Too long for Twitter, not long enough for its own post (or story of my writing)

25 Jun

I took my nephew to see Man of Steel this past weekend and they were having trouble with the projector so it started about 20 minutes late. While we were sitting there waiting, staring at a blank screen, my nephew leans over and whispers, “This movie is awesome! Thanks a lot for taking me, Aunt Bri!” He is such a shit. I adore him.

I have an unimaginable amount of useless knowledge rattling around in my brain, but don’t ask me where South Dakota is, apparently I delete states that I consider unimportant. (This happened and my mother was mortified.)

I was never one of those girls who had obsessive crushes on celebrities or even boys I went to school with. I didn’t want to know anything about a band because that would have potentially ruined the music for me. I had an actual opportunity to meet a celebrity that I admired and enjoyed and I turned it down because I didn’t want to take the chance that the reality of him would ruin my movie watching, but if I were to run into a certain British actor all of that caution would go out the window. Hello. I am a 36 year old woman and I have my first crush on a celebrity. Were we to meet, it would be love, I’m telling you. (Mostly kidding. Mostly.)

In three weeks I will be in Florida, geeking my little heart out over Disney, Harry Potter, Marvel superheroes, and movie magic. I am so excited to be taking my first vacation in four years that I can hardly contain myself. If you follow me on Instagram or Facebook that week, I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry.

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