While I firmly believe there is no crying in baseball, it seems that doesn't apply when it comes to NaNo. I don't know what's wrong with me this year. My brain is a hollowed out husk of its former self and my creativity has flipped me the bird. Last time I saw it, it was lounging on the sofa with a six pack of Fresca and a party-sized bag of Cheetos, zoning out in front of Fashion Television's coverage of the Spring 2008 Milan collections (yay! Luisa Beccaria – boo! Gucci Gucci Goo).
So, I will spend all weekend struggling to wrest my creativity out from the sticky-fingered clutches of crap television and trans-fat-soaked snacks. After all, my novel does feature sex and candy and cowboys. That ougtta be worth something.
In the meantime, Party People, let's take a moment to hunt down my creativity and take a gander at what, exactly, it would clothe itself in, given a $5 bazillion lottery win and just the right occasion:
If my creativity worked for a mega wattage corporate-type corporation and they were throwing a mega fabulous Christmas party and my dumb ass creativity had actually managed NOT to fall asleep at its desk one too many times from the stunning boredom of it all and hence didn't get itself barred from an invitation, my creativity would wear this:
And if my creativity's bestest friend in the whole wide world suddenly up and had a wedding, and I mean a REALLY REAL wedding, complete with cocktails and canapes and hot 20 year old waiters, instead of some drunken five minute ceremony at 2 a.m. in Vegas with Elvis in attendance, it would wear this:
And if my creativity were suddenly called upon to attend oh, I dunno, a posh Southern-Style event like the Kentucky Derby or maybe some second cousin of S.B.'s niece's coming out party, it would wear this:
And if I suddenly had to send my fat-ass creativity off to the grocery store for even more Fresca and Cheetos? I'd ask that it for Gawd's sake shed those stinkin' sweat pants and instead drape itself in this:
Finally, if my creativity absolutely refuses to get its fat ass off that sofa and into my office and behind my keyboard, I'm going to make sure, come hell or high water, it's going to spend the rest of its existence wearing this:
Pee yew, Party People. Gucci is just downright poochie this year.
9 comments:
please dont use my wedding as blog fodder! grrerhaha..looks like you avoided your NaNo for a good 20 minutes! just stopping by to say hey let you kbow im lurkin while im not spossed to be typin. happy weekend...just you and your keyboard, right? grrerha
It's not as lazy as me posting picture of my dog. Truly.
Plus, I always love your fashion posts.
I hope you have the kind of weekend where you recharge yourself. Happy Friday.
My mind left me in 2005. It hasn't called, hasn't written.
I think my creativity has been cheating on me, because I'm getting ZERO action at home.
She: I think shotgun weddings are best for those actually doin' the hitchin'; but for guests lookin' for a good time? Not so much.
AB: Thanks on all counts. I think my new baking blog is what's sucking all my energy. The novel has taken a back burner position.
Meghan: Tee hee! I know, I know, "Puleeze don't laugh at the pregnant woman." Hang in there, doll.
I thought the death-and-heroin look was on its way out. Good god, what happened to catwalkers no. 3 and 5?
A girl we knew about our older son's age (18) who grew up in our neighborhood in ATL is now a legitimate international supermodel. You knew growing up she had the chops. When she was about nine, she was probably about 5-3, rail thin, and cheekbones and jaw to spare. Her mom took her to a model hunt when she was about 13, and that's all she wrote. Now she's working for all the big names, and my son says she's dating Sean Lennon (I think he got that off wikipedia).
Model's mother was wound pretty tight, but father was a great guy: former War College professor at West Point -- not typically my sort, but a class individual and very friendly. We got along wonderfully. How they are dealing with the obvious sex-and-drugs lifestyle of their 19-year-old girlchild, I don't know, but I guess she'll pile up all the ducats she can while she can.
Czar: I modeled for about 2.5 seconds in high school. It scared the beejeebus outta Moi. Never mind the fabulous fashions, nothing was worth that particular mind-frig. Needless to say, I went running back to my mother and my books.
yeah... ole'Aunty Belle modeled too--about a week ("You meet the nicest people on a Honda") while I wuz in collich and mah allowance were real thin....(but not moi, ahem!) Then mah smart mama got onto the thang and shut it down wif a hard bang. Fortunately for me...an' anyhoo, I cound't made it big- cheekbones but I wuz never a watusi.
Aunty: Yeah, another reason I left the biz before even really getting started: there was no way I would be able to spend the rest of my freakin' life NOT EATING. Uh, uh. Diets are NOT for Moi.
For you, my fashionable friend:
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/21758213/?gt1=10547
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