Member that time yesterday when I posted a blog called "30 In 3o: Day Twelve. Part One?" That was actually an homage to Mel Brooks', "History of the World Part One". There never was supposed to be a second one. Joke's on you.
Maybe there was supposed to be a second part, but The Silence of the Lambs on TV and two glasses of wine thwarted my intentions. (P.S. I can quote that entire movie. Even after two glasses of wine.). But you know what they say, "The Road to Hell is Paved with Lazt Blog Writing."
There is something about being at the house upstate that makes me want to bake bread and make scones and milk cows. Tonight I made cookies, which is, like, kind of all those things combined. I mean, it's not at all, except I put chocolate chips, reese's pieces, AND mini marshmallows in them, so it's almost as if I made bread and scones and milked cows. I also made a tiny margherita pizza out of play-doh and built a bad-ass fire in the wood-burning stove thingy. So, I'm pretty much an olde time farm wife. Minus the wife part.
Jesus Christ. We're watching the Omen and I swear to god, Damien looks like a brown-haired, brown-eyed Monty.
Turns out the good thing about sending your agent writing at the end of the day on a Friday is that when you don't hear from her all weekend you can assume it's because it's the weekend. If you send her something on Monday and two days go by with no word you can be like, "Uh, yeah. She's dropping me." This way, you get to just be kind of uneasy all weekend.
I gave Monty a haircut and he looks like he belongs in one of those hospitals for the forgotten. YOU know what I mean. It's a good thing Hitler isn't around anymore because he for sure would be like, "ZAT child! Ze one with ze hair of an idiot! Put him in ze showers!" There is something definitely wrong with me.
Here's where I spout my brilliance.