Oh hello, week. It may only be Tuesday but I have some choice words for you.
I won’t say them, only because my mom reads this blog. You know what they are, week. YOU KNOW.
I don’t know what’s going on but the last two days have been…not great. Our whole staff is just a little off. That means production doesn’t run smoothly and I have to put in extra hours.
So I’ve already hit 30 for the week and my brain is quite busted.
So ignore typos, dudes.
Today certainly wasn’t all bad.
I got to see the g-rents, for the first time in two months. Which is CRAZY.
I miss them a lot. Like, a lot.
So it was nice to see them.
We also feasted on crab with their friends.
Then I went to Darla’s to watch Once Upon a Time.
As if I didn’t love the show enough, it gave me another reason.
A swashbuckling reason wearing eyeliner and a smirk.
More Captain Hook, please.
Today I was in Moses Lake, hanging out with Gov. Gregoire, you know, whatever.
And I stopped by the g-rent’s house on the way back to pick up my mail, check in with them, hugs, etc.
Gpa offered me some cereal they bought and do not like. I wanted to make sure I liked it, so I tasted a few pieces. I didn’t exactly have a bowl and milk handy so I did what any normal person (I thought) would do. I tucked it under one arm, popped open the top and grabbed a few of the pieces and popped them in my mouth.
My grandfather looked at me, sitting in a recliner and chomping on some dry cereal and said:
“You see how you’re eating that? That is exactly why you don’t have a love life.”
What a sweet, sweet man he is.
So the g-rents were watching some western and/or Hallmark movie recently and there were two characters getting married. When they were filling out the marriage certificate, they had to list their profession.
The man listed cattleman or whatnot, but the woman – 21 years old- had her profession listed as “spinster.”
So…naturally gpa asked me, a 23-year-old, what that would make me, if 21 was the qualifier for spinsterhood.
I thought about it and replied:
“Destined to die alone?”
He laughed, looked at me and said:
“You better get a cat.”
And then went back to watching TV.
I went to a musical last night with my g-ma. She thanked me for making her go, because she really enjoyed it.
But she got her first glimpse of post-theatre Briana.
It’s pretty bad.
First of all, during the show there are frequently audible reactions coming from my seat. A gasp here, a small squeak of excitement there. I caught her looking over at me more than once.
I walk around sort of dazed with a half smile on my face, ocassionally bursting in one of the songs we just heard.
Any time when I am not singing, I am humming.
She kept trying to introduce me to people she knows, but they all probably think something is wrong with me because I just kept grinning.
Poor g-ma, she just doesn’t know how to handle me. Good thing my mom is an expert and just lets me be for a moment to take it all in.
Or talks with me about that super cute guy who played King Arthur*.
*Enter any male musical theatre lead here. If the person can sing and act, I fall in love almost immediately.
My gma finished my book this weekend.
And gave it an 8 or a 9!
That blows that silly little 7 out of the water!
I always knew I liked her better than Gpa!
Her main comment: What haven’t you sent this to a publisher yet?
Just to recap, for Christmas/my birthday, my g-rents got me:
- New sheets
- A snuggie
I believe they may be making subtle comments on my lifestyle.
Now, leave me alone. I need a nap.
I arrived home from the tri-cities Saturday night and my grandfather held up a book. The small, cheap kind you can get in line at the grocery store.
“This book is a 2, at most,” he proclaimed, throwing it down on the table. “And if crap like this can be published, that makes yours at least a 7.”
YES! Up to a 7 on the “how good of a book my grandpa thinks it is” scale!
I just have to give him a couple other shite novels and I can be up to an 8!