subtitled: the longest blog title in the history of blogging.
The Boyfriend™ and I moved the unused Wii into our bedroom this weekend (because we needed another non-sexual reason to not leave that room) for the sole purpose of having Date Night on the big bed while watching all manner of silliness on Netflix.
One trip to Wal-Mart for a new sensor bar and four hours later, date night was long past and The Boyfriend™ and I were queuing up Dr. Who (the 2005 version). Suffice it to say, we got nothing done yesterday because we were too busy catching up on the last seven years of Doctors nine and ten.
I have such fond memories of Dr. Who. I vividly recall watching Doctors 2 through 5 from the fort I made out of bed sheets and my nana's dining table. Parts of the show were scary to my young brain, but mostly I was fascinated by it all. I was sad when the series ended, but moved on eventually, in the way only children and The Ex can do. But the spark of love for all things Dr. Who and English was ignited and never died out.
So I was absolutely thrilled to accomplish nothing while spending all day in bed with my loves: The Boyfriend™ and David Tennant who, because I'm weird like that, makes my "Top Ten List of Men The Boyfriend™ Has to Let Me Sleep With if the Opportunity Ever Presents Itself":
Here's the official list, in case you were wondering:
1) Jason Varitek (I will marry that man. He just doesn't know it yet)
2) Johnny Depp (who doesn't love him?)
3) Chris Eccleston circa "Elizabeth" (he was one smoking villain, lemme tell you)
4) Neil Gaiman (don't judge)
5) Gordon Ramsey (seriously...)
6) Sully Erna
7) David Tennant
8) My high school British Writers teacher, Mr. Waters
I'm still keeping options nine and ten open at the mo'. Mostly because it's late, I'm tired and I have this wretched book about cooking I'm working on looming menacingly on the other screen.
Which leads me to the other ramble: writing. I seriously admire anyone who can muster up the sheer force of will to pay attention to a project long enough to produce a book. I have only about eighteen pages written (it's probably about 36 pages as it stands, but I haven't included the photographs in it yet -- mostly because I don't feel like cooking all that food right now). And while the subject matter is one that, in theory, should be easy enough for me to bang out, I'm getting bored of it.
And that's the problem, really. It's not so much that I don't know what to say or can't maintain the funny long enough, it's that I grow bored with cups of this and teaspoons of that. But I promised myself and my gram that I would finish one of these blasted books at some point and since the children's book is on sabbatical until I can figure out what to do about Tuesday, I have to focus on the cook book.
It's times like these that I wish I was a little less ADD and a little more practical. But maybe all writers are like this? Who knows -- I don't know many writers. I just know that when my mom wrote her book, she was single minded in her focus. The Boyfriend™ has exhibited a similar sort of madness in just the edits of his book. So I suppose that writers do have ADD -- the hyperfocus part of it, anyway.
It doesn't help that the computer desk is smack dab in the middle of the house. Which is just another reason that I need a Macbook -- so I can run away and work on my book(s) in peace.
When I'm not glued to Dr. Who, that is.
Edit: Thank you, The Bloggess for reminding me that #9 on my list is Simon Pegg... God how I love that daft English man and his goofiness.
Edit #2: The number 10 spot goes to Christian Bale. And I'm done.