Strawberry Fields or Why I Am Awesomer in Stupid Pants

Hey, Vivi...isn't this blog supposed to be about WRITING?

Yes.

So, why do you keep talking about other things, like the zombie apocalypse and people who follow you on Twitter?  

Because I'm an enormous geek that gets excited about the little things in life and I'm also thinking ahead to the inevitable. 

Right, but, the last we heard, you were in a state of total and complete "meh" when it came to your writing.  Is that still the case?

Are you drunk?

Yes.

Awesome.  Fine.  If you must know....I am working on something.  That has chapters.  And, ya know....one of those plot things. 

WOW!  Wait, does that mean you've started a new book?

Okay, you're annoying me.  Here, have a Twinkie.

Oh, hey, thanks. 

(That's a big Twinkie.)

Yes, that's right. Apparently, I hate myself more than I thought, because I am officially working on..something.  New-ish.  But, I don't want to talk about it.  Seriously, stop smothering me.  Geez.

Anyhoo, I'm really here to talk about strawberries.  Because that makes total sense right?

You see, I'm not the green thumb type.  My thumbs are usually too busy shopping or texting or holding my googley-eyed owl coffee mug.  But, despite my non-green thumbness, I am excited to say that we actually have strawberries GROWING in our back yard:

Okay, I totally nicked that picture from some organic garden website.  Here's what OURS look like:

I can tell you're impressed.  

Now, I know you're wondering HOW I did this.  Well pay attention, because I am about to explain the intricacies of growing strawberries.

Step One:

Walk around in your backyard in your dancing olive pants, just to let all the vegetation within a ten foot radius know your completely mental.

Next, completely mock your husband when your sister-in-law gives him a handful of strawberry plants from her garden.  Make sure you sound like a big, fat know-it-all crabby pants when you inform him that they will NEVER survive the rodent empire that resides in the back yard.  Also, rolling your eyes while he's putting the plants in the ground is also helpful.

And that's pretty much it.  If you follow those two steps, VOILA...you will have your very own strawberries*.

And now, here's some baby drool.

*this is assuming that your husband becomes so hell bent on proving you wrong that he builds a fence around the strawberry plants so the rodent armies can't invade and decimate the crop.  This is an important detail.  You must ANNOY him enough that you push him to a fence building state of mind.  If you don't successfully annoy him, you will have no strawberries and you'll be stuck eating the ones from the grocery store.  Which, probably taste exactly the same.  But, whatever.