Walking Towards the Light- 44,019 Words

Cristiano Ronaldo is the most recent footballer to signal his solidarity with NaNoWriMoers with the thumbs up!
Sergio Ramos has his eye on the prize, and so do we!


Alright, so I couldn't resist posting this. I actually wrote something funny today and I thought that you all might enjoy this.

In other news, Jon and Kate? My belief in love hasn't taken a hit like this since Brad and Jennifer. Will Olgando renew our sense that truly, all you need is love?

Fernando and I immediately regretted Fernando’s rash decision to invite the Iglesias family over to celebrate. I had once relished the idea of meeting Julio’s wife, Desmerelda Juanita, as I hoped that she would be as entertaining (but hopefully not as creepy) as Julio. Sadly, she was not entertaining, but had an excess of creepiness to make up for it. While her outfits were more subdued than Julio’s (he actually came over in a racoon skin cap and ass-less chaps over some jeans), she had adopted some fake British accent in an ill-advised attempt to pass as a North Londoner, despite the fact that she was clearly born in South America. And no, don’t try to argue that she may have developed the accent over time. She clearly didn’t. But then, when I made a comment about how I should charge my mobile, she loudly criticized my use of the word “mobile” and began calling me “Olgadonna Vennegoor of Hessaltrow,” comparing me to other famous accent fakers Madonna and Gwyneth Paltrow. I felt that I was hardly deserving of such harsh treatment. Also, she went on and on about her new printed seashell pillows that she had just decorated for her “Dungeon of Love”; I gather that this was how she described their bedroom, and made a note to gouge of the part of my brain that would store this information later, or at minimum roofie myself. She noted that the linen covers that she used had been store-bought, though they could have been hand-sewn, and that the scallop shell's iconic shape turns pillows into inspired accessories. Despite all of my better intentions, I made a bet with myself that she had been playful in the design, mixing light and dark impressions, or perhaps going for a stylized row of narrow Vs. I wondered if I could use this technique on a sarong, which like my new raffia cocktail set, would cause quite the stir at my next party or beach trip, as long as I used a hue that suited the fabric. And wouldn’t it go great with my seashell-covered pots, or my aunt’s seashell napkins? All in all, I hated her.

This time it was me that pulled the trigger, yawning and complaining that Fernando had to apply the special shampoos and creams to my lice-infested hair. They both left soon after, with Desmerelda Juanita commenting that I should stop using other lice-having children’s “mobiles” (bitch), while Julio commented that Tim had been scratching his groin quite a bit recently (I wondered momentarily how he had noticed, and then promised myself that a roofie was in my near future) and he wondered aloud if there was some kind of connection. This earned him the door slamming in his face, and a series of expletives, which I hoped that they both heard. The door was now locked, twice, and all of the lights were turned off so as to make that terrible pair think that we had gone to bed. It was the first time Fernando and I had really been alone since I had gotten home; suddenly, I wanted them to come back.