I'm tired just writing it all down...

Man, it’s been forever.

I think this is because I have been spending the bulk of my writing time on the book, which means the days’ thinking about plot advancements and future scenes and how to make dialogue its peak funniest have turned me off posting about my uterus for a week. I know CD is especially sad about this. Plenty has happened in the interim, but nothing I feel like mulling over for a full post; the past week and a half has been a little weird. Let me try to explain:

I have become hooked on Deadwood. The HBO series set in the Old West didn’t interest me in the slightest before last Monday, but slowly it has wormed its way into my girlish heart. Fine acting, beautiful costumes and more swearing than The Sopranos—where has it been all my life? It appeals in the same way as Shakespeare; I had to watch a lot of the first episodes twice to get the full meaning, what with the colloquialisms and constant f-bombs, it’s practically a whole other language. I warn you, if you get into it, be prepared to explain to everyone why you called the guy that cut you off a ‘cocksucker’—because you totally will. In front of your Mom. Such is the power of this show.

I got stung by a bee on the Fourth of July. Which really sounds like a CCR lyric.* Five minutes into badminton and I have a giant welt on my leg which bruises and itches like a mug (right there? Almost typed ‘cocksucker’) for five days afterward. Stupid insect life and its ways. Sheesh. And it’s not like I kicked the nest on a dare or anything—I was playing badminton. I am so the kid that got picked last in gym. Fireworks were awesome, anyway—even from the vantage point of my screened-in porch (unwilling as I was to take further punishment from the bloodthirsty mosquitoes, I still managed to get three bites IN a ROW on the SAME LEG as the sting. They’re healed now, but DAMN—did I swat somebody’s MA? What’s with the bug jihad?).

I saw The 40-Year-Old Virgin, and it didn’t suck. I was actually surprised by how much it didn’t suck, which was pretty much not at all. Besides the token moments of toilet humor, I laughed through pretty much the whole thing. And now, very unfortunately, I’m in love with Steve Carell, because he is funny. I know. I’m trying to walk it off.

I went shopping at an outlet mall and am now broke. I know I needed a new wardrobe, mine being about three sizes too big and all, but I didn’t necessarily need to get it all yesterday. To my credit I bought a lot of practical clothing items: new work pants, shirts, sweaters, etc. And they were all on sale, so that more than makes up for the satin bustier. Hey, it was on sale too. Charlotte Russe, you and I are BFF.

The clothes I got from the outlet mall are thisclose to being too tight. My workouts have been half-assed lately, plus I’ve been eating junk, which also puts me in a crappy mood. I have said it before: when your body is an efficient machine, it gets super-pissed when you pour sugar in the gas tank. All of you losing weight right now will rue the day when the body wants to eat right and exercise more than you do. And if you feed it something completely nutrition-free, it will kick your ass. Or rather, make you break out and cranky and tired and bleh. Suffice it to say, I am back on the carrots, and feeling better for it, if a little petulantly annoyed that I can no longer eat an entire pan of Rice Krispie Treats by myself. Ah, to be 17 again.

Next week is going to suck goat balls. Not literally, but I will be quite tired. Sunday is my family reunion picnic (stress + bulimia accusations – love life [my sweet grandmother] =yay?), followed by Monday’s trip to Cedar Point, then a day of recoup before the annual Ann Arbor Art Fair. Oh, crap; I can’t hit the sidewalk sales since I dropped all my cash on new clothes. I may need to take up a third job in the Oldest Profession to support my spending habits; it’s the only time of day I’m not already working, and I can do it from home. Hope my clients don’t mind if I take disco naps on them…literally. On the plus side, though, the bustier’s a write-off.

*Anyone know CCR? Am I that old? Fine I’ll link it. If you don’t know them, my parents were cooler than yours. John Fogerty forever!


Popular Posts