Wednesday, June 19, 2013


"Writer's block is a fancy term made up by whiners so they can have an excuse to drink alcohol." 
- Steve Martin

No shame in my game. Brittney & I start our personal NaNoWriMo next month (fml two weeks away) and I haven't the slightest clue about what to write. I think it's supposed to be a cohesive novel, not a series of short stories, which I could eek out by recanting my wild and detailed dreams. 

Ideally, though, this forced writing will turn into a best-seller, then a sweet movie deal which will lead to early retirement and I can own a horse farm, make babies and read books on my nook all day every day. And drink bourbon champagne out of boots with egg rolls for dindin.

It's the simple things I want.

I read about this unemployed teacher who found $20,000 in cash and she returned it to the bank. I'd be so torn about returning that. LIKE MAYBE THIS IS GOD TELLING ME TO BUY A NEW CAR OR PAY OFF SOME STUDENT DEBT. Weird, my education cost more than a car and all that got me was a head full of book quotes and the ability to rearrange sentences so they don't end with a preposition (although that isn't necessary as long as you have the object for that little bitch). SPEAKING OF CARS: one, please just materialize for me. I'm scared to get another one because it'll probably be smashed to pieces again and I just can't deal with that anymore. At all. If I ever have one more, "Well, we have no idea how you survived this" conversation with a public servant, I will just keel over dead. BECAUSE I DO NOT KNOW EITHER. My heart hurts from the stress. 

This woman died in my building at 34 of a heart attack in her sleep. Scary.

I need a drink.