Irony Much?

HOW DOES ONE GO FROM THIS:

TO THIS?

I dunno, but the Eric Cartman in Moi hasn't giggled this maniacally in ages.

Dancing With Myself

Another shameless plug for Moi's new baking site.

Come on over, Party People – it's no fun doing this all by myself. Even if it means I get to drink all the tequila.

Lazy Ass Excuse for a Blog Post #2

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.

As If I Don't Have Enough To Do

And if you don't, either, hop on over to Moi's new baking blog and get your sweet tooth tickled.

And She Ran

She ran so far away.

Question is: Why didn't she just keep going?

'Cause that Cruisin' new haircut? It would send me screaming into the hills.

(Psssst: is it just Moi, or is this look perhaps a wee bit Clay Aiken?)

I Don't Want to Write; I Want to Have Written

NaNo has begun. Usually, by this time, I have managed my allotted 1,667 words per day quite easily.

This year? Not so much.

Between home improvements, paying work, a trip to the family up north, and obligations today, I am woefully behind. Oh, and I suppose it didn't help that I changed my story. I went and visited my old homestead yesterday and it brought up a most excellent idea for an entirely new novel (sorry, Wicked's hot nephew), albeit with a few of my original themes intact. So, I wrote furiously last night until I couldn't anymore and now I have mucho catching up to do.

Instead of posting any of it, I will instead leave you with this.

(click to enlarge)

This is Blue, a former RAAP foster dog. While beautiful and soulful, Blue is one of those rare pit bulls who has all the motivation and drive of a garden slug. Seriously. I had this dog in class. Did the fresh hot dog pieces his foster mom pleadingly proferred motivate him even one itsy bitsy bit to work?

Uh, no.

Blue is what we call internally motivated. In other words: "Hmmm . . . let's see which one of these sucker humans finds me The Prettiest of Them All and lends me their lap. It's ten o'clock in the morning, Party People. Blue needs his nap."

I know how he feels. I'm pretty much garden slugging it myself these days.

For Those About To Write . . .

. . . whether by NaNo Noveling like Thistle and Doris Rose, NaBloPoMo-ing like a MoFo like Meghan, or simply continuing in whatever amount of time you devote to writing, painting, or photographing . . . I salute you.

The world is a much more fascinating, inspiring, and hilarious place because of what you put out there.