I’m not a Fergie fan. To the point where when someone mentioned that Fergie had an album coming out, I was skeptical that Americans would be interested in listening to an album by British Weight Watchers royalty.
The first time someone told me about Fergie’s new song, that is exactly what I said back. “How did this happen? Is it a novelty song?”
After a five-second pause, the friend gave me some seriously sad eyebrows and said, “From the Black Eyed Peas?”
At the strike last Friday, I was babbling to Eric about how I sometimes put the post of the sign at the top of my hip. “It’s my strike hip,” I explained. “Why doesn’t anyone else use their strike hip?”
Eric pulled out his camera. “Okay. Give me your best Top Model pose,” he said.
“No,” he said, sounding disappointed, checking the viewfinder. “You really look bored in this one. This time, try to be just a little more aware of the fact that you’re trying to look bored. That’s much more model-y.”
I posed again.
I never know how to approach the booksellers. I end up saying, “Hi, I wrote this. Do you want me to sign your stock?”
It sounds so dumb when I say it, but I’m not sure what else to say. “Hi, I’ll write my name in each of these, because I really want you to sell all of them, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make these stand out next to all the thousands of other books around them. Please let me write in these books.”
So we hosted a small party last night, mostly comprised of people we’ve never met before. Five minutes after the first group of guests arrived, I was bleeding into the kitchen sink.
This was not one of my better parties. Well, I can’t speak for the people who attended, but I wish I could send apology notes to them. I guess that’s what I’m doing here, since many of them seemed familiar with this website.