I never thought of having Indiana relatives buy Power Ball tickets. I got swept up in the Lotto fever permeating my office, with all the talk of “I wouldn’t quit my job!” (Note that it wasn’t me saying I wouldn’t quit my job…cripes, I’d quit my stupid job if I won $100,000, let alone $340 million).
But alas and alack, I should have had someone in OREGON buy a ticket for me. Dem’s de breaks.
On the bright side, I have discovered something worse than the Bridget Jones movies: Bridget Jones fan fiction. Oh, noo. It’s like cheeseburgers, pizza or Godiva. It’s like the days when I want to write something so I write the totally perfect way my life could turn out, without any real drama or plot points. Hmm. This stuff is girl porn. Remember that Big Fat Greek Wedding movie? Awkward girl turns babe, inexplicably gets hottie John Corbett to MARRY HER, and nothing else goes wrong? Same thing! It’s like paradise.