July. Psh. Look at you. Looking all... red, white, and blue. All self-righteously patriotic. 'Ohhh, look at me, I'm for America, I remind people of Betsy Ross.' Did you know, July--can I call you July?--that Betsy Ross had bad hair she hid under an embarrassing bonnet? Yeah, a bonnet. A glorified shower cap. (Do you think those will ever come back in style?)
Anyway, I figured I did a lousy job of blahgging (think Minnesota-accent) last month so I'm really going to hammer it out this month! (5 points for using home improvement language.) By the way that exclamatory sentence is probably a lie (no surprise).
So this weekend, huh? You? Me? A bottle of merlot? Wait, I don't even know you. Wait, you, yes. You, no. And you...well, I'd like to know you...wait, no I'm engaged! Oh, you are, too. Phew, OK. OK, I said! What is this blahg all about. Well, let me tell you. I did something. I did something ridiculous. (No, it's not the last three paragraphs.) (Long pause.) I sent an e-mail. GASP!!! NOOOOO!!! STOP LOOKING AT ME!!! Oh, doy. I didn't tell you the meat and potatoes. (Sorry vegetarians.) I sent an e-mail... to someone. OH GAW, JUST STOP IT! Doy squared! (Do people say "doy" anymore.) Sorry, OK, this is fo. Real. Sies. (Fo realsies.) (Do you hate me.) I sent an e-mail to a person who is a prettttty famous musician asking for an interview (with the vampire). I pray to God he doesn't read this and see that I described him as "a pretty famous musician" because the pairing of words makes it seem I think he's sub-par or under the radar of amazing celebrity-status. But no. He. is. not. (Emphasis on the "t".) It's basically equivalent to saying that I'm "pretty funny." And we all know that is the truth, girl, you betta just stop right now, okaaaaay. *Snap snap snap, snap. Snap. Annnnd snap!* OK I just blacked out. (Think about it.)
Needless to say, the e-mail I sent soliciting an interview was... it was...it....oh no. Ohhhhhh no. What have I done...ohhhh...it was crap. It was awful. It was embarrassing. More embarrassing than Betsy Ross's shower cap. Oh dear heavens, what have I done? My life is over! Career? Over! Love life? Over! Attempting a backhand-sprain? Ohhhh-vahhh.
Okay I'm over it.
I'll let you know what happens.
I sah-wear I'm not drunk people.