I wish I had an English Accent

I've been talking too much about myself here lately. Thursday morning, the last time I was here, I went on and on and on about myself, and now I feel like a self-centered jackass.

I really hate myself. Feel free to hate me too.

"I know you don't love me. And that's fine."

Ha...I'm quoting myself now. Tis from my fiction.

Mmmm...Fiction.

My current story is about me and Jesus lounging and drinking on the beach.

Is that blasphemous, you think?

I hope not. I try to keep my religion out of my writing. But I do keep myself in my writing, and religion is a part of me.

I think I've used the word "myself" one too many times...

Wow. Five times.

That's five times too many, Ash, you self-centered Jackass! And you are sick, aren't you?? What the hell are you doing here, anyway?!

I'm feeling a million times better already, self-conscious. The prescription was sent to the pharmacy Thursday morning (more on that later, once I'm in the mood to "prose it up a bit" and McCourt it).

Speaking of moods, I've got an idea for a series here...something totally silly and frivolous for when Sex-kitten Ash gets lonely this Fall and Winter.

I'm quite lonely now...

I watched Bridget Jones’s Diary last night, so all I can think of is Hugh Grant and Colin Firth, running through snow-covered streets in my underwear, smoking, drinking, and Renee Zellweger in that adorable black bunny suit.


God, I love Colin Firth. I'm so glad the film ended the way it did. I cried, and pretended it was me he was kissing and not that squinty-eyed Zellweger (no matter how cute she looked in the aforementioned bunny suit).

I have a bunny suit too, Mr. Firth. Come see it sometime, won't you?