Hah! The ice cream post has redefined the criteria for a “successful” blog post because it has roused you from your Medium slumber AND goaded you into writing a LISTICLE!
See, as you descend into soul blogging you’ll find that you don’t have to apologize for the fact that the post, or response, is really about you. That’s what we want, man. We’re here to read you.
By the way, most soul bloggers can’t link to two (or, when combined with the two in my “story”, four) posts on a topic of that quality. That’s a pretty good hand. If you add one more you would have a “full house” of blogging.
I come from that age in American culture where I envied the kids from divorced household. My older brother was advocating for my parents to get divorced. They weren’t going to get divorced no matter how bad for their health, just like they weren’t going to stop smoking. Many of my friends had TWO houses and could do that thing where you get mad at one parent and go to the other one’s house. Ariel F. could WALK to the other house in about eight minutes. I know from the stories of maturity that their lives weren’t how I perceived them, but like wanting a Bar Mitzvah, I still feel like I was cheated somehow because I’m baby.
See that? That’s how millennials construct the “I’m kind of a baby” phrase. I know that because I look at websites devoted to millennial slang. I bet you know that because you are in close contact with real millennials. I have to think that you were TRANSLATING “I’m baby” into “I’m kind of a baby” for the olds. You don’t need to do that because I’m lit. (I know that doesn’t work. THAT’S THE JOKE. [really, I’m just trying to confuse things because I don’t really know how to use the term ‘lit’ even though I have a “Sluggo is Lit” tee shirt from GoComics])
I haven’t watched a minute of Wimbledon this year. I’m very frustrated by all of the sports scheduling. I’ve been watching the U.S. Women’s Soccer Team (that everyone calls the USWNT even though their name is the “U.S. Women’s National Soccer Team.” I guess EVERYONE is embarrassed by the Americanism “soccer”) in Spanish because I want to watch them live. I am very streaky in my sports consumption. I watched the whole Stanley Cup run of the Bruins this spring. They broke my heart. I don’t usually watch hockey. Last summer everyone was watching Wimbledon. This year I haven’t seen much about it. One thing I HAVE noticed while flipping channels is that your friend Djoker looks VERY GOOD in a white lacoste tennis shirt.
“Frosty Jesus” should be the name of an ice cream stand, rock band, publishing house or MEDIUM PUBLICATION.
I will rethink my anti-homemade ice cream stance. In fact, I won’t be held by anything I said in that post. Times change. That was, like, five days ago. Just the other night the Boss and I split a cup of “Vanilla Blueberry Crumble.” She asked what the crumble were. I said, “It’s the shit on top of a crumb cake, probably butter, sugar, and cinnamon rolled up into pillbugs.”
I have to say, Vanilla Blueberry Crumble was very good. Too many flavors? Pfffft. NOT ENOUGH ICE CREAM FLAVORS.
