I'm telling you it's the curse of the 666.
The sign of the devil
The end of the world
Then I looked down to see myself wearing red flannel pants (it's cold here ya know) and screamed again.
They had to go.
Then I looked at my blog colors and saw R E D.
Two signs of the devil in one day.
It has to go.
And for the record, I am NOT responsible if your blogs blow up should you click any link in this post if you are not holding a cross north and south in your left hand.
In all my nearly five years of finding dating profile errors and words that make no sense in public, one thing has remained true: nothing has changed. People still hit the publish button before they proofread, no one in the known Universe owns a dictionary and men AND women say the most outlandish and ridiculous things in their online dating profiles. You would think that after enjoying notoriety on famed sights such as Match dot Dumb and Something's Fishy they'd think twice before murking the waters with all manner of English language slaughter. But no. It just gets worse!
Now I'm the first to admit that I'm not always grammatically astute. Have you ever read one of my 50 word run-on sentences? But at least mine have a deliberate purpose. Everybody knows that means I'm holding my breath until I finish what I have to say. Don't you do that?
I thought so.
There's not much I can do to top Bachelor #6 6 6 or erase its lasting effect on my bloglife. At least not today. If my Granny were still alive she'd bury a black-eyed pea in the backyard, say some mumbo jumbo over her snuff can and I'd be done with this whole nasty devil business but she's gone to Glory and I'm stuck with evil of my own blog making.
The priest told me to boil a red beet in water in a black kettle over a fire pit situated on the northwest corner of an acre of land in the Sahara Desert and I'd be just fine. I can't go anywhere today. My hair's a mess!!!
So here I stand defrocked of all my flannel redness including the matching Red Strawberry Parfait lip gloss which my mother swears is the reason all that crazy kissin' occurred last year in the life of her hell bound daughter who had just settled in for a long winter's nap with Mr. Wrong which should really be the title of my blog anyway when this whole catastrophic Biblical event happened in the first place.
I'm in hot voodoo doodoo.
Is that one word or two?
I'm going to buy beets.