Guten Abend, Gentle Reader. The last week or two have been absolute chaos, and I’m afraid the pre-scheduled posts that I was so proud of ran out before I had an opportunity to write some more. That’s actually what I’ve been doing today*, but I’ve been awfully distracted by this. This woman is hilarious and I love her, and possibly want to be her, but only in the not-wearing-someone’s-skin kind of way. Um.
I should clarify, because I found out last night that they made a musical out of Silence of the Lambs and yeah, it’s great. Terrible. NSFW. But it’s also not what I want to do to the lady who writes that blog. I just want to admire her.
It’s just possible that by writing this post she gets a free restraining order, and now I won’t be able to visit Philadelphia. If there are any NSA goblins reading this, I’m really quite harmless, I assure you. Alors.
While I’ve been at my mother’s (all this last week; before that I was at a friend’s wedding across the mountains in Cashmere, Wa – the home of Aplets and Cotlets! We’ll address that in the next post) she has agreed to purchase a ticket to Munich for me so that I can visit Ex-Husband. There were some developments that have led me to believe that it will be possible for me to subsist quite well – luxuriously, elegantly even – as an European Hobo. Clearly that is my dream job, and it may come to pass. I’ve been consumed by the amount of exciting research I’ve been doing to prove it possible, and it seems likely. So that. I think European Hobo is a promotion from Penniless Unpublished Author Who Needs To Finish At Least One Of His Damned Books Already, Well, One That He’ll Allow People To See, Anyway, although really it might be more of a sideways move.
At any rate, it is absolutely necessary for me to immediately improve my French and to learn any German at all. I keep trying to learn the German, but I am awful at being my own task-master (I am far too lenient. I’m a terrible boss.) and the only thing that I seem able to retain is “Ich bin ein betrunken wütend geist,” which is really not the most useful phrase in the world, although I think it might result in free drinks, were I to say it to a bartender. I’m pretty sure.
Ich bin ein betrunken, wütend, geist! Rawwwr! Gin und Tonic Ficken, bitte, Scheiβkerl!
The drunk, angry ghost above has been brought to you in part by Google Translate.
I’m going to truncate this very rambly post, because apparently, I am in a very peculiar frame of mind just now. The kicker? I’m sober, but I feel as though I’ve been drinking today. The only clear solution is to have a glass of wine and see if that sobers me up. We shall see. As I said before, I am terrible at making myself do things, but I will say that I’ve been very strict regarding my daily writing exercise and my daily skin regimen (which I may do a blog post about as well, later; I want to write fifteen of the damned things because the next couple of weeks are rather busy).
Alright. I’m actually ending the post here. Cigarette and a glass of wine, and maybe I’ll be competent to write real posts for the next few weeks. Maybe.
*That is to say, that is what I set out to do today, what I’m supposed to be doing today, but not, in fact, actually what I’ve been doing today.
UPDATE: So I’ve edited this post possibly sixty-six times since I first published it, maybe ten minutes ago, and while I was having the aforesaid cigarette and glass of wine, I came up with THE BEST JOKE. Ahem.
How do you make a drunk ghost angry?
By taking his drink away, asshole.
And in German:
Wie macht man ein Betrunkener Geist wütend?
Indem sein Getränk weg, Arschloch.
You’re welcome, everybody.