Random Style

That stupid “Gangnam Style” song has been going through my mind all week, and I’ve never even heard the whole thing. But my ten-year-old son keeps singing it and accompanying it with that dumb dance—usually when I’m on the phone or trying to write or getting a quiet massage from my personal masseuse named Chaz (I can’t even type that last one with a straight face)—so in honor of the Worst Song Ever, feel free to sing the title of today’s blog to the same mind-numbing, yet catchy tune. Go ahead, join me.


Y’all, Imsotired. Seriously, Thanksgiving break cannot come fast enough for me. And not because of the sleeping late or the sweatpants wearing or the eating of the pie or the shopping at the Target or the napping after breakfast or the—

Um…I’m sorry, what was I saying?

That’s totally why Thanksgiving needs to come tomorrow. But alas, instead, my birthday is tomorrow. This is not a good thing, because I’m getting so freaking old. I mean, it seems like last year I graduated high school, last month I graduated college, last week I got married, and only yesterday I became a mother.

How is it possible that I’m already turning 29?? (okay, can’t type that with a straight face, either). But enough about my birthday. Let’s talk about Justin Bieber.

Sigh. He and Selena broke up this past week. I really thought they would last. They seemed like a match made in tweeny-bopper heaven. Like he was the bubble to her gum. The cotton to her candy. The One to her Direction.

Which, speaking of, I’ve learned way too much about lately. Like, did you know Harry is from England? That he likes candlelight dinners and strolls on the beach and girls who just wanna have fun? I learned all this from my daughter’s Tiger Beat magazine, and y’all that stuff is, like, totally deep. This magazine isn’t just about posters and hot guys and the latest fashion trends—it has words, too.

And speaking of words, I am completely failing NaNoWriMo. Actually, failing isn’t even the right word, because in order to fail at something, you actually have to try. And I’m ashamed to admit, I haven’t tried at all. And I call myself a writer. But here’s the really awful part. When I came into November, my book had topped 80,000 words. Now, half a month later, I’ve added a whopping 6,000 to that total. That’s pathetic. That’s lazy. That’s, like, barely 500 words a day. I think. But I suck at math, so I can’t be sure.

But you know who I think is probably good at math? Adam Levine. Because he’s good at everything—especially at the looking part—so I’d bet money he’s great at adding. Which is yet another reason it’s a crying shame we aren’t friends, because in pinch, if I ever need to know what three plus three equals, who am I supposed to call? The sadness. The sadness of it all.

Although I did call The Voice hotline the other night to vote for Dez Duron, who is also super-cute and can sing pretty well, too, but who is NOT related to any of the members of Duran Duran despite what some people might mistakenly think upon first glance at his last name. Heartbreaking, I know. In my humble opinion, he should totally change the spelling of his name and claim some kinda birthright. Because the mere suggestion that his is somehow related to John Taylor Duran Duran would totally have me buying his records and taping his posters to my wall via Tiger Beat Magazine.

Which brings me to my next point. My oldest son wants a record player for Christmas. He’s really into music—plays drums and guitar, also sings—and has decided that records are the way to go. Partly because he thinks they’re cool, partly because none of his friends have one, but mostly because he read somewhere that Adam Levine believes records offer the very best sound. That man is soooo incredibly right. Is there any limit to his vast plethora of knowledge? I swear, the man should be a doctor. I would totally let him operate on me. As long as he promised to serenade me with an impromptu version of “Wake Up Call” while drugging me to sleep.

Sleep. I’m not getting much of it lately. I’m not sure what the problem is—a busy schedule, NaNo guilt, pizza consumption at ten-thirty, forgetting to write a blog until midnight…

Maybe it’s all of it rolled together. Or maybe it’s something else. Like that stupid Gangnam song. I’ve been humming it all night, even while I wrote this.

Happy Thursday Before Thanksgiving!!


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