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Yes, my friends, it has been over a year since this page has changed. "Why now?" you may ask.
Because I'm crazy. Yes, completely batty, off my symbolic rocker, a few french fries short of a Happy Meal, whatever
idiom floats your boat. I am so crazy, I have committed to writing a novel in the insane time span of ONE MONTH.
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Day 7
Word count: 3,005
Yes! I broke 3,000! Never mind the fact that I should be well on my way to 10,000 by now. I'll make
it up somehow. Even if I have to make it up.
Funny bit o' the day:
“So, are you going out again?”
“Yes, we are. We’re going bowling on Friday night. But, there’s
something a little odd about him. I can’t pinpoint what it is, there’s
just something not right. I have a sneaking suspicion that he’s a stalker
or serial killer.”
“So you think you’re
dating a stalker? Jenny, didn’t Frank turn out to be a stalker?”
“Well, I did come across him
going through my trash one night, and then I found a little shrine he’d built in his basement with my photo all over
and a bowl of Jell-o.”
“Jell-o?”
“I never could figure out
what that was for. He said it was just dessert.”
“Actually, I’m leaning
towards serial killer for Alan. He doesn’t have the right car to be a stalker.”
“The right car? I didn’t realize there were regulations on that sort of thing.”
“You know what I mean. To stalk someone, you need a nicely inconspicuous car.”
“And what kind of car does
he have? A bright red Camaro?”
“No, he’s got a Toyota
Camry.”
“A Camry?” says Jenny. “But there are millions of those out there.
What’s more inconspicuous than a Camry?”
“A Camry that’s not
painted to look like the General Lee.”
“Oh.”
“With vanity plates that read
DOH4EVR.”
“I didn’t think it could
get worse.” Says Brandi.
“Oh, ye of little faith.”
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Day 4
Word count: 1,270 Even more pathetic than Monday. But, when you consider that Tues (election) and Wed (recovering)
were a complete loss, and that I (stupidly) deleted 600 words tonight, I actually wrote quite a bit. I really need to
work on that Inner Editor kennel.
Slightly funny bit:
The first communication doesn’t
go well. Really, do men seriously think I’m going to be impressed with
someone who can’t spell or use the proper form of “there?” C’mon
people, I said I wanted someone intelligent. This, yes this is from the girl
who shies away from using the word topography.
I should’ve thrown it in there to weed out the idiots. I don’t
bother to answer it.
The second email is better, and
the guy seems funny. But it’s hard to tell online, when everyone has a
lot of time to edit and spell check before sending. Well, some people bother
to edit and spell check. I didn’t spend a week creating my profile to talk
to someone who doesn’t take the time to at least try not to sound like a
dumbass. I decide to throw him a bone, after all, in his photo he’s reasonably
attractive.
“Dear Rollerman2003, thank
you for your persistence. I applaud your efforts at gaining my attention in your
attempts to win my affection. So, do you really speak Swahili, or is that just
a nasty rumor? No, I really don’t want to be Cher in my next life, I’d prefer someone
like Holly Hunter or Mahatma Ghandi. What about you? What will your next incarnation be? I’m going to go
out on a limb and guess Venus flytrap. Cheers, Wonder_woman 298.”
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Day One. I actually forgot for a while that today was the day. So I missed out on a few hours of good writing
time, then forgot to turn off my inner editor, as advised by the wise people of NaNoWriMo. But, not such a bad start,
considering I've already changed direction twice in the first 2 hours.
Word count: 873 Totally Pathetic. About half my quota. But I'll make it all up tomorrow at work.
Relatively funny excerpt:
Name: Karen Carpenter. Yes, I've heard that joke before.
Age:
age? Good god, this means subtraction…32? That sounds right.
Height: 5’3 ¼” Damn…no space for fractions. 5’5”
then.
Weight: None of your business.
No space for that, either, huh? Ok, 110. 9 years ago. Yes! No space for that!
Hair: today, it’s brown.
Eyes: Still brown
Star Sign: what is this, 1972? Ok, Gemini.
Marital status: single, never married.
Children: No, thank you. Oh, you mean, do I have children? No.
Sex: Yes, please. Oh, wait, I’m not Mike Meyers. Female (duh)
Seeking: Sex. Hee hee. Ok, maybe I’m a little Mike Meyers.
Seeking:
Sex:
Male
Hair: I don’t really care…wait,
I don’t really like blondes.
Eyes: 2, please.
Height: 5’9 to 6’10. No, I really don’t want someone that tall. I’d
spend a fortune on a chiropractor…6’3. That’s tall enough.
Weight: Ok, I don’t want a
210lb guy who’s 5’9 or a 160lb guy who’s 6’3! No way
to specify a weight for a height! Fuck it.
No preference
Religion: any one that doesn’t compel you to tell me I’m going to hell every five minutes, or that I
need to embrace the beauty of the moment when I’ve just broken a limb
Star sign: Totally 1972. Anything but Gemini. I can’t stand Gemini’s.
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cmtrm@earthlink.net
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