::Serendipity::

Where are All the Inspirational Zombie Books? ________________________________________________________________

I have no excuse. It's 1:30AM and I have a perfectly good bottle of Ambien. What. The. Hell.

I guess I'm looking to be crowned Queen of Procrastination 2010. Sweet! Where's my tiara?!

I have two reviews to write. They are due tomorrow... Er... today. Crap. I don't feel like writing serious crap. I feel like writing random blog-type crap. Meh. Well, I don't get my name in print if I just blog! Wait. I kinda do. Well, whatever!

Oh, I haven't really written about that much. I write book reviews for The Romantic Times Book Review Magazine. Or "RT Magazine" as we're now known. Probably to get away from the "Romantic" thing. Thank goodness! I mean, I like a good romance as much as the next person, but I don't like to read them much as they are sooooo unrealistic. I like the real thing that starts with your husband remembering to pick up your Ambien on the way home. Hey, he did his part! Anyway, it's not a paid gig, this reviewing thing. But they send me books of my choosing. And a free magazine. And I get credit as "associate editor" in the issues I'm in. Which isn't every issue, because of my prejudice against "romance" novels. It's something I'm working on. I write for the Inspirational genre. I like it! But it's a lot of historical/lovey dovey stuff. Sometimes more inspiring than others. Once in a while, I'll get to read a good mystery, but it's not often. Most reads are good. But not something I'd go out of my way to purchase.

But in the June edition, I got to review a Zombie book for another genre of the magazine. Yeah, not too many Inspirational Zombie books out there. I think it's a niche that needs to be filled, but probably won't happen in my lifetime. That was a great read! I should post it in my book blog, hunh?

Yeah. I should. I'm just so busy with this procrastination thing I just got my pretend tiara for. And this mom thing. And gardening. If I kill all these seedlings I've invested all this time and money in, I'm going to be ticked! And all my knitting for charity. And for cash. I've actually been commissioned to knit a few things. Yay! I like that a lot. I just need to learn to keep the money instead of putting it in "our" bank account and using it for groceries. How lame is that? It should be going in my Go to Paris with Shany fund, or better yet, My New Coach Bag Fund.

Okay, I guess I'm not going to bed and taking my lovely Ambien because I'm still grumpy that Michael's dog scratched my eye lid. It wasn't his fault. He's just a bull in a china shop. Kinda like Michael. I wish I had a dollar for every time he's bumped into some random person in line. Michael. Not the dog. And here's where I admit that I'm slightly jealous of Michael's dog. I never in a million years dreamed he'd be one of THOSE dog people. The kind who shares his teriyaki beef stick with his dog. Or worse yet, buys the dog his own. Or shares his cup of Chai tea. His dog licks his... bits, and then drinks out of his cup. HELLO! Gross! I don't even do that! I'll very reasonably swipe a bit of whipped cream from my Kona Mocha Ice Rage for Ozzy to lick like a normal person! So Michael is in bed snuggling his dog. Who sleeps in my spot. On my pillow. The dog who scratched my eye lid and made me bleed! Stupid dog. I better not have a scar. I love him. You can't stay mad at this dog, it's impossible. He's like a unicorn who swallowed a hundred rainbows. You just can't help but adore him. But he goes from zero to a billion in no time flat, the little beast! And he sleeps on Michael's arm. MY arm. I used to sleep on that arm. Well, granted, it's a little too close to the arm PIT, and that can use some deodorant, so I don't know why I'm complaining. The dog is probably doing my nostrils a favor.

Still. I want to cuddle.

Thank goodness I have my dog. All he does is eat leftovers I leave within his reach. Or one of two 10oz. steaks Michael brought home. The next day, he got his dog. That will learn me.

Michael's dog (for this very public record) has:

1. Crapped on the floor on my side of the bed, where I stepped in it in my bare feet. We're talking between the toes. So mad.

2. Crapped on the floor at Michael's office a few times, of which I've had to clean up because he was on the air. His poop is huge, smelly, and usually runny. I much prefer baby diapers.

3. Rarely comes when I call him and takes for freaking ever to go potty when I take him out.

4. Sleeps on my side of the bed and ignores me when I try to move him.

5. Gives me hives when he licks me.

6. Scratched my eye lid with his big floppy doggie paw possibly causing irreparable damage to the delicate skin of said eye lid.

There. I've vented. I feel better.

No wonder I want to read a good zombie book instead of lovey dovey you are my inspiration as I run through the daisies in my giant hooped skirt and corset book.

posted by Terri at 4/30/2010 01:36:00 AM >1 comments

1 Comments:

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