My dog farts a lot. Like...A LOT, a lot. And somehow I ended up watching 27 Dresses tonight. I fucking HATE Katherine Heigl. I'm literally hoping I choke on my parmesean & garlic potato chip so I don't have to watch her wear her 28th dress. Although I kind of want to make out with the obnoxious, cynical reporter guy.
The truth is, really, that I'm sitting here AGAIN. Talking about how I'm doing everything except writing, which is true, but holy god, is it ever the most boring fucking thing in the world to read about. Right?
I could talk about the fact that there is something desperately wrong with my urethra, but that's just a titch too relevant at the moment.
How about the fact that I'm hosting the very first meeting of my new writer's group (which is not to imply that I began this writing group because I, in fact, did NOT create this writing group, but I was on the sidelines chanting BOOZE! BOOZE! BOOZE!) next week, and I haven't exaaaaaaaaaclty lived up to the hype of what a writer's group is all about which is, of course, WRITING. What I'm hoping happens is that I can pass of my sloth (which is really brain fatigue and wavering self-esteem) as business due to the upcoming wedding (44 days!) and ... well ... that's about it.
If you've single-handedly planned your wedding before, and that wedding (like mine) was meant to be a reasonably low-key event and instead, morphed into 380+ people invited, PS3 involvement, and a custom menu with a custom price.
Have you noticed all the "(" and ")" marks in this post? That's called STALLING.
I have an idea. I've had this idea for over a year. I don't know what to do with this idea, where to start. I know the general idea of what I hope to accomplish, if not the actual plot (which every writer knows, plot isn't exactly something you can plan ahead of time, unless you're a shitty writer).
Help. Direction. A swift kick in the vagina.
That's what I hope comes of this first writer's group meeting.
Well, that, and a good buzz. Of course.
~PS~ I just turned off the television and it sounded like a freshly-poured cup of Sprite or a bowl of talkative Rice Krispies. Should I be worried?