I guess now we know how to shut me up.
Just make me say an impossible amount of things in an aggressively short timeline. Then my brain will turn to goo and my normally-verbose self will just.stop.talking.
I bet my parents wish they’d known this cure many many years ago.
My spouse has got to be doubly glad. He remarked at one point a couple of weeks ago that he didn’t like it when I was to deep in my “writerly” ways because then I got–his words “extremely exacting verbally.” All because I told him that the thing he sleeps under is a comforter and not a quilt. Honestly. If it isn’t quilted it can’t be called a quilt. Well, and then I was correcting tv writers all the time. And it’s not like watching TV with me is a peach anyway because I’m always cracking up during the Ford Super Duty commercials every time they say Duty. And I’m always solving the mystery on crime shows. But during NaNoWriMo it was worse.
Probably the funniest moment was during an episode of FlashForward where one character explains to another that his daughter lost a leg in the Iraq War but disappeared because she was being hunted by evil mercs. The character chose to tell his not-drinking buddy (they’re both in AA) that said daughter was “on the run”.
It was funny. I laughed a lot.
But perhaps the worst moment came last night. It’s horribly awful of me to have laughed but my brain is gone and so are my manners. And my mind went to dwell in some gutter place. In fact, it’s so bad I can’t even bring myself to tell people here what happened. Let’s just say it involved David Bromstad decorating cookies at Disney World and we’ll leave it at that.
Speaking of David Bromstad...How on earth did he get a television gig? I mean, I guess the Wikipedia entry said he won a contest. (I had to look him up because my spouse and I kept asking each other why HGTV gave that guy a show.) But he can’t have had much competition. In one hour of television–again, the Decorating Disney World For The Holidays–he said “that’s in-SANE!” at least thirty times. That’s when I stopped couting. I think giving him a show was the in-SANE thing. Oh well. Not that it matters.
Anyway, I just wrote 400 words talking about how I can’t write. So I’m going to go to bed.