Today I almost cried at work three times. Three. I counted and then I was happy that I successfully avoided crying at work. I blame it on the hormones. I can use that excuse for only a couple more days and I plan to use it AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE.
OH! You guys. I totally forgot to tell you. Remember that short story contest I entered a couple months ago? No? I didn't either. Anyway. So I entered a short story contest a couple of months ago. Good story. And my roommate and I bought a newspaper as we sporadically do . . . for the coupons, you see and NO we're not 60 we're just good at saving. The last time we went to the grocery the cashier told us we were and you do not argue with a Kroger cashier, ok? OK.
What was I saying? Oh, right. So this short story contest . . . the Dayton Daily News is hosting it or whatever, and so I was looking through the paper on Sunday, minding my own business when I see an article about it. This was toward the end of my perusal because I have to read the paper in a very specific way. First, I take out all of the ads and put them in one pile. Then I throw the business section and the sports section on the floor because I don't read those. The classifieds and the real estate section will often end up in that pile BUT NOT ALWAYS because sometimes I like looking at huge houses that I cannot afford. THEN I put the other sections in this order: front page, local, national, life, Parade magazine, and finally, comics because I like to save the best for last and, even though the comics mostly suck, they're still better than reading the rest of the newspaper, which tends to be depressing due to the murders and the war and the gas prices and the monkey president.
WOW, even I don't even really know where I'm going with this anymore. So long story short (hahahaha, that never fails to crack me up so at least ONE person is laughing), I was reading the Life section when I came across the little article about the short story contest. Basically, it was listing the finalists in each category and guess who is one of seven finalists in the Adult Short Story category? That's right, me. Which makes sense, really, because otherwise this whole story would have been kind of pointless. And when I say Adult Short Story category, I mean short stories BY adults, not short stories about boobies, bajengas, and hoo-hoos (oh my).
I wasn't going to say anything until they announced the winners but that is A WHOLE MONTH AWAY and I am excited. Even if I don't win. But I hope I do. I also wasn't going to say anything because I didn't want to jinx myself, but then I realized I was being stupid. Unless I DON'T win, in which case I'm glad I did this so I can blame my loserdom on jinxing myself and not on being a terrible, horrible, no good writer.
You know, I just realized I could have easily made this story a lot shorter, but that would totally defeat the purpose of this blog.
I'm adding a new feature to this blog. I just decided. Right now this very minute. And now I give you . . . Conversations with my Roommate, which honestly I may have embellished just a little but NOT just because I'm a liar, but because I couldn't remember everything word for word, ok? I'M NOT PERFECT:
Me: I like this song.
Heidi: Who sings it?
Me: The Fray.
Heidi: Ooh, I like them, too.
Me: They sing a song that was in a Grey's Anatomy episode.
Heidi: They do?
Me: Never doubt my useless array of knowledge, ok?
Me: Thank you.
Heidi: They kind of remind me of Maroon 5, before they got all dirty.
Me: Haha, they're dirty now?
Heidi: Well, the lead singer is kind of a manwhore.
Me: Yeah, I guess. I'd still do him, though.