Hello, my neglected lovelies. I come bearing apologies and news. Also, possibly carpal tunnel syndrome, as you will soon see:

1) I am doing NaNoWriMo.
2) This means that I have to write about 1667 words per day for the next 30 days.
3) I broke up with my boyfriend.

See how I tucked that last one in at the end there? I bet you didn’t even catch it.

Anyway, they say keeping busy is the best cure for heartache, so I’m diving right into this project. It will definitely be extremely poor, as any one-month draft must be. But hey, most of my favorite writers are big believers in the Shitty First Draft, so hopefully, this will be to my benefit. Anyway, I’ll write a lot of words. I love words. They’re like typographic sprinkles. Mmmmm.


Coworker Dennis Puts It Succinctly

Me: So, how do we feel about the fact that a boy I went on one date with just wrote to me on MySpace to ask me to go to the Netherlands with him over Thanksgiving?

Coworker Dennis:

Yeah. Keep in mind that this one date? Was six months ago.

Coworker Dennis: ‘No, I don’t want to go to the Netherlands with you. I don’t even want to go to another bar with you.’

Tales From the Party

A boy bit my arm Saturday night. He staggered over to me at a party, slumped down in a chair, leaned over and bit my bare arm. And then he chewed it for a minute.

“Well, hello,” I said. “Can I help you?”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he slurred, wiping off my arm. “I’m so drunk.”

Rather obviously, wouldn’t you agree? Still and all, I suppose I should try to take it as a compliment. Weight loss efforts have stalled at their usual point, rendering me able to fit into my pants but still sort of, uh, upholstered looking.

I’m thinking this is just my look. Cab drivers seem to like it. At least two of them in recent memory have thoughtfully pinched my thigh, as though testing a fruit. The last one pinched my thigh, and then announced, somewhat hilariously, “I am Egypt.” Maybe that was the explanation? I don’t know.

On the other hand, there have been some nice things lately. I’m reading a wonderful book by E.B. White, Here is New York. And here is a wonderful quote from the wonderful book:

On any person who desires such queer prizes, New York will bestow the gift of loneliness and the gift of privacy … No one should come to New York to live unless he is willing to be lucky.


Even better, the gentleman who lent me the book said, while recommending it over the phone, “I was just going to open it, and the spine started to make that great cracking sound, so I didn’t. You can crack it.”

I love flowers, but an untouched E.B. White book about New York is definitely the way to my heart.