I can’t say for sure what I was thinking when I said, “Sure! I’ll commit to writing two posts a week for a new site!” but I did it anyway. I’m just a girl that can’t say no. Come to think of it, that probably had something to do with me getting knocked up, eh?
So anyway, I’ve started slutting it up over at a new place called Sprocket Ink. But there isn’t any actual dancing as far as I can tell. And I went through all the storage closets but I couldn’t find a single black turtleneck anywhere. Frankly I’m starting to think Mike Myers isn’t associated with this endeavor in any way whatsoever.
It’s all Jerrod‘s fault. Me writing for another site, I mean. Not for me being pregnant. Probably. That bastard (again Jerrod, not the guy who knocked me up, hi Rocco!) knows shameless flattery and the promise of a pony will get me to commit to damn near anything.
Crap. Now you know it, too. I supposed it’s only a matter of time until one of you shows up on my stoop with a saddle and bale of hay asking for the keys to my apartment. Just like the time I hired Danny the Wonder Pony for that surprise party.
Meanwhile back at the new site, it’s sort of a news thing. I think. Sort of. Maybe. Actually, I’m not entirely sure I understand what kind of site it is. Frankly I’m waiting for them to tell me that my piece on why your junk doesn’t have quills on it but a chimpanzee’s junk does doesn’t really qualify as a news article.
You know what? Why don’t you go check it out and tell me what the hell the site is about and what I should write about for tomorrow’s piece? I’ll owe you a margarita. Which is a super sweet deal for you ’cause when we meet at the restaurant you’ll be able to drink my margarita, too. *sigh*