Everyone else has cool shit going on in their lives but me. Waa waa waa. I’ve got next to nothing to post about. Like, here is my Tuesday, in its near entirety. (Well, I left out the potty trips. Unless you’re into that sort of thing. If you are, email me, I guess. Just don’t expect a reply, you weirdo freak!)
Playgroup. Token birthday party where we were instructed not to bring presents. I didn’t; everyone else did. I know the mom was happy not to get one more bracelet making kit or polly pocket, but I still felt like a total cad. Except, I’m pretty sure a cad is a guy, so that’s not quite right. Whatev.*
Mall. I returned a bunch of stuff that still didn’t equal up to the cute bag I bought to take to New Orleans. (Cute, huh, chicas? Mine's khaki with white trim. Goes with everything.) I had lunch with a playgroup friend whom I’d just seen less than an hour before at said playgroup. She’s preggo with her third and I know I should be happy for her, but the best I can muster is a sort of vague sympathy. Once upon a time I wanted three children. Once upon a time we also wanted twins. I was young and quite the idiot back then, clearly.
Home for 45 minutes. Tried to do something productive, but just read blogs. Now don’t go getting all pissy. As delightful as you all are; I got shit to do, man. (see list below.)
Picked up kiddo from school, endured after school emotional meltdown and subsequent confinement to room (him, not me).
Finally wrote a few lines in my new book where a guy is taken from our world into a brand spankin’ new world (well, to him) and... well, you know the score. If I say any more I have to hunt you down and kill you with a wire laniard. Swift and silent. I’ll be a ghost, man. Don't test me.
Tried on clothes for my trip to N’Awlins. (Jeez, I just can’t say it like Krypto can.)
Gym. Feeling fat (see “Tried on clothes”), so weightlifting was less than satisfactory, since it’s all in front of giant, thigh-distorting mirrors. Half hour on the bike. Burned four hundred calories, which I am currently reconsuming via beer and wheat thins. The only high note was that the cutest boy in the gym (this guy is SO my type. I mean, you know, except for PHF. And Greg. And Jack. And... ok, I’ll stop now.) But he’s kinda big and broad, but not too tall. He’s got thick, brown hair pulled back into a short wavy ponytail (Why would I ever think that PHF should cut his hair? What am I thinking??) Super cute facial features, extremely symmetrical. He goes off to these more private treadmills and runs himself all drippy-sweaty, no head phones even, and he’s got this perpetual tan... He just looks... all sweaty and awesome. Hot. I gave him the brass-balled stare as I walked by on my way out, at least five strides worth, and he totally stared back.
Yeah, I know. There’s no future in it, but it’s fun to play when I see him from time to time.
Read Dora goes to the beach. Again. I don’t know why, but Monkey made me laugh. She just enjoys the book so damn much, and she sings Du-du-du-du-du-Doraaaaa.
Read Children of the Lamp with the Lad. We are both loving that book. Seriously, it’s a great read, and Uncle Nimrod is about the greatest character since... since... well, hell, I don’t know. He’s English and finishes his sentences with “What?” As in, “That was a superb spread. What?” I got it at Target, and if anyone looks at you funny for buying a kid’s book (well, it is a chapter book at least) tell ‘em it’s for your nephew. Or tell ‘em it’s for you. Or, I know. Just walk by and look at them with your lips all wrinkled up like they smell bad. Fuck ‘em. They don’t even know you. Who the hell are they to judge? God, people these days. The religious right has everybody thinkin’ they can just speak up and shit.
Kids unusually sweet tonight. Makes me suspicious. I’ll have to think on it later.
Things that aren’t happening:
-A contract on the book.
-Endings to two short stories.
-Transcribing old short story into computer.
-Mailing letters to agents.
-Getting Big Red the Jeepster emission tested so that I can replace the tags since they run out in April. (Translate, end of the week. What the hell, we’ve got two other cars in the garage. It’s almost Beastie season anyway.)
Time for another beer and Bedfordshire. Nighty-night, what?
*stolen shamelessly from Feed. Read Feed. Yeah, I know, I tell you over and over, but do you ever listen?? NO. Ungrateful, sniggy** little piss-ants.
** Yes, I made that up. Good one, eh?