So, okay, those are the 3 Rs here at Tongue In Cheek. They may not necessarily be your three.
Anywho, here we go.
Yeah, pretty much nonexistent right now. The oldest Urchin has started up again with what brought her down last fall. And of course, every crazy test the doctors could think of was done to her. So they're at a loss as to what else to try. They just say inane things like, "Stay the course" and "A thousand points of light" and get me so irritated that I switch around all the things in their exam room while we're left alone waiting. Yeah, that's right, search for those tongue depressors. Search for them!
I've also been sick for the past week, so my drive is not what it should be. Getting out of bed takes so much effort that opening and editing a wip is more than I can stand right now.
But, I'm leaving on Friday morning for the New Jersey Romance Writer's conference. If I ever look up the directions on how to get there, that is. I attended two years ago, and found it worthwhile. Even though the fire alarm went off in the middle of the night at the hotel. So hopefully going to the conference will get some of my writing mojo to return.
I am a rummage sale junkie. I love a good rummage sale like stink bugs love Victoria Smith.
Whilst arriving early to a particularly good one late in the summer, I eyed the crowd. They were a feisty looking bunch. Frazzled moms with fidgety children, little blue-haired ladies with huge shopping bags made of recycled plastic (you know, the ones with the sharp, pointy corners), unkempt, overweight, sweat pant wearing men with stringy comb overs.
Yes they were a well seasoned, yet motley crew of hard core rummage maniacs. This is the kind of crowd where the little old ladies will run you over with their wire baskets-on-wheels as soon as look at you. The unkempt men will use every body odor available to them to clear a section they want. And the mommies will sic their little mucus encrusted darlings on your ass before you can say viscous liquids.
All they needed were some eye patches, peg legs and a touch of scurvy, and they'd be the masters of the Seven Seas.
So as I walked down the sidewalk, eyeing the line of competition, and receiving the hairy eyeball in return, I busted out my best professional wrestling announcer voice and yelled, "Let's get ready to RUUUUUMMMAAAAAAAGGE!!!!"
Everyone gave me a lot of room after that. I owe all my psychological warfare tactics to the sea monkeys.
No, that last section wasn't the ridiculousness. Sheesh. This will be some random ridiculousness.
I found a dead, dried out, cracking apart stink bug.
In my underwear drawer. EEEEEEEEWWWWW! Alright, that was more like the "What's Grosser Than Gross" jokes that permeated the early eighties. (You all remember those, right? What's grosser than gross? Finding out your brother's scab collection is missing after eating a bowl of Cornflakes.)
My Reign as the county 'Possum Queen is soon coming to an end, and I'll need to attend the Moonshine and Fried Possum Carnival in the first weekend of November to hand over my crown of taxidermied 'possums with rhinestone accents to the next queen. Ahh, the memories I'll be taking with me after this year of excitement. If you haven't accompanied me on the journey and missed it, check out the 'Possum Queen category to the right and catch up on all the 'possumy goodness this year has wrought.
So I'm off to get my annual haircut today for the writer's conference. My hair is ridiculously long. It reaches my waist in the back. Time to get a few inches off.
So tell me. How are your writing, rummaging and ridiculousness going?
From the pit (of despair)
4 hours ago