Getting in Character

Today, Readers, I planned to have an adventure. An associate, compadre, affiliate, amie, partner-in-crime, call her what you will, suggested that for extra "shoe money" I should consider mystery shopping rental properties.

The idea? Sign up with a company she'd used before, and then go on tours of rental properties to later write a report about the experience, service, etc.

I knew, deep within, that I couldn't just do a tour. I needed to be in character. That's right, I was mentally breaking out the italics.

Who would I be? A wealthy divorcée? A widow? A married woman whose husband is on the run from the long-arm of justice?

I'd add I could be just a single lady out living the high life, but see, the gorgeous anniversary band The Man got me may or may not (see: may) be mildly stuck on my ring finger. I also don't want to remove it because it's pretty. So there.

What would my name be? It would have to be something similar to my REAL name, or if anyone called me by the too-difficult-and-fake name, I wouldn't respond and wouldn't that throw the me right out of method? Boom. More italics.

Move over Daniel Day, there's another serious actor on the scene. Sure, it's the Mystery Shopper scene, and I don't know that it really qualifies but I'm fresh out of caring.

So, I decided that I would be either Sharon or Sasha or Sansa (but not, because I hate her character both on Game of Thrones AND in the books) or something S-related. Indeed. Then, I would have to go with a trial separation, because we were still trying to make it work, but taking it slowly, see.

Then, I'd have to add that I'm very picky, and I simply cannot live anywhere without impeccable landscaping and private chefs. Is that a thing? I feel it should be a thing.

Would I need an accent? Obviously I enjoy using them in my day-to-day life, especially when some douche-frigate violates my strict Do-Not-Call list and/or policy. Lazy British only though, I can't nail the finer points of Irish/Scottish. At times, my faux Slavic has been pretty dazzling though.

Then my back-story would involve a whole situation about moving across the world for my husband, Jerry (Jim?)(Frank?), and how clearly I couldn't just move back to the old country, I mean, we have CATS.

And what about your cat policy, hmmmm, rental property?

What indeed is my motivation?

I had to do wardrobe. Off work? Errands day? Casual or just lady-about-town?

Would I need to cry to make it believable? I totally can, you know. It's sort of a nifty trick. I mean, I'm looking at my first solo property since Jerry (Matt? Tony?) and I got married five years ago in Vegas. I'm also 29, if anyone is asking.

Despite my deep preparation, I ended up not being able to go today. Looks like I'll have plenty of time to refine my character for the role of Tenant in the upcoming Mystery Shopper Theatre. Yes, I do spell it in the British fashion.

Comments, questions, done any method acting lately?

I Have Been Remiss

A friend (also known as the World's Best Maid of Honor; anyone who grabs your train so you can book it to Ye Olde Restroom for Round 23 of Food Poisoning deserves an award) recently let me know that I hadn't updated my blog in 500 years.

True story.

I've been busy, but really, that's a constant. I just haven't...written ANYthing. Maybe a grocery list involving Bacardi here and there, but that's about it.

This Spring has seen lots of change too, as well as my observation that there is, in fact, not ONE Taylor Swift song that I like. Not one. I really wish that I could avoid it altogether, but as long as stores insist on playing totally bland pop music, I'm cursed.

Remember when Metallica was on the regular radio stations? When Enter Sandman was a top hit? Me too. I weep, children, WEEP for you. And why in the name of anything holy are we letting 12 year old girls determine radio play? WHY?! You can't trust a 12 year old girl with feeding your cat while you're away on vacation, let alone music choices for the rest of us. Damn your eyes, record executives.

Anyway, I've been busy.

Over the weekend, for instance, The Man and I celebrated our 10th wedding anniversary. That's right, a whole decade together.

Normally I do an entire post devoted to our anniversary; this year I was simply too busy living my life to write about it.

We had a really nice weekend together; mental note: do NOT eat at a restaurant run by hippies if you think you're going to have more than 500 calories. Or, as The Man said, unless you want a salad made from wheat germ and fescue.

Aside from the Weird Hippie Restaurant, it was great.

10 years have passed; for every time we hit a rough spot and I contemplated a shallow grave and an alibi (oh, like you don't), we had at least five times that I couldn't imagine myself with anyone else. For better or for worse, just like our vows. He's the only one I want.

So that was a big deal.

We're also planning a big vacation with the kids. Spoiler alert: it's a surprise and it may involve Disney World.

I've been more seriously considering writing my fiction - which any long-time reader knows is plot-less. I know, less thinking, more writing, right?

We've had more illness, because, clearly. It's what we do here. Casanova missed yet another week of school.

I knew the school people thought I was one of those helicopter/indulgent moms; to that I say, don't quit your day job. The kid had strep and Flu A, um, AGAIN.

Did I mention that the doctor suggested naming a wing of their practice after us?

When not nursing sick kids or celebrating anniversaries, etc etc, I've been busy watching Game of Thrones on HBO and then googling all the events I forgot shortly after reading the books. Keeping up with all that is hard work, Friends.

This lame post is an attempt to dive back in after totally ignoring my blog for several months' time. I need to write or I'll stop altogether and spend my days compiling workout mixes for my iPod. (Sure it's not exactly high art, but something has to get me through legs day.)

More later, diligent Readers!