I miss you.
I miss Starbucks.
I miss Sunday night Facebook chats.
I miss Victoria Park, looking at the water and talking about life.
I miss the sound of your texts coming to my flip phone.
I miss telling you about the movies on my list.
I miss venting about my life to you.
I miss you telling me I deserved better.
I miss daydreaming about you.
I miss my “gay” friend.
I miss feeling like it was ok to text you.
I just fucking miss you.
An open letter to Diesel and the makers of Loverdose Tattoo:
Dear friends at Diesel,
On a recent adventure through YouTube I came across your new ad campaign for Loverdose Tattoo. It easily caught my attention and I let it play rather than click the Skip Ad button. You can imagine my surprise when I came to the realization that the entire ad was based on me.
I had initially considered contacting my lawyers to have them look into a lawsuit against the unauthorized use of my personal story and, of course, to recuperate my portion of all profits which are no doubt owed to me.
After thoughtful consideration I have decided that I am both flattered and honoured to be used in your campaign and have therefore decided against legal action.
I do still feel, however, that I am owed some form of compensation for the blatant use of my character without my consent. Since I am a very reasonable person, I am willing to drop the matter entirely in exchange for a free bottle of Loverdose Tattoo.
You can contact me at firstname.lastname@example.org to make arrangements for the delivery of my fragrance, which I can only assume smells heavenly.
In the future, if you wish to use me as inspiration in any of your campaigns, all you need to do is ask and I am sure that we can come to an easy agreement.
I have started this blog about three hundred times now. It has had different names, different concepts, different purposes, but each previous attempt has one thing in common. It has ended as fast as it started because of my own self doubt. Well, this time I am saying a solid “fuck you” to my self doubt. I am so imperfect that it is painful at times, but so are you so who cares. Grab a latte, a chai, a 40, whatever does it for you, sit back and SharonMyLife.