Fashionable Frostbite

How pathetic am I? I wrote an Amazon review for Augusten Burroughs’ upcoming work called “Possible Side Effects” that will be released in May. I’m such a horn dog for B-grade publicity that I’m trying to get my name out by writing blog comments and reviews for unpublished writing. How sick is that? Of course the people at Amazon didn’t post it, and they probably put my message in the “psycho sicky” folder in Outlook and forwarded it to the FBI. It’s just like the crazy woman that wrote McDonalds Headquarters asking for a napkin from the states that she had not yet visited. It was her “life’s dream” to complete her project of pasting McDonalds napkins she saved from the restaurants she visited on her life-size map of the U.S. that was in her basement. She was still missing a few states and wasn’t sure she would get to all of them. Of course, McDonalds uses the SAME BRAND OF INSTITUTIONAL NAPKINS IN EVERY STATE (hello???), but she was pretty quick to realize this, so she requested that the napkins be mailed from specific McDonalds so she would have the postmarked envelope to prove it came from that state and not headquarters. Yep, I’m in the sicky folder now with this chick.

Today on my way to work, I spotted a young woman walking to school wearing a summer gauze skirt with flip flops. There were no tights or socks, and her calves were the color of red M&Ms. It was minus 20 degrees. I don’t get it. Is this supposed to be a sexy winter look? Did Andre Leon Talley blurt out that frostbite was fashionable and I just missed it?

The big Arts fest this past Saturday was pretty fun, but the DJ gets a grade C this year. With the exception of one or two songs, there was no definitive beat and too much pop-techno whatever music. The after party was also fun at fabulous SS’s house who actually puts out fancy plates and silverware for potato chips and dip. You have to love that. I also laughed my ass off so hard at C’s comments about being lured back to the Wood County printing industry from his pseudo stint in Vegas that I actually strained a stomach muscle. At the end of the night, P and I proved to be good EMTs when A took a nasty spill on the ice and was bleeding all over the creation and broke her wrist. Not good, but it could have been worse. Maybe I should consider a nursing career?

Note to self: change sub-title to “Memoir based on semi half-truths.”

Other note to self if lawsuit should occur over memoir: Be sure mom does answer the media with phrases like, “I can’t discuss this matter in a worldy way because my poetry, prose and life are about my relationship with God, and I see the entire situation as a rich opportunity for growth, forgiveness and love for every single one of the beautiful people involved." You really don’t need any other supporting evidence.