Tag Archives: Bad Spelling

Tip #9: Enjoy the time when getting older was fun

March 2, 1995

Today is my birthday and we went to Freash Choice. Oh yes, I jest went into the wonderfull years of doble digets! I am 10!!

30th Birthday Celebration

30th Birthday Celebration

Oh, so cute! I remember the good-ole days when getting older was considered cool. The first fun birthday for me was when I was five; a whole hand! Then ten; double digits! 13=teenager! 16=driver’s license! 18=adult! The last special one was my 21st birthday. They call it Forever 21 for a very good reason.

Then there are the birthdays from 21 to 29. Those aren’t exactly fun, but they’re nothing. You’re in your twenties; who cares? Whatevs! You’re still young, not yet tied down with serious responsibilities. But everyone knows what comes after 29. NO! Shush your mouth; don’t say it out loud. I would know; I celebrated that dreaded birthday nine days ago.

Based on what society tells us, I should have spontaneously combusted on March 2nd, all proof of my youth and coolness obliterated. At the very least, my back should have given out, crow’s feet should have popped up, and blue varicose veins should have sprung from my liver-spotted flesh. Come to think of it, why didn’t I get Botox for my birthday? What was I thinking?

Rachel from Friends turns the year-after-29

Rachel from Friends turns the year-after-29

But surprise! I look and feel the same. I didn’t die or turn into a warty hag (subject to opinion). I remember watching a Friends episode where Rachel turned the-age-after-29 (I’m warning you; SHUT IT!) and acting like it was the end of the world. I was 16 at the time (driver’s license age, boo-yah!) and even then I thought that she was being stupid. When you’re 16, basically everyone seems old. And yes, she was old; I won’t deny that. But I also recognized that turning 30 wasn’t a big deal. She seemed so shallow and superficial. At the-age-after-29, Rachel was healthy; she was beautiful; she had friends and family who loved her. What more do you need in life? I was almost offended by the episode.

So remembering this thought that I had at 16 has helped me transition to that dreaded age. If, at 16 I thought that being 30 was no biggie, then it’s no biggie! Now I just need to get it in my head that turning the-age-after-39 is still young to help with that mentality over the next decade.



Tip #15: Guess Again! You aren’t writing to your target audience

January 31, 1997

Right now I am wondering who will be reading Charlotte [my diary]. When I write to Charlotte I am also sort of writing to the person that reads my diary and I was wondering who you are! Are you my children, my grandchildren, great grandchildren, etc? Or just an archeologist that found my diary or maybe you saw my diary at an antique store and bought it. I hope you are my family! It would be too embarrassing for strangers to know how bad my spelling is. Oh well, it probably does not matter, I am probably dead in your time. (If this last paragraph did not make any sense to you, that’s ok. I am not sure if I get it also.)

Dear Me,

No, we get it; you want to know who you’re writing to. Here’s the answer: Just you. Yourself. Me. Because no one else cares. I’m sure if I give this diary to my future children or grandchildren, they’ll laugh at my face and go back to watching movies on the back of their eyelids. Maybe they’ll use the pages to line the litter box of their robot puppy. Your diary will never make it to an antique store (why would it?) and if by chance some weird, dystopian archeologist finds it, they’ll probably be glad that civilization as they knew it came to an end. Your spelling alone would make them barf up their rationed GMO food and, for lack of nourishment, they’d end up eating your diary for some small form of sustenance.robot_dog_1

Whatever the case, I know that you never thought that your diary entries would be posted online for everyone who performs a causal Google search to find. Excuse me; let me speak your language: an AOL search. So sorry, but strangers can potentially read this and know how bad your spelling is. Thankfully, we have autocorrect in the future so I can pretend that my spelling got better over the years (hint: it didn’t).

But that’s okay! Where’s the fun in keeping your diary hidden in your parents basement and not laughing with/at your former self? And what better way than to put it on the internet where all form of privacy ceases to exist? Honestly, I’m worse than the prospect of your mom reading your diary.