Or gold-EN. Literally.
Well, hello, Chipina Lucille! It's been a while, my old friend.
Yes, Chip is back for a few weeks while her family is away. She's a full year older than the last time we had her here. And another year when you're already eleven (which is 12 for you math-challenged folks) is a lot. As soon as Kyla got picked up over the weekend, Chippie arrived. You remember Kyla, right?
And speaking of Aidan, she was seriously stoked from all the comments you nice blog readers left on her post last week. The kid wants to be a writer. That's all she's talked about for YEARS. Ever since she was a kid. And I can so relate to that because that's all I ever wanted to be when I was a kid. It was all I talked about for years. Even up into high school, when I had the sickest suede vest on the planet, and looked like this:
Then, I became a graphic designer.
Still. I think you see my point. (Clearly, that whole ensemble, right down to the snaggletooth necklace thingie—what were those things called again? Italian horns or something? Come on, old people, help me out here—screams: Writer In Training.)
I mean, what else was I going to be doing besides scribbling in a notebook in some darkened room? Because it sure wasn't fending off date offers from boys, I will tell you that.
Wrist still sucks. Wearing a brace. Going to try and be smarter with how I work. Plan to talk about the Olympics later this week, as soon as I get my voice back from the insane screaming after Team USA won the 4 x 100 Meter Freestyle final last night.
Yours, in suede, and drunk on the elixir of Olympic glory,