NoSalesTax

Two Elon alumni (2002) have pooled their talents to bring excitement and joy to your day. One is a classy woman who combines her Italian and feminine powers to influence men of all shapes and sizes. The other is a tall blond man who relies on wit and boyish good looks to impress women, especially when they're drunk. Join them in their epic pursuit of the phenomenon known as adulthood. NoSalesTax side effects may include addiction and abrupt laughter as colleagues look on in confused jealousy.

Tuesday, December 06, 2005

One Year Later...

Tomorrow marks the first birthday for this blog. A lot's happened in the past 365 days for both T-Rock and myself. Aside from her engagement, I'll let her fill you in on the rest. As for me, I've changed cities, changed jobs and changed hairstyles. I'm still the same height, however.

Let me take this time to thank you, the reader, for letting me into your daily life. Whether you read No Sales Tax at work or at home, during a lunch break or after the kids are in bed, I hope to continue serving your needs, whatever they may be.

A month before New Year's resolutions, I vow to continue making you smile. If I've sparked some introspection, I hope to continue that, as well. I guess my two goals for this blog are to make people think and to make people laugh. If I accomplish that, I'm satisfied.

In exchange, I ask that you post comments when you feel appropriate. My partner and I wanna hear what you have to say. Also, please recommend No Sales Tax to others. If you enjoy what you read, chances are your friends and family will, too (unless you're Scott Peterson). Think of it as a cost-free Christmas gift. This holiday season, send someone you love an email w/ the link to this blog. Act now and you'll receive a free autographed photo of T-Rock and myself (autograph not included).

Sunday, December 04, 2005

Clumsier Than T-Rock

I almost fell off the treadmill today while watching the Pats game. Instead, I merely made a loud noise as I fumbled to regain my balance after accidentally stepping to the right of the tread (or whatever the hell you call the moving part). My shin now boasts a large bump and scrape, but I avoided embarassment, mainly because I'm immune to the feeling.