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Sharing the Fan Mail

Published 21.12.04 by Porkchop | E-mail this post

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I thought I would share my first piece of fan mail with my gentle (ok, some of you Not So Gentle) readers.

Here is as follows:

Sarah,
After reading many of your blogs, I am convinced you
have painted with words the portrait of a very sick
individual. Seriously, You are in need of help and
should certainly consider psyche care.

Obviously you have no faith in a higher being,
yourself, or your family. While on one side you are
enamoured with your body, on the other hand you are
disgusted.

Does life have any meaning for you. Let me guess.
Life to you is destroying any happiness others seem to find


He did not sign his name.



I have many thoughts I would have liked to share with this person, but then again, what would be the point.

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This odd narrative is my life. I ended up in Pittsburgh, of all places--from the beach. I have no hobbies, other than cooking excessively and eating microwave popcorn. I enjoy shopping, the Food network, hiding the remote so the Food network cannot be turned off, find ethnic food stores and restaurants and reading voraciously. My life is decidedly pedestrian.

cookies for troops


I worked in the car business where I was required to be ruthless and soul-less wench, which is when I started this project. Since then, I've kept it up because secretly, I've always wanted to join the military. Every male in my mother's family has joined and I quietly entertain thoughts of joining. I haven't yet and don't know if I ever will, but sending the troops cookies keeps me sane. it makes me think I still have a shred of human kindness left in my withering soul. it's a small way for me to salute the men and women who are brave enough to fight for freedom. And makes me feel like I'm contributing toward troop morale--even if I'm not. So if you want to help, send me addresses of troops you know stationed overseas. you may also contribute toward the cost of chocolate chips, but don't feel obligated, that link is here only by request.


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