I have blog ADD.
Frankly, I have everything ADD. But that’s besides the stupid point that I am trying to make.
I forget that I have these blogs and how much fun they are to write them.
My dear friend/next door neighbor…I will call Volley (rhymes with Holly) and I, whilst chatting each other up in the backyard over some vino, have make the decision to read all the books on a best seller list.
Stupid drunk bitches.
It’s a list that the Brits put together, so it’s bound to be tight-assed, but thorough and admittedly correct. God Save the Queen.
They list the books starting at 100 and go down, but we are rebel motherf&*%#rs, so we are going to start at the bottom with number one.
A delightful English novel, written by that Vickie-torian cross-dressing, composer humping, bad ass chick George Eliot. Our goal is to read every novel on the list. With some books on the list, including Ulysses and Dostoyevsky, our goal is to make it at least one-third through the book without wanting to burn it, use it as a weapon or pee on it.
We are very busy people. I myself have somewhere along the lines of 3 to 7 jobs. The first step is to actually get the book. I owe the library too much money because we lost about two movies and a copy of Clifford the Big Red Dog, so I guess I will have to buy it.
Why do I continually drink myself into these situations?
CHALLENGE: Me? I feel the need to blog every breath I take, so I will whore myself out while reading these books, bloggidy-blog style, and post my own Heatherland reviews.
Goal? Start reading by the weekend. (My sub-goal is to actually finish this goal, because if there is one thing I am famous for, it’s my no-follow-through.)
Too bad the kids lost the kindle. Bambi blames Cracker, Cracker blames the “ghost” that the neighbor kid keeps leaving over here after playdates and Alpha is innocent, as usual. The point is, the freaking thing is missing. And it even had the 50 Shades series on it. Now, THAT is some fine literature, no one ever said in the whole world.
Wish me happy reading!