Wednesday, May 27, 2009

I should write a book

I am not sure what I would title this work of fiction that would be (loosely) based on my crazy life, but I am convinced it could sell. I used to say that my life could be made into a screenplay for a movie for the Lifetime network. Maybe I'll write that book and then have a major motion picture (loosely) based on the book that is (loosely) based on my life. Because of the nature of a blog, I don't post every aspect of my life's craziness. I am posting to the world wide web. But I have enough neutral craziness to share.

After a bout of tossing my cookies last Thursday, I busted a vein in my eyeball causing half of my eye to look like it is filled with blood (just the white part... it is subconjunctival hemorrhaging). I spent Friday recovering and went to work on Saturday, the day we greeted 843 boy and girl scouts at the battlefield to help put American flags out in the national cemetery. You know you look bad when the law enforcement ranger greets you with "whoa! what did you do! that's disgusting!" and you have another boss tell you that you look like you've stepped out of a horror film. Thanks, guys.

Not only did I play (and am still playing) the zombie ranger, I had to do it on television. I also supposed to be in a wedding on Friday. Yesterday, Jim and I drove to Nashville at some insane hour in the morning for a 2 minute and 34 second appearance on Nashville's Fox 17 "Tennessee Mornings." We were on the road before the sun even thought about piercing the sky. My family assures me that they couldn't really see my eye, so I try to take comfort in that. Now if I can only figure out how I can completely remove the red before my sister's wedding.

I bedazzled a pirate's eye patch to wear at the wedding. My sister thinks I kid about wearing it at the wedding. My watermelon pink bridesmaid's dress clashes with my blood red... blood- I had to do something. It's ok. At this point, I will be wearing my pirate patch along with my leopard-print, 4-inch heels to the reception so I can unsanctionedly dance in my dress that remains far too low for my figure that may be a little busty at a wedding where most of the groom's family are Church of Christ. And I'll do it all sober. My roommate assures me that I am helping my sister out by making her look very good to his family in comparison to me. I do what I can.

And next week, after the majority of the family leaves, I will be able to sit down and really start focusing on the nonsense that I have been told is necessary to graduate. Or maybe I'll just write my NYT bestselling work of fiction that is (loosely) based on my life.

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