since I only know what I've seen in chick flicks.

And believe me. If you date someone in fourth grade, it's gonna come back and bite you in the caboodle in a few years. I'm sorry, but there's really no way around other kiddies talking and spreading rumors. Especially if you do something like hook up-Excuse me...I just vomited a little in my mouth.

You might say, "You are such a loser! You are so trying to be my mom. We really like each other! You're just jealous because your single!".

Au contraire, I'm not the one with cooties (remember to get vaccinated, kiddo!). Sure, my maternal instincts might be acting up, but I have no right to ground you or physically prevent you from going out on a date. Plus, if I am trying to be a mom, I wouldn't waste time picking on preteens. Also, I can understand "really liking" each other, but, I'm sorry, YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS until after puberty. What you might feel as heart flutters and perspiration will become cardiac arrest and wetter, smellier perspiration. Not to mention the new set of nether regions you'll be receiving. And, hey, maybe I am jealous that I'm single. But I'm not jealous to be completely unattached when it actually starts to matter. Like when guys are finally aware what real dating is- NOT a fun evening at Chuck E. Cheese. NOT picking up bugs on the sidewalk. NOT having a Yu-Gi-Oh duel...(although that might just be me; who can fight with a deck of monsters you can't summon???).

I should clarify: the part that grosses me out the most is the physical canoodling. I mean, as long as no PDA is involved (which annoys me with people my own age and adults, too), I can dig it. Because there is nothing more unromantic than a couple of eleven-year-olds acting out "The Notebook" (or for the more adventurous, "Spiderman"). Wait, actually there is something- "Lady and the Tramp". Sharing spit over a wet noodle is not as pretty as Disney imagined. And for my sake, keep it above the belt. If you don't know what I am talking about, please try to stay that way, at least until you get to a higher level of "health/family life education". You have no idea how awkward those videos can get...

But if you really want to eat ice cream together, I won't stop you. In fact, it's kind of cute when you two laugh together and hold doors open for each other. I can't deny that sharing CDs or watching movies together isn't fun. Even a walk in the park can be adorable. So , maybe if you're really crafty and say "we're friends" and avoid the word "couple", you might just be able to sneak around this gullible ol'teenager after all.

Preteen couples, keep liking each other and being in relationships...but follow that olden rule from preschool. "Keep your hands to yourselves."

Dear Haters

I am very glad. I am very glad to know that people are aware of the second amendment. Because no right is more important than arming yourself with a crippling canon of insecurity, an insensitive arsenal of poor vocabulary, and a grenade of gripes.

Maybe I was a bit too harsh, but surely one of you can point that out to me. You might also point out that the second amendment is all about arming bears, so what the hell am I talking about. You might be tempted to tell me that in the previous sentence a question mark may be more appropriate. You might tell me that I am a huge loser who isn't worth a piece of your fecal matter.

So, I want to thank you for your honesty and your tenacity. After all, it must be difficult to sit at your computer making crass comments about someone else's life when you don't have to say it to their face. But hey, someone's gotta do it. And why not you? You seem to know much more about what I'm doing than me, who is actually doing it. And once I get past the cuss words, poor grammar, and atrocious spelling, I can really understand your sincere advice and understanding. Everything that's wrong with me, wrong with my world, and wrong with whatever I do become as clear as your judgment through a computer screen. Especially the way you said that I wasted your five minutes. How could I manipulate your life like that?! Good thing you left a comment saying so.

Don't be discouraged by those people who think you are shallow and mean. They might accuse you of being overly critical and more heartless than a jellyfish or a Kanye West song. Don't let it get to you, because then you might start having "human felines" or "emoticons" or whatever. They don't deserve to talk to you like that; they don't even know you! Those imbeciles! Just give them the cold shoulder. Ignore them. But make sure you leave a few more comments so they know you're ignoring them. And leave one more stating your initial argument, in case they forget to scroll down. Oh, and call them a few names, so they know you're still addressing them.

But maybe, if you start to imagine that you are hurting someone, a real person, you might not leave "honest and insightful" comments like you usually do. If you imagine talking to a real person who has eagerly tried to share some part of their life with you, you might have seconds thoughts about calling them useless. I'm sure that person has a sense of pride. I'm sure that person could think that you are being sincere. I'm sure that person could be deeply hurt. But you might not have that kind of imagination, so I probably sound pretty useless right now. Sorry for disappointing you...again.

As long as you're here to give us a dollop of sour, haters, I'm powerless to stop you. All I can do is hope that one day you'll find something nice to comment on and that you'll comment nicely. But until then, keep being the Human Torches of the Internet. Flame on.

Dear College Admissions

THIS IS NOT AN ESSAY. But if you'll be so kind, please keep reading. It's late July and college applications are far from my mind. Well, that's a lie. I've been thinking about them every waking moment, but...not so much about starting them. Sure, I'll put down my name and address (because that's all you'll need to send my acceptance letter), but I'm not ready to tell you much more.

But I'm supposed to tell you what ME thinks about ME, right? I think that's the hardest part.

I could give you a description of myself, but that might not help much except if I were an athlete with rippling muscles or a person who has survived physical hardship or a very lucky person who was born with some useful extra arms. (This is no joke; I think extra arms would be very practical. Ice cream, piano, and texting all at once? Yes, please!) Plus, you might already know some of it...the government wants to know my ethnicity right? I hope filling in all the bubbles gave them a pretty clear idea. Might as well cover all the bases, just in case.

Oh, not a physical description? I knew that was too easy.

I could tell you something significant that happened to me. I've only bought one lottery ticket my entire life, but I didn't win, so I refused to buy any more. I ate at McDonald's AFTER seeing"Supersize Me" and was unfazed...until I remembered seeing that documentary. I accidentally got a Facebook: a testament to my computer savviness. I got on the wrong bus once, and I ended up riding around for a very comfortable air-conditioned hour. I cried when I saw "The Adventures of Elmo in Grouchland".

Let me clarify: those were significant to ME. So, um, if you don't like 'em...tough trousers.

I could tell you about someone who made a difference in my life and why. It involves quite a few people. Well, actually there are two people. One is a man and the other is a woman. Oh, and there was a bird.

Since the man and woman loved each other very much, an angel paged a stork. The stork said, "Ah! They must want a baby!". So he flew up into the clouds and thought to himself, "I must bring them the most beautiful, talented, intelligent baby there is, since they love each other so much!". But it was a very busy day up in the clouds, so like concert tickets, fresh doughnuts, and prom dates, most of the good ones were already taken. The stork looked around in dismay. "What shall I bring them now?" He started rummaging around some cumulus swirls and happened upon a little baby stuck in the back. He was amazed by what he found. "Why, this baby is surely a gem! But why was it stuck in the back?" You see, storks never go to grocery stores, so they have never learned to always take from the back. Wrapping up the precious baby in a white blanket, he gently glided towards the man and woman's home.

He arrived at a very quiet, dark house. He tapped lightly on the door, but no one answered. He tapped louder. The stork was getting impatient and he had a newborn baby on his hands. He stood there, tapping the door with his beak, until he looked like a desperate overgrown woodpecker. He might have stayed there all night, but luckily a neighbor groggily informed him that the couple was at the hospital. The stork flew as swiftly as he could. He met the couple in a white room filled with people in masks and gloves. The couple looked worried and pained. The people in masks also seemed concerned. "Wow," he thought when he saw everyone. "They must really want this baby. Especially that woman. She looks positively awful!" The stork plopped the baby on the woman's lap. The man and woman looked upon the newborn with happiness and adoration. The baby gave a loud cry, probably confused after napping in the clouds. But the couple was happy, oh so happy. The baby was happy too, but as a newborn, the baby wasn't aware of it yet. They thanked the stork, but he was already gone. The stork did a couple back flips in the sky, a little victory twirl after a job well done. The angel smiled. It was the beginning of another beautiful life, another beautiful story.

So that's the story of how my little brother was born. He's alright, I guess.

Hope you enjoyed the preview! I hope the next time I send you something (or when I actually send you something) you'll want to hear more. Till then, think fondly on those students who are really trying their hardest to get into college.

Sincerely,

Anxious Blogger

Dear People In General

Here's to talking to people you've never met! Ever wanted to say something to a stranger? Time to let those thoughts fly. Welcome to my blog.

Sincerely,

MoCho