This blog has begun to bore me. It's not so much the logging on and writing as what I'm logging on an writing ABOUT. Yeah, I dropped the detailed analysis of my relationship with WG a while back...why? Oh, because people who actually know us quite well in real life READ THIS BLOG and would know things about my personal life that I'd rather they not have access to when we gather together for a little potluck and game night.
Them: Oh...so WG has been getting up to those whole tricks again, huh? What was it that last time that started off a two hour long discussion? Your ticking biological clock?
WG: What the hell?
Me: Uhm...
So, yeah, let's avoid that, shall we?
And then, I went on that whole "Real World Wednesday" kick. Don't get me wrong, I need to do that. I need to do that even when my post is mostly me ranting about how I can't seem to focus on anything outside of my own little life bubble. But given that I like to be self-obsessed in my little bubble, it takes a great stretch of my ability to buckle down and write the dang things.
Let's try to focus on the entertaining things, the stories my co-workers so enjoy. Trust me, they get a kick out of my exuberant hand gestures and my funky faces. Oh, and I do voices, as the situation arises.
Otherwise, you know what will happen to this blog? After six long years, it will just go far, far away, because I won't be able to stand logging-in and writing something completely vague, completely impersonal and completely dull.
And today?
Yup, got it.
The two phrases that have left my lips in the past two days that required a vastly different audience than the one in attendance.
1) Lauren Weisberger's Chasing Harry Winston is a disappointing follow-up to The Devil Wears Prada and Everyone Worth Knowing. It's utter fluff and complete brain candy that leaves me feeling unsatisfied.
The teenagers in my library bookclub just stared at me and said, and I quote, "Oooookay."
What I didn't say? That I feel a little guilty and displeased with myself for having spent time reading that drivel when I could have been reading Playing With the Grown-ups by Sophie Dahl.
2) I signed into Pandora and was listening to my Regina Spektor station. I can't say that I agree that Michelle Branch belongs in the same category as Regina Spektor, but whatever.
The response from the way-older-than-me but thinks he's super cool librarian? Silence.
3) My dad is so excited about the Celtics win that he took his jersey to work and hung it on the wall.
WG's response? Well, he just kind of stared at me and let out a loose, unconvincing laugh, but I swear, I could see him thinking, "I don't care. I don't like basketball AT ALL."
4) And I'll say it now. That novel I wrote that never got published? It was titled What Happened. Can I just say that I'm a bit peeved with Scott McClellan's publisher for stealing the title of my unpublished, never gonna be published novel?
That's all from my pleasant little bubble.
1 comment:
Lauren Weisberger has never done it for me as an author. I read both of her previous books- and although I love chick-lit I found her books insanely difficult to stay interested in. "The Devil Wears Prada" may be the ONLY example of me liking a movie more than a book. Because, you just can't make Meryl any better than when she's on the screen, you know?
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