I'm not sure where the pleasure centers of the brain are located, but I wanted to indulge in a little right-sided love poetry for one of my favorite things: Diet Coke.
An Ode
Oh Diet Coke with your limey goodness,
Bubbles bursting, breaking, yearning, reaching for my nose.
I drink you in tribute to your effervescent nature,
You delightful, dear, wonderful, refreshing secret formula.
Badly done poetry is the surest sign of undying love. I look forward to my evening drive to work, with NPR on my radio, my stick shift in 3rd, and a diet coke in hand.
And now a musical tribute to Coca Cola and mixed up men named Lola.
Friday, February 8, 2008
Thursday, February 7, 2008
I Am The Working Poor
So as my first blog entry, I want to tell you about taxes. Because who collects more fun facts than the IRS? The Encyclopedia Britannica - true. However, the E. B. isn't relevant here and they can't ruin you financially, so I'm ignoring them for the moment.
Being the geek I am, I did my taxes yesterday a full 2 months and 10 days before the deadline. Being the American I am, I've already spent my tax refund in my head. Lucky day for me, making almost no money last year actually qualified me for the Earned Income Tax Credit. Uncle Sam has declared me a part of the working poor. I will now be accepting alms, donations, gift horses, and all other gratituties your rich guilt feels the need to bestow.
Being the geek I am, I did my taxes yesterday a full 2 months and 10 days before the deadline. Being the American I am, I've already spent my tax refund in my head. Lucky day for me, making almost no money last year actually qualified me for the Earned Income Tax Credit. Uncle Sam has declared me a part of the working poor. I will now be accepting alms, donations, gift horses, and all other gratituties your rich guilt feels the need to bestow.
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