Writer's Block

Ok. So...I haven't been writing because I have a seriously mad case of writer's block. Like, bad. Like, I go through the day thinking of all these great things to write about, I sit down to pound it out...and it's gone. There's nothing there. Every day. for like 4 months. So, to rectify this harrowing situation--which it really is for me...I feel worthless and depressed every time it happens...like I went to go pick up my kid from school but just passed it by and drove home to lay in bed for 4 months instead. Anyway, I figured out how to rectify this. I'm going to write a novel in 30 days. No, really. Seriously. I am. I'm going to create a new blog spot and every day write about 1600 words. for 30 days. for real. I don't care what I write, how it sounds, what happens to my characters, etc. I'm just going to write 1600 words, even if they're seriously retarded and make no sense. You can have your daily dose of the madness inside my head, and at the end of it all, it will magically come together in book form. Likely, a crazy, homeless person's book form, but book form none the less. And you all should join me, you lazy nosey bastards. Consider this a challenge. Do it with me. we'll motivate eachother, and in about 35 days from now, we'll be authors! Really shitty authors of really shitty rough drafts, no doubt, but as Hemmingway said "every first draft is shit". and instead of being a "one day..." writer, you'll be...a writer. Now, I wish this was all actually my idea, but it's not. It's the brainchild of Chris Baty, founder of National Novel Writing Month, known to the rest of us as November, but known to those in the inner circle as NaNoWriMo. Seriously. I didn't make that up. So anyway, the concept is easy. I already told you. Write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days. we're starting on October 1st. That is your assignment. you have 5 days from now to choose to accept. for more info, go to www.nanowrimo.org peace out, bitches.

WHAT THE F#&!

SERIOUSLY! WHAT THE FUCK?????? Apparently, all living with two hot roommates gets you these days is a bunch of dudes that want to meet your roommates. I mean, yeah, that'd be fine if I was like...oh...I don't know...A BOY NAMED ALEX...but since I'M NOT...I'm kind of getting tired of "Hey....you're pretty hot......I heard you got some hot roommates too! Well, introduce me already!" Or...."Hey Al! Long time no see! Yeah...cool....So...where are those girls?????" EFFF YOU, PEOPLE! I feel like one of those attention depraved mothers who turn psycho on their kid because all anybody asks them anymore is how much the whiny, cry-y, poopie, blob she popped out eats, shits and sleeps, and nobody cares about her new shampoo scent or the body glitter cream she purposly slathered on in excess just to see if anybody could even actually see her anymore. But nobody ever does. So she just sits there...glowing like a churnoble survivor while the rest of the world plays with their newest toy. Seriously, people. I have feelings. And unless you're Casino Dave, stop asking me about my roommates. And if you are Casino Dave, call Rhiannon. She thinks you're hot.

Back in Black...bras

So...yeah. I'm back. Back to the grind. Back to my future. Back in the saddle again, and this year I'm in it to win it. And by win it I mean not get kicked out for either a lack of intellectual capacity, or various and sundry acts. If, perchance, I get kicked out for any other reason, that's not my fault because, as I've already explained, my goals are quite narrow this time around. Yeah. So...lets see...about the new apartment. Well...I really thought it would be great for my writing, you know? Two loud chicks to mess with my privacy and butt their asses in where they don't belong, henceforth fueling the flames of my dark and brooding pen. But, alas, like everything else that should go so right in my cracked out little life, it all went wrong... And by wrong I mean beautifully right. These chicks are hot and they rock, I have next to nothing to complain about except for too much food whenever I want it, and a mass of beauty products at my beckon call. We have a fat patio with a chandelier...yes, I said patio with a chandelier...granite countertops, 95 bars within walking or a 3 dollar cab ride distance, and a 6'7'' handyman that flies down once a month to make sure we're set up with free TiVo. (Thanks, Snyder) Really, though, does life get any better than that? I'm sure it does, but only when you're counting on it to suck to fuel your only life-saving passion. Anyway, I just wanted to let all 3 of you know that I'm back and promise to be the same ol' Al. now leave me alone, I'm cramping to high hell.