It has only been six days since my last post. I’m on a roll! It’s a pathetic roll, but it’s still a roll.
I’ll sleep when I’m dead.
This morning I woke up at 5 am and couldn’t get back to sleep. What the fuck is that? I read for a while, thinking that would help me doze off, but it didn’t work. Now I have a big fucking headache and no amount of coffee is fixing me.
Good news and bad news… about coffee.
It is fabulous that Butter Pecan is back at Dunkin’. It is not fabulous that the dude made a little bit of a mess of my iced coffee cup so that when I grabbed it for that first delicious sip as I pulled out of the drive-thru, it dribbled down my shirt… right over my right boob [there is no wrong boob]. Not a small dribble either—enough to soak through my shirt to my bra. It was fucking cold. And there I was… shoving napkins down my shirt while driving.
Is this bad?
It seems that I’ve got a regular afternoon snack [along with my pm dose of coffee, of course]. I didn’t even realize I had a pb pretzel habit until I started to freak out that my bag was almost empty and couldn’t imagine going a single day without these little nuggets of deliciousness. See Exhibit A.
Did you know…?
When I write, my leading men eventually, at some point or other, call my female lead ‘honey‘. They may use other terms of endearment, too, but honey is always one of them. The reason is Coldplay or more specifically, Chris Martin. Something about the way he sings ‘honey‘ in the song A Rush of Blood to the Head makes me melt a little. [Fun fact: I don’t like actual honey.]
No one is calling me.
I used to use the intro music from Don’t Let It Break Your Heart [Coldplay] as my ringtone. I don’t anymore, but whenever I’m listening to music and that song comes on, I grab my phone to answer it. And then I feel like an idiot.
Don’t judge a book by it’s cover?
I do it all the time. I literally choose books to read based on their covers. Not all the time, but still. I guess maybe this is bad? But what I really think is that this proves the power of great design [and choosing the most luscious cover model]. See Exhibit B.
How can I resist?
I have a new dream.
I kind of want to write a book now [like, a real one, not just the messing around stuff I’ve already written] just so I can use this specimen of deliciousness on my cover. See Exhibit C. I guess I’d have to ask permission. Preferably in person. Up close and personal. While he’s shirtless. And maybe a little sweaty.
Ahh… Mr. Sexy Arms [face, beard, eyes, ass*] Beach Guy…
*Please note that I’ve switched to the uncropped version of this photo, resulting in the addition of ‘ass’ to his list of sexy features. I really am going to have to start calling him Mr. Fuck Me. He has fuck-me eyes. Hmm… I think I know what my book will be about…
See you soon. I promise. Or maybe that’s a threat?
p.s. — Sometimes I’m mildly concerned about my man-crazy tendencies. Is there something wrong with me? Well, yes, lots of things, but I mean because of this particular obsession. I have a sexy male model as the wallpaper on my phone and on my laptop. I have a folder on my laptop called ‘Men’. It has about 400 files in it. Maybe I could claim them as writing inspiration. Let me provide an example because that’s just the kind of generous, giving soul I am. *looks through nearly 400 pictures… spends a half hour trying to choose one*
Oh, the sacrifices I make for you. I must be a saint.