Ceci n’est pas un blogpost.

I would love to write a real post here. And tomorrow (fingers crossed) I WILL write a real blog post. However, here is how the last 28 hours have gone:

  • Freshly Pressed puts my post up on the WordPress site.
  • I start getting a kabillion likes, reblogs, comments, and follows. And tweets. And Facebook comments. And emails. And my phone starts going cuh-raaaaay-zee.
  • I have to go out to dinner, because I planned a fantastic dinner with my theater ladies a few weeks ago. (Who might be reading right now because I actually – GULP! – told real-life people about my blog. If so, hi, J., A., and L.!) So I replied to comments right up until I had to run out the door. While grinning like a looney and saying “these things don’t happen to people like me NO THEY DO NOT.”
  • Eating dinner and having a wonderful time and not even checking my phone once in almost two hours even though I wanted to SO BADLY. Because I love my friends and they deserved my undivided attention. And we laughed and laughed so much. It was the best time.
  • Getting to my car and looking at my phone and saying “Oh. Oh, my” because I had a billion* (*possibly an exaggeration) comments to approve, and new followers, and tweets and on and on and blah blah could I BE any more into myself right now? I know, right?
  • Also, SIDE NOTE, I had an email from my brother waiting for me. He recently got an email account. My brother has never sent me an email in his life. It made me laugh SO HARD. It ended with “This short by normal standards wireless telegram took me approx. 22 mins. to generate.” As you can see, we have similar senses of humor.
  • Then I got home and I couldn’t go to bed until I beat my previous best day, stats-wise. Then I did. Then I finally went to bed.
  • When I woke up, I had a billion MORE comments and also I went to bed way too late and I was so so tired and then more and more comments coming in and I did not have time to reply to them so I said, I will reply tonight when I get home! (Oh, hey, new people, here at the Football, I reply to like 99% of comments. I’m weird like that. You took the time to comment; the least I can do is take the time to reply, is my thought.)
  • So all day long, there were more and more and MORE comments. Also I worked all day, as I do. I mean, you can’t just not go to work because you are a very famous blogger, you know.
  • Then I had to go grocery shopping. Look what I bought, sj!

    Starfruit! I have never tried one, but sj's kiddo said it tasted like stars. How could I not buy one?

    Starfruit! I have never tried one, but sj’s kiddo said it tasted like stars. How could I not buy one? I am MADE of stars!

  • THEN I finally got home and had to do things like call my parents (Dad’s response to “Dad, I have to GO, I have a BILLION COMMENTS TO REPLY TO” was “Are they paying you per comment? This is insane. NO ONE DOES THIS”) and eat food items and also pet the cats a little (not a euphemism) and write email to my most beloved ones (listen, one of the worst mistakes people make when they get famous is that they forget the little people. I WILL NOT FALL INTO THAT TRAP! What’s that? I’m not really famous and my people aren’t even little? Shush it, you) and then it was replying-to-comment-time. Oh, the comments. Oh, so many wonderful comments. I can’t even.

However, all that comment-replying means that it’s bedtime now. And with the lack of sleep the last few days, I really need to get to bed tonight. I have to get up somewhat early tomorrow and get an oil change. ALSO not a euphemism. Oh, also, did I mention my cable is out? It is. Out. My cable box is, according to the very technical lady on the phone, “fried.” I need a new one. She said they could come next week sometime. I might have freaked out a little and said, “No. See, Game of Thrones? Sunday? I can’t. I can’t even.” Then I explained if she couldn’t get someone there BEFORE Sunday, I wouldn’t be UPGRADING to HBO, so they would be losing MONEY, and suddenly, a tech was available tomorrow! Huh! Imagine that!

Oh, Jaime. And this is the season we'll get to hear "I dreamed of you," right? I cannot wait. Can. Not. Wait.

Oh, Jaime. And this is the season we’ll get to hear “I dreamed of you,” right? I cannot wait. Can. Not. Wait.

All of this to say: I promise a new blog with actual content soon. I have the next two days (maybe even three) planned out.

Also, hi, new people. I will talk to your faces soon. Tomorrow, even. I am so pleased you’re here. Don’t leave just yet. Things are about to get EXCITING*. (*possibly not true.)

Happy Friday, all. Hope you’re well. Have the best weekend. Oh, it’s Easter weekend, yeah? Find some eggs. Eat some chocolate bunnies. Celebrate all things springy. Love your faces. Be back with a real post soon. Promise.

(Oh, you all know where I got the title, right? If you don’t know from the painting, you know from The Fault in Our Stars. Here’s the painting, just in case. Smooches to you all.)

It's funny because it IS a pipe. But it's NOT a pipe. It's a PAINTING of a pipe. It's always tickled me. Nice job, Magritte!

It’s funny because it IS a pipe. But it’s NOT a pipe. It’s a PAINTING of a pipe. It’s always tickled me. Nice job, Magritte!

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About lucysfootball

I'm not the girl with the most cake. Someday. SOMEDAY. View all posts by lucysfootball

41 responses to “Ceci n’est pas un blogpost.

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