Le maudit Mo D.

pillows

In an hour, my soft 'n cuddly sexalicious meat man is returning from his five-day jaunt to a much-berated mid-Atlantic state that smells like nail polish remover. Bob told me that he saw at least five dudes lingering about his hotel who "looked and acted like Carl from Aqua Teen Hunger Force." He was away at a computer convention somewhere in the wasteland of South Nueva Her-say. He never even left his hotel, not even to walk to the Wawa for a cup of Freshly Brewed Wawa Coffee, so I can imagine he'll be happy to get home and into bed with his tall crazy writer wife. I can't wait to get my cuddle on with my dude. Seriously. I am cuddle-deficient. That man has soft parts. He's made of cotton and Fiberfill. He is a motile stuffed animal with chest hair who talks nerdy! Yam-shaped men are hot!

I was reading the violent climax part of my novel out loud on the phone last night and realized that it totally blew goats, so I ungoated it this afternoon and hope that it is more gripping, realistic, and non-diarrhea-inducing. I like reading on the can as much as anyone, but I don't want editors to have to poop from my novel. That is fiber's job, not mine.