Rancid Holiday - A Short Novella

A dear friend of mine from college and I were chatting on Facebook tonight (Chatting! On Facebook! Who knew?!?) and somehow started coming up with lines for the absolutely worst novel ever. (Every year on NPR, I hear about a contest for the worst opening line of a novel, but I can't think of what it's called so I can't credit it here ... ).

We've started sharing this as a "Note" on Facebook, but I wanted to share with y'all here, too. Please, play along! Leave a line for this novel in the comments, and when it's all done it will be published here (as well as on Facebook).

Here's the first line:




Rancid Holiday - Chapter One

I ate my feelings with an entire box of Thin Mints, and washed out my heart with skim milk that expired last week, like my desire to live.



How should the rest of the story unfold???

Matterpics

Yes, again. Life is not just busy, it's buried. So enjoy Seattle and the Matter/ScooterHome erupting into spring. I am.

Scott has been collecting state-themed quarters. He's missing a few. This makes him sad.

Scott called on his way home the other night saying he was stopping at the store and asked if I wanted anything. I asked him to get a little wine. He took me literally.

This oversized moving truck was in front of our house before 8:00 this morning. On a Sunday. We saw them put a rocking chair, two lamps, and a small bookshelf in it. It left around noon.

Our black tulip magnolia is getting ready to bloom.

Moss grows fat on a rolling ... um, apple tree.

Stoli and the back half of Kitty wading through the mud in the back yard.

It was really bright out. And damn I look pasty.

Bleeding heart coming up by the hydrangea.

Sun!!!!!!!

The waterfall in the pond. I love the sound.

Matterpics

Guess Who's Back.

I missed ya, Joe.

Happy St. Patrick's Day

Or at least the American version of it. Corned beef has been in the crockpot all day with onions and carrots ... just added some Guinness and cloves ... and I'll be making champ later on. I wish Scott could deal with the smell of cabbage, I miss having that!

Here are a couple of pictures of why I miss Chicago at St. Patrick's Day:

Éirinn go brách!