To liven things up a bit, I’m going to include some posts from other blogs* that seem interesting and maybe good for a laugh, or leave you crying. You decide.
My first guest blogger is Cassandra Dolor. She seems to be a rather typical, troubled teenager, loaded with angst and hormones, and with parental issues.
Okay, so like, my parents are the worst. So lame. And when I say lame, I mean la-a-a-a-me. Last weekend I came in after curfew, and there they were, in the living room waiting for me. Ugh. I mean, who has curfews? None of my friends do. And mine? Midnight on weekends, ten o’clock during the week. Seriously. How do they expect me to live like that? Most parties don’t even get started ‘til after ten, and like I’m going to tell my friends: “Hey, can you schedule your party earlier so I can be home for curfew?”
I blame my brothers for this. They were the perfect little angels—at least that’s what my parents thought. If my parents knew half the stuff my brothers did, they would explode. Parties when they were out of town. Sneaking out, TP-ing people’s houses, going to parties, yadda yadda yadda. But Mom and Dad were oblivious to it. Not a clue. How can they, like, miss all the signs—sleeping in school, different friends coming over all the time, and a new girlfriend every week. Well, now one is off at college, and the other is in the Marines, heading to Middle-of-nowhereistan to fight some nut jobs over something.
Now that I’m all alone with Frank and Shirley, they give me their undivided attention. Exactly what I didn’t need. They probably try to track me with my phone, but one of my friends showed me an app that can block that. How cool is that? They won’t be able to find me when I go to Scott Thurston’s party on Saturday, and I can just make up some story about being over at Rachel’s house or something like that. Better to be busted for being late from a friends house than from the best party of the year.
I guess we’ll see what happens next.
*Details forthcoming.
A bastian of writing 