Ansley. She’s an aspiring author, but to tell you the truth, her writing is a little...basic. She’s toying with modern romances but she keeps returning to words like ‘heaving’, ‘throbbing’ and ‘pulsing’. Since she was a teen, Ansley has tried to smell fear but has found it to be odorless. She stares intensely into people’s eyes trying to detect anything other than what they’re conveying - fear? Love? Mischief? Are their eyes sparkling or did they just sneeze? What are all these books actually talking about??? Last month she ran into a friend at a party who had been watching her from across the room for an hour, trying to get her attention. The hairs on the back of her neck hadn’t even stood up!!! 🙄 She is convinced that her senses are failing her - how is she ever to become the next J.K. Rowling or E.L. James random first-time-author genius at this rate? Never mind her pen name would have to be A.F. McGilicutty and that doesn’t have the same ring to it. A.F. McGilicutty is not a name that springs forth an international panty-dropping bestseller about a teenage girl wrapped up in a love triangle between a zombie and a talking polar bear. HAWT! Nor does it sound right for a novel about a ball-busting female attorney who encounters a brash construction worker outside of her office and develops a contentious, and eventually heartwarming romance with him. What an unlikely duo!! She really loves how he doesn’t put up with her crap - how refreshing! Maybe she should think about a book series revolving around a detective that turns into a unicorn by the light of the moon and falls in love with a deer that has cancer... -
This is the new Amy. This Amy would never have a gross refrigerator. She's not that kind of person. She's clean, organized and fresh. She feels sorry for the people with dirty fridge shelves and expired chicken stock boxes. She can't imagine having a 2 year old jar of pepperoncini peppers with mold on the inside of the lid. That's no way to live and Amy is glad she's the right kind of person. Yesterday Amy had two bags of clothes designated for Goodwill in her dining room corner. They'd been there for 2.5 months, eventually becoming invisible.
She slithers her way in and out of friend groups, wreaking havoc anywhere she can. She told you last week how much she admires you for not caring what you look like – she “just doesn’t feel right about leaving the house“ if she’s not completely put together.