It would appear as if I've gotten quite the reputation.
People seem to think I can write about anything. Throw a topic at me, I will run with it, and make no mistake about it…you will laugh.
Case in point…Godzilla.
Godzilla is what happens when a girl has writer’s block at eleven forty-five when the blog is posted at midnight. Just add a handful of writers on Twitter tossing topics into the stream and voila.
I admit it…I fish.
Sometimes the strangest things end up on my hook. One night I caught zombies. Another night it was a tourniquet. Every now and then I throw them back…like the night someone suggested I pierce my own nose. Or give myself a tattoo. Other times I mull it over for hours before finally deciding it might be a bad idea to cut my own hair, no matter how bad I might need a cut, or a laugh.
I’m almost afraid to admit how often I fish in that open stream.
Like tonight. I was wading around the Twitter stream, looking for ideas in my rubber hip boots and lighted miner’s hat, and what I found reminded me of the inside of a shark…a couple of license plates, a baseball glove, half a fish, and a roll of aluminum foil. So I tossed everything back but the foil and a bag of cheese that was lying around the boat and decided to MacGyver my way through the blog tonight.
I used the foil while I made dinner. I had to kill a bug, and as it turns out, you can actually use foil to squash spiders. It’s thicker than paper towels and compared to the size of a spider it sort of feels like a wall of steel or something. You can also use foil to make a helmet to protect your brain from mindreading aliens or weak solar flares. Apparently you can cook with it too, but I wouldn’t know much about that.
Once the spider was dead and the foil helmets were in place, I took the bag of cheese that landed in my boat to make macaroni and cheese carbonara. Don’t laugh. I said I hate to cook, not that I don’t know how.
It was pretty good, all things considered, but I would still rather not cook if given the option. I still haven’t recovered from the heat in the kitchen. I know I’m a wimp. I can’t argue that fact. I never said I was good at roughing it.
Which reminds me…my husband started talking about living in the woods again. I think he’s trying to use child psychology on me to get me to appreciate the comforts of indoor cooking and bathrooms. It’s not working.
I have my sights set on room service and linen sheets.
Until the next time…It’s wine coolers and ice cream sandwiches for me!