There was a little Neti pot
Its spout was cold as ice
They promised it would heal my world
But all I found was vice
I gathered up my courage
I swore I wouldn't flip
But all I found was evil
As my nose began to drip
Well I've had better Januarys. I've spent the last few weeks in a sinus infection-induced haze of vertigo and cold meds and it has made me make a few questionable choices such as sending off a ghost story instead of a more historical piece (will be remedied this weekend) and buying a truckload of essential oils to make my hair grow long and lustrous. Right now I smell like a field of flowers barfed on my head.
Promotion for the Girls' Ghost Hunting Guide is kicking into full gear, I have a meeting next week to bandy ideas about with Sourcebooks. My husband is ready to market the heck out of the
chicken ghost on the Today Show though I'm trying to talk him out of sewing a rooster waddle onto a ski mask and frightening children in the crowd. We're planning on hitting the plaza in late May/early June so stay tuned for us being drug away by New York's finest on camera.
Remember the
Ghost in a Jar auction on eBay years ago? It launched a thousand tiny cottage industries with t-shirts and spin-offs. How does something so silly get so out of hand? Genius, my friend. I wish I had thought of it. Maybe Bryan's onto something?
My living room is alive with the sound of Just Dance on the Wii. Good lord, I'm old. I tried to boogie with the best of them and ended up pulling a boob muscle. Now I make cupcakes, stay out of the way and hand out sage advice like, "don't whack the little person."
