Look what I did, bitches!

Yeaaaaah, I started a blog. This isn't exactly the same as Xanga at all.

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Anywho, I don't actually feel like typing anything original right now so I think I'll just throw in an essay I wrote last week for journalism.


Natalia Ledford
Response to Dave Barry Essay
Journalism 102
3/5/2008
I’ve never been able to fully relate to the road rage phenomenon. Maybe Lincoln drivers just aren’t that bad or I’m the one who causes most of the rage and as such, am oblivious to it…I don’t know. But even though driving itself does not cause me much stress, that’s not to say that I don’t experience 90% of my daily rage WHILE driving.
I have what we call Taylor Swift rage. It’s the rage that arises every 5 minutes when you’re listening to the radio and you suddenly hear that generic guitar lick accompanied by it’s little pop-country violin number and suddenly, “Romeo something something something we can be alone, I’ll be something something all we have to do is run, something about a prince and I’ll a princess, it’s a love story baby just say yes…”
OH MY GOD. I thought I hated Hitler. But no, he has one likable trait over that song, and it is the fact that he is dead.
See, and then it gets stuck in your head alllll day like a really painful popcorn kernel in your back molar that you despise, you DESPISE it and it hurts! And you try everything to get it out but it’s impossible! It’s that one line “It’s a love story, baby jut say yes…” that plays over and over and over….but, dammit Taylor, I SAY NO. No. You sing through your nose and butcher Shakespeare—that’s why you haven’t found love.
I’m literally at a point where the radio is forcing me make the same painstaking decision between Taylor Swift and a car commercial every time I turn on my engine. I’m basically ready to apply for a job at Guantanamo because I've finally discovered the most effective way to torcher somebody.