When I am President.
I think I’ve written about this before.
One more thing I’ve added to The List Of Things I Am Banning When I Am President is the auto memorial sticker.
Look, people. As callous and jerky as it makes me sound, I just don’t fucking care that you want me to remember your grandma. Or your mom. Or your dog. Or your brother, L’il Creeper, who I’m assuming with a name like that died under “mysterious” circumstances. And I sure as shit don’t need you to bring down my entire morning commute by seeing that your 43-day old baby died. I can’t possibly imagine what it must be like to lose your baby, but I don’t know if a sticker on the back of your mini-van is going to help. Again, this is going to make me sound like an asshole, but really - does the whole world have to know?
About a year ago, a twenty year-old got killed in a motorcycle accident. Apparently the entire fucking South Bay knew this guy, because I see his name on rear windows almost daily. It is depressing. It doesn’t honor your friend to put his name on a sticker on your car. It just shows what a herd-following turd you are (this very much reminds me of when someone died in high school, and everyone would act like they knew him/her - a perfect example was on last week’s Grey’s Anatomy). You know what memorializes your dead loved ones? Tombstones. In a cemetery. Where all the dead people are. Where you can go and privately remember your loved one. Without bringing down everyone else who has the unfortunate luck of being behind you in traffic.
This will be added to the list of things no longer allowed, like:
Cellphones
Paris Hilton
Grafitti
Road construction during daylight hours
TV shows about people like Kim Kardashian
The Black Eyed Peas
Celestia
Gaucho pants
Anne Coulter
Al Franken (see, I’m fair)
The war in Iraq
Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt (ok, everyone on The Hills)
______________________________
I am slowly reaching the end of my rope with flickr. I don’t know if anyone else is having problems, but it’s turned to crap lately. It takes forever for me to upload anything, and half the time pictures that get uploaded don’t even appear. (Like the one I planned on posting here today [and who even fucking knows if it would show up in this blog anyway] of RAM’s spelling test, in which he got a hundred percent, and the note from his teacher said, “Know you can spell these in all your regular sentences”. I hope your children are not in the Torrance Unified School District.) Some pictures were there this morning at home, and now they’re not there when I look at my page from work.
Excellent.
And now, in closing, I have this photo to offer you (well, it’s kind of a craps shoot whether or not you’ll see it).
Now, you might be saying to yourself, “But Andria - didn’t you say that photo was still on the camera that you thought was stolen at Long Beach Airport?” The answer of course is yes. And now it has been found, because my goddamned camera was placed in mother’s gym bag the night my dad picked me up from the airport by my jackass sister. I didn’t find this out until I went out and bought a very nice and expensive new camera (which I LOOOOOOOOVE).
