Four people have asked me if I'm pregnant this week. This is like that time all those people told me I looked like Maggie Gyllenhaal and I started wondering if I was Maggie Gyllenhaal, because my mind is way into suggestive hypnosis. Or whatever. But maybe those four people are just, in a polite way, trying to suggest that I stop eating M&M's for breakfast snack lunch snack and dinner. Well. Those people can suck it.
In other news, Wigleaf and Brian Evenson think my story, Finding There (published in Cricket Online Review), is one of the Top 50 Very Short Fictions of 2009. This calls for M&M's!
[Aside: Husband is in the other room playing Wii Mario, and muttering things like "That was really, really dumb. I really hate myself. GAH!" I am laughing through my nose at this, hard, an alarming new trend in my laughstyle.]
And in perhaps the most revealing news I've yet disclosed in 2010, I went to see Sex and the City 2 the other day. Which means I paid to see it, in the theater, surrounded by other people who paid to see it. The more I think about this, the worse I feel. The movie was a pile of deathballs moldering on an altar of rotting meat. It is about women in much of the same authentic way the 90's rap hit "Informer" was about thug life. I still think the entire first 20 minutes of it was a fever dream brought on by M&M's, margaritas, and the mild hysteria clouding my irises that began once I clicked "Buy" on the Fandango website. I kept blinking my eyes, rubbing them, trying to get a purchase on what exactly I was seeing. I experience the same symptoms when I stare at the sun, or when I see Taylor Swift's face.
Anyway. That's what's new. Going to Savannah next week for a one-year anniversary trip. That is, if the husband makes it through the anguish-filled seizure he is currently having in the other room.
P.S. Reading a story about John Wayne Gacy at the Encyclopedia Show this Wednesday. TOO EASY COACH!