Tag Archives: DoYoReHoBloMo

Taco Time



You are cake’s constant speculation. (Fight Club)


8:00PM: “Here, try this space cake. It will totally chill you out.”

8:05PM: I eat one piece. Nothing happens.

8:45PM: I eat a bigger piece. Still nothing.

9:55PM: I’m in the same spot, trying to invent a new way to tie shoes that will rock the entire universe. I am wearing flip-flops.

10:14PM: I’m high-fiving a guy in a parking lot who says he is “half-bear, half-Golden Girl.” I tell him he was born this way.

11:05PM: I’m in a corner booth with a half-rack of ribs and a pack of howling strangers. Space cake makes me funny.

12:20AM: I’m bumming a smoke off a hot dog vendor, explaining how I finally quit smoking like five years ago and he can, too.

1:01AM: I’m in an underground bar in a photobooth, taking photos with my best friend, Cheetos.

1:15AM: I’m sharing Game of Thrones conspiracy theories outside with a guy in a taco costume. I ask if it’s Halloween because I can’t remember my face. He claims it’s July but what the fuck do tacos know about time?

1:47AM: I’m standing in a 7-11, looking for answers to life in the freezer. I find Chocolate Peanut Butter Haagen-Daas ice cream instead. Life questions: answered.

2:30AM: I’m making pasta in my kitchen and attempting Beyonce’s “Single Ladies” dance. The apartment manager calls and says the neighbors have complained, so I open the front door and yell something totally fierce into the hallway.

3:07AM: I’m pulling out all the fancy salt to re-organize them alphabetically — or maybe autobiographically, like John Cusack in High Fidelity where he bangs Khal Drogo’s real-life wife.

5:00AM: A bird is talking mad shit about me to other birds outside.

The next afternoon, I wake up to a text from my space cake friend.

How was the rest of your evening?

I take inventory.

I’m half-naked on the couch, pants nowhere to be found. I’m covered in lipstick, BBQ sauce, cigarette ash, Cheeto powder, ice cream, pasta bits, and Himalayan salt. All the lights are on and the TV is blaring. I’m pretty sure the front door is open.

On the coffee table is a drawing in permanent marker of a Slytherin-Targaryen family crest with “TATTOO???” written next to it.

It’s not my worst idea ever.

Awesome, I text back. Let’s do it again soon.

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DoYoReHoBloMo: As You Do


It’s that time of year again: NaNoWriMo, or, as some basic bitches call it, National Novel Writing Month. I know a ton of people who do this every year to varying degrees of success. Some actually write a 50,000 word novel, many use it as a writing exercise to get something started (or finish a something that started the year before). Like others strewn across the NaNoWriMo battlefield, I’ve only made it to the second week before remembering I had other things to do, like

-Make a sandwich

-Eat a sandwich

-Watch 400 hours of The West Wing

-Edit a paper I wrote in high school

-Organize my self-help books about organization

-Start a fight with my husband about his priorities

-Try a new lip color

-Complain about how hard it is to find time to write

-Gain some weight

-Take up knitting (again)

-Vacuum the house

-Fix my whole life

THIS YEAR, I am not signing up to fail that writing marathon, but I did tell the nerd at Nerd’s Eye View that it was my Do You Remember How To Blog Month (because I’d like to be posting more). She aptly named it DoYoReHoBloMo, so with great determination and possibly some Adderall, I will attempt to blog on the reg – and by that, I mean let’s see how I do this week. I haven’t seen The West Wing in a while, so.

Hold on while I make a sandwich.

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