So if the stats are to be believed, if I write another 13 posts, I will have outdone last year's dismal blog-posting effort.
That's not so many. I'm sure I can do it. I'm just not sure what to write about today. Just like I wasn't sure what to write about yesterday. Or the day before. Or the day before that.
I could go on, but I respect your intelligence too much. Let's just say the day before ad infinitum (well, until you reach the date I posted the rant about celebrity douchebag husbands).
On that note, did y'all see the great article in The Age yesterday about Sandy and Jesse? Aside from them referring to Jesse as a "grease monkey" which tickled my fancy, I must admit to having a snort or two over the journo's description of the hussy he's alleged to have slept with... "an Amish-raised stripper with so many tattoos on her body (including her face) she looks like walking wallpaper". LOL.
I think Sandra should just dump Jesse and get together with Keanu. They'd make a great couple.
I'm heading to bed with my latest book. Her Fearful Symmetry by Audrey Niffenegger (she of The Time Traveller's Wife fame). Apparently she received a $5 million advance for this novel. Thus far into the book, I don't think that's entirely justified... the only character I'm liking is Martin, the chap who lives upstairs and has OCD. He's rather intriguing but not terribly utilised so far. The main protagonists are giving me the shits with all the twin clichés and ouija boards. Yawn. But I do want to see how it's all resolved and I'm quite close to the end so I may as well persevere.
It's off to bed I go.
Adieu. (Adieu. To you and you and you)