1. I
blame Shonda Rhimes for my Friday morning exhaustion. #ScandalHangovers
2. Perspective,
in a nutshell:
a. Pimple
at age 14: End. Of. The. World.
b. Pimple
at age 40: Yup. Still got it.
3. Most
recent “reason to hate townhouse living”:
Next door neighbors who never say “No” to garlic.
4. I
think my dog Beckett is having some anxiety issues. Or perhaps he is once again sublimating his
rage by literally eating my home. Either way, this (below) used to be my upstairs carpet. (Note, if you are able, the plethora
of chew toys, rawhide bones, and the long, blue unnamed rubber thing he has at
his disposal all day. And yet, he
prefers the taste and texture that only a finely laid carpet can provide.)
5.
I've been trying like hell to fictionalize my memoir.
Which was originally my MFA thesis. In general, memoirs just don't sell - not
unless people already know who you are because you've either written a bunch of
other stuff or achieved some kind of "celebrity" status or have
managed to pull a well-timed Britney Spears in public. I don’t generally work
in outlines, and I don’t generally prefer to work in outlines, but the truth is
this: if how you work and how you generally prefer to work is getting you
nowhere, then you may want to make a change. Unless Nowhere is the place you
intend to hang your beret.
6.
I don’t believe in using words like “Never” and
“Always.” That said, I will never be a
skilled user of emoticons. And I will
always rely too heavily on the “LOL” and the “Haha” in most of my electronic
communications, just to make sure people don’t mistake my sarcasm for
angrybitchy. Even when angrybitchy is
precisely what I’m going for.
7.
This morning I
saw a commercial for a drug whose name I can’t recall, but whose main side
effect is Gynecomastia, which, loosely
translated, means “the development of breasts in men.” I don’t know what this drug is used to treat
or what it’s other complications are, but I would like to order a year’s supply
of the C-cup formula for myself. So $20 and my collection of training bras goes
to the first person who can locate this medication by name and secure me a
refillable prescription.
8.
It snowed last night. Not a lot. I think there’s about an inch on the
ground. Even so, I hate it. Or at least I did, until I watched Beckett
frolic through it as if he’d never seen it before. This is his third winter, but it doesn’t
matter – everything with him is a new experience with a very simple message: I
need to frolic more.
9.
I’ve started writing for a fantastic publication called
Elephant Journal. They posted one
of my pieces yesterday and I have three more in the hopper waiting to go
live. I write for the sake of writing. I am my own audience. I have no aspirations to become a world
famous novelist or a nonstop book touring, book signing phenomenon. That said, it’s
nice to see my work existing outside the bowels of my own hard drive.
10.
At some point in my life, I was told, or overheard, that
a good way to “save” a really ripe banana was to peel and slice it, and then
pop it in the freezer, where it would stop ripening and would last for a really
long time. Most people use the frozen
slices in smoothies or breads. I just generally pop a few in my mouth when I
want a quick bite of something sweet. Problem
is: at any given moment, my freezer is home to no less than ten ziplock baggies
full of peeled banana slices. This is part of my selective hoarding
condition that extends to a odd few food items (think: bananas, canisters of
oatmeal, and cans of low sodium chick peas), several cleaning products, and,
apparently, the multiple bottles of mouthwash taking up space on the bottom
shelf of my bathroom closet.
That's all.
That's all.
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