One day I crave the ManRepeller life.
Tomorrow, I’ll meditate a summer trip thru-paddling the Mississippi, solo, glorifying the river as Mark Twain did. (Check. August 17 through November 29, baby!!)
This weekend, well, I’m not eating out because there’s a $4,000 house I have my eye on to revamp by hand.
Maybe I’ll write a book.
I’m already painting a piece, albeit, by grid, for a friend.
I’m not kidding when I say I just texted a friend about Circus lessons.
And another friend has asked me to stop cradling the idea of a bait shop. She doesn’t think the fiscal downfall is worth the fun in raising millions of minnows, worms, and leeches as temporary pets.
My African field guide aspirations were squandered earlier but it’s okay, Minnesota’ll do.
Depending on one’s title interpretation of The Lame James Franco, you might champion this blog as a dedication to James Franco being lame. However, skim an article and you’ll realize I’m too self-indulgent to bother an entire blog to another human being. Or you could follow my twitter and espy just that…@gracegoesglobal, by the way.
The intended interpretation began when writing out goals one night. I gawked as each upcoming goal was incessantly uninfluenced and scattered from the former. I thought, verbatim, it’s like I’m fucking James Franco. Again, the interpretation of that statement is up to the reader, but again, read an article or follow my twitter (@gracegoesglobal, by the way,) and it won’t take long to grasp I’m not cool enough to fuck* James Franco. Realistically, I’m not cool, wealthy, famous, nor smart enough to be James Franco either (I do have the squinty eyes down to a T though), which is where ‘lame’ becomes a necessary component to reiterate that I’m not completely delusional with my narcissism and my blog.