Heylook. There shouldbea space in that title. Andright heretoo.
I plannedto write a little more about ournew house today, plus some city-to-suburbs angst with an extra scoop of whining,but my spacebar is notworking. Ihaveto hitit several times, really hard, BLAMBLAMBLAM, to get it to work,whichmeans this morning's Advice Smackdown column tookme about seven hours to write,whatwith all the blamming. And I still have to figureout ifMamapop and ClubMomare blam-worthy.
I am tired of blamming. So there will beno blamming orextra spacebarstrokes here.Noneatall!
I actually didtry to fix itmyself, andthought after I yanked thekey off andfound a tiny bit of foil from Hershey'sKiss (pink,for Easter!)underneath that I'dsolved the problem.But no. Keyboard still bein a slut bitch and oh crap, there oes the G key.
I don'tknow how orwhy,but I am bettin this isall Noah's fault somehow.He makes everythin sticky these days.
He's startin to mugfor thecamera.It'sprettyhilarious.
Dude, look at that messed-uphair. Where the hell is this poorkid's mother?
(I AMGOIN TOTHROW THIS LAPTOP OUTTHE DAMNWINDOW I SWEAR TO OD.)