I tried to write a novel and then I was like,
"Hey novel, I murder you now with my awesome verbage and typing, suck on that!"
And then the novel said,
"Wutcchu talking about playa-hata? You're 64,325 words behind and you just ate 8,500 calories worth of laffy taffys and whoppers. And what..?"
So I bowed down and accepted defeat. My cousin sent me an except of her novel and it was phenomenal. I actually wanted it to keep going. When I was writing my novel, It was so hard to not use made up words and lots of parenthesis to explain my blabbering. But that wasn't the biggest problem.
I don't know how to write about anything but myself. I tried to take a different stance and ended up changing it to half Adrian's point of view and half my point of view. Then I tried to write Adrian's chapter and ended up eating a giant bowl of Honey Kix and putting my new deodorant on excessively and excitedly because that shit smelled like pomegranate and bubble baths.
Speaking of myself, let me tell you more about my...self.
I have been in three earthquakes in the last four days.
(Kendal said it best)
I redid a mortgage for a member three times today because she wanted a "prettier" number.
I'm under a tornado warning right now.
|I love how they put exclamations to make my impending death funner.|
My husband left me to go play golf in California.
I just got some new Spanx that make me feel like Ashley Olsen.
Wow. I feel so much better now that I've talked about myself.
Feel free to make me an offer of famousness. Either by writing, singing, or mortgaging.
Love you all.