Is "Fal De Ral" a real word? I am way too lazy to look it up. Doing the dictionary thing is way too much Fal De Ral for me. See what I just did there? I used it in a sentence. Seriously though, I have no idea if it's a real word or not. Alls I know is that in my family we use it all the time. It means nonsense or waste of time. I totally think it's the perfect possible word possible non-word to describe my Facebook Friday blog posts. Actually, it's the perfect possible word possible non-word to describe my entire blog. A big pile of nonsense and a waste of your time. Boom!
Why I'm proud of that I have no idea. But I am.
So last Friday Fox News Houston was at my house to do a segment about the book I Just Want To Pee Alone. If you read Monday's blog post (here) or are on my Facebook page then not only do you already know what I'm talking about, but you are totally and completely sick of hearing about it. And I'm sorry. I really am. But you have to comprehend one thing: This is a HUGE deal for us. I'm talking level 8 outta 10 excitement. I mean, it's not Oprah or Ellen or anything, but it is exciting. So you're just gonna have to deal with it for awhile. Capish? Another thing that happened last week is that the letter that I wrote to Felicity Huffman (read it here) about wanting her website to review our book, actually got me somewhere. I received an email from one of the writers on her website What The Flicka who came across the blog I wrote about the letter. She forwarded it to Felicity and to the editor of the website. Guess what? They loved my letter and are most likely going to review the book! I will keep you posted on how all that goes down, but the Felicity email plus the email I sent to Sebastien Million and the blog I wrote about Jason O'Mara all prove that sometimes being weird does pay off. Score 3 points for the weirdos of the world! Thursday I did an interview with Hines' Side Show from US97 (Springfield's Classic Rock) back in my old town of Springfield, MO. Home of Brad Pitt and Cashew Chicken. It will be available for you guys to listen to via itunes or something like that (I really only half listen to the details on these things and never have any clue what's going on) on Monday. I will post a link when I get it. It was fun! I don't remember a lot. It's like a weird dream after too much Mexican food where you only recall bits and pieces such as maybe you said something about smuggling black tar heroin in your butt or possibly mentioned that you wanted to be the first lesbian first lady. It's all a bit fuzzy. But I guess we'll find out Monday. Over the weekend I told everyone on Facebook about this artist that I have loved for years and years named Dolan Geiman. Twice a year every year I stalk him at the Houston Art Festival. I am obsessed with his work and too afraid to talk to him and too cheap to buy anything. Yes. I am afraid to talk to him. I know that shocks people but it's true. Well this year I talked to him. Okay okay. He talked to me first and instead of throwing something at him and running away like my instincts told me to do, I talked back. And we talked about my favorite piece of his. And then The Hub bought me that piece. And then I nearly peed my pants from giddiness.
|Me and my new BFF Dolan and my birds. I look calm but I was giving my deodorant a real test and trying not to pee on him.|
Here are a few popular Facebook Statuses from the past 2 weeks:
-I want to eat all of the Reese's Eggs of the world. I could live on Reese's Eggs. The ratio of chocolate to peanut butter is magical perfection. If Baby Jesus had an angelic chicken in that manger these eggs would have come from that manger chicken. Magical Jesus manger chicken eggs
-So you know you've made the small time when your home town newspaper's online edition gives you a special corner for your blogs to go. Yes. My entire hometown gets to see me write about surprise buttsecksing inanimate objects and having the nervous poopsies. Suck on that all you a-hole girls from high school who were mean to me. And that one boy I liked who didn't like me back and now looks like a hobo. And Dear Mean Math Teacher, I still don't know how to do algebra and things are going ok. xoxo Patti
-Mom, I don't wanna hurt your feelings. But some of the girls at my school have bigger boobs than you. Way bigger boobs.
A middle schooler
-The Boy either wakes up happy and ready to roll or totally ticked off and whining about everything and saying things like I wish the whole world would explode because that's better than going to freaking school. One never knows which boy they are going to get on what day. It's a total crap shoot. Five mornings a week I climb up the stairs wondering what fate awaits me. I always sing. I hope against hope that I will get the perky boy so I always sing a song about waking up. Sometimes he throws something at me but I keep on singing. I just change the lyrics to reflect the fact that he's being a turd. I wish there was a way to know which version of The Boy I was getting every morning. Like when my alarm clock goes off it could have a little robot voice say "The Boy is happy" or "The Boy is freaking pissed." I just want a warning so I don't always walk down the hallway looking all nervous and stressy like the Green Mile guy on his way to the electric chair. But less giant. And a bit more pale.
-There was a grey cat in my yard so I went out to meet him. He was very sweet and told me his name was Sam P. Bellyrubbins. So I'm standing there talking to him and The Cat comes up to me and rubs my leg then looks at Sam. Sam was super calm and just laid down and purred. I said "Sam this is Gypsy and you guys are gonna be best friends!" Then The Cat pounced on Sam and he ran into the bushes next door. Then The Cat walked the property line between the yards. Back and forth back and forth, and kept looking at Sam like "I dare you to cross this line you furry mofo." I am very disappointed. I thought we were gonna have a cat party. I thought The Cat was friendly. I had no idea she was the neighborhood bully.
-It's the First Monday after Spring Break. the Boy has spent a week staying up until all hours and sleeping in. The Boy's schedule is all effed up. The Boy's body clock is confused. The Boy does not want to go to school. School sucks. The Boy does not want the kitchen light on. It's freaking killing his eyes. The Boy does not want a cinnamon roll. They are too small and he will be starving to death by lunch. The Boy does not want an orange. The oranges are dry. The Boy does not want chocolate milk. That's a ridiculous question. The Boy does not want The cat to look at him. She looks at him weird. The Boy does not want The Dog to lick him. It's creepy. The Boy does not want those birds outside to chirp. They're too noisy The Boy does not want the earth tp spin on it's axis. That makes us have days which make us have school. the Mom wants coffee. the Coffee is the only chance The Boy has at survival.
A few weeks ago I collaborated with my friend (and the designer of my blog banner) Sebastien Millon to create something for a charity auction. My friend Sheila over at Mary Tyler Mom is raising money for a charity called St. Baldrick's which helps to fund research for a cure for childhood cancer. Sebastien and I put our brains together and came up with this:
That's little cartoon me with a little cartoon spork holding hands with a little cartoon unicorn during the little cartoon Zombie Squirrel Apocalypse. I love this long time. It's an 18x24 inch print on archival paper, signed and dated by both Sebastien and myself. It's a one time printing and says 1/1 next to the signatures. It is available for bidding RIGHT HERE and the auction ends this Sunday, March 31st. ALL proceeds go to finding a cure for childhood cancer so it's a good thing!
That's it for this wrap-up. Thank balls. Because The Boy is all up in my bidness right now and my blog is acting up and changing the font style and size on everything I am typing all willy nilly and I feel like stabbing it if only I could stab a website because it's annoying the BeeGees out of me. So I'm out of here, you guys. Have a great Easter Weekend and eat a crap load of those Cadbury Cream Eggs so I don't have to look at them anymore. They truly disgust me. The inside looks like yolk. How is that even appetizing? I don't want my chocolate resembling chicken fetuses. Thank you very much.