Hello friends and citizens of Latvia. I see you. I know you’re out there. And I’m flattered that you take the time to stop by my little blog space every week. Though—to the random Latvian’s logging on—the Seinfeld fangirl side of me desperately hopes you personally know George Costanza and reside deep in the heart of the Latvian Orthodox Church. So if you’re just an ordinary Latvian villager, please keep it to yourself. No sense in squashing the dreams of an ordinary Arkansas girl with bad skin and dirty hair.
I have bad skin and dirty hair.
BECAUSE I’ve done nothing for the past week but sit on a sofa under a blanket and edit edit edit. Hence my disappearing act the past two weeks.
Once upon a time I dreamed of being a published author. Now that my first contract is signed, I now dream of being a published author who bathes occasionally.
Y’all, book publishing involves a lot more than just writing a book and turning it in. It also involves reading and reading and reading said book over and over and over again to make sure it’s all correct and stuff. Ugh. Who has time for that? Especially on Monday and Tuesday nights during The Voice and Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday afternoons during Sonic Happy Hour? Certainly not me. A girl needs her cherry lime-aid. And her Adam Levine. All this busyness is enough to make me—a girl with bad skin and dirty hair—add “crazy” to her list of oh-so-appealing attributes. And I’m only on phase one of edits, which means I’m just now getting started. So, to my neighbors, if you see me strolling the street in curlers, my robe, and my fuzzy pink slippers in the next few weeks, just avert your eyes and point me in the direction of home. And maybe buy me a chili dog and some tater tots just to cheer me up.
What have y’all been doing? So much has happened in the two-plus weeks I’ve been gone.
A. Please tell me you’re watching The Voice, because it is soooo good this season. And not just because of #TeamAdam and his seriously awesome…personality. But because of the new line-up of judges. People, I love Usher. And Shakira. And I don’t even know any Shakira songs, but I DO know that the lady is classy and I don’t have to worry about giving an impromptu anatomy lesson to my ten-year-old when we’re watching the show at seven pm. No double-sided tape needed to hold Shakira’s outfits together. Now, I’m not sure that she can sing as well as Christina A., so there’s a downside. But I DO know that Usher can sing better than Ce-Lo, so…I kinda hope the new group stays.
Not sure who I need to write to make this happen, but I’m on it first thing tomorrow morning.
B. Have you guys stock-piled money under your mattresses yet a.k.a Y2K-style? Because, you know, Cypress is seizing money from bank accounts of the regular folk to pay off that country’s national debt, and if the USA tries the same sneaky trick, you can bet your bottom dollar that no one is getting their hands on my twenty-five bucks. I need it for my Enquirer subscription and my Saturday morning lottery ticket-buying. One of these days, y’all. One of these days…
C. Stay out of Turkey! The country, not the bird. Definitely not the bird, because as a matter of fact I, for one, sometimes prefer it to chicken. But only if it’s injected with butter and deep fried, which is so much better than baking because baking it can make it dry and taste like—wait—what were we talking about?
Oh. Stay out of Turkey the country! According to scientists, the Gates of Hell were found there last week, which automatically makes this country a place I do NOT want to visit EVER. But on the other hand…on a super-sad note…I feel so sorry for the person who owned this piece of real estate. I mean, what if they were trying to sell it? What if they needed to extra money and had JUST put it on the market so they could avoid foreclosure or pay for their daughter’s root canal? Does everyone remember the movie “Poltergeist”? NONE of the neighbors liked the Freeling’s house because a graveyard filled with ghosts was buried underneath it. Plus it screwed up their cable. But can you imagine if HELL was buried under your trampoline? Or, heaven forbid, under your bedroom? Where you sleep? You could kiss any future invitations to dinner parties goodbye forever.
D. Did you guys watch the ACMA’s? Loved, loved, loved. Especially John Mayer’s awesome appearance and the fabulous trio of Urban/Paisley/Swift. But…what exactly was Taylor doing with her arms? While Brad Paisley sang his heart out and Keith Urban played his fingers off, she just flapped her limbs in the weirdest way. Did anyone else notice that? I could not figure out the purpose for her movements, except maybe to keep the viewer at home from noticing that she wasn’t doing much of anything. And I like Taylor Swift. I like her songs. I especially like her ability to write them on her own. But I like it better when she does all that writing and singing in the comfort of cowboy boots and curly hair. Please, Taylor, lose the bangs. Do NOT lose the limbs, but please quit flapping them.
Well, there is so much more we could talk about, but I think I’ll save the rest for next time. Right now, I need a shower. After that, I’m going to hop online and converse with my Latvian friends. All one of them. Maybe I’ll invite them to come over for dinner. Afterwards, we could jump on my trampoline. And then we could watch TV. But swear on my life, if my cable goes out and ghosts start swirling around my living room…
Talk to you later!