Wednesday, February 5, 2014

Goodfella

I read years ago that the average life of a blog is 2 years. I would look up when I started this blog, but that would require...doing something, and frankly I don't wanna.

I looked up my page, and the first listing was a teenager's Pinterest. Wait. What??? Some teenager, evidently, has created a Pinterest profile called "Don't Eat the Green Jell-O." Long time readers (where ever you are, mazel tov) will recall that my initial incarnation was the very same. Eventually I changed it to EAT the Green Jell-O, as in Drink the Kool Aid, become one of the cool kids, etc.

Now, because I'm a classy lady, I'm above being annoyed by teenage shenanigans. God knows that between texting their friends, chemistry homework, bad skin, and probably listening to TERRIBLE music, they have enough problems. HOWEVER. Let's get some shit straight.

I am the OG. That's Original Gangster, for those of you too young to remember when Doctor Dre invented rap. Or who have never seen Goodfellas (making the sign of the cross). Basically, I invented titles involving green jell-o. I am sure that your Pinterest is very...jazzy and whatnot. I am sure that you're a lovely human. But I invented it when you were still mad at your mom for not washing your distressed jeans. I *am* a mom, and I wash my OWN distressed jeans. Boom. Shit just got real.

This makes me realize several things:

1. I have neglected my blog for too long.
2. I may need to alter my blog.
3. I need to chill out with my Keurig coffee. (That's unrelated.)
4. Teenagers should get jobs.

I've been busy as of late. I am writing, for a living, again. We've been working on home improvement. One word: wainscoting.

Now it looks like I need to get all up in my blog and see what is going on. I can't exactly sue Betty Teenage Pinterest for her copyright infringement (can I?), but I think we can all agree that I was here first. Green Jell-O is *my* street corner, and you just showed up wearing the wrong do-rag.

You're welcome, Internet. I'm here to save you.

Comments, questions, has the Internet sent you to the wrong jell-o destination?






Tuesday, May 21, 2013

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?