A Reading Game

Ok, so one of my very good friends, a fellow avid reader, posted this game on her Xanga site, and "tagged" me to respond, so I feel obliged. Here are the rules:

Grab the nearest book to you,
Open to page 123, look down to the 5th sentence,
Post the text of the next 3 sentences on your blog,
Include the title and the author's name,
Tag 3 people.

Now, I was tempted to go find a classic, well-written, intelligent, or at least obsurely bookish book to charm you all into thinking I am ever so clever and deep, but... rule #1 does say to grab the book "nearest" and lo and behold, the book on the top of my library stack, sitting next to the couch is... We're Just Like You, Only Prettier by Celia Rivenbark. It just caught my eye the other day in the Southern American section, as an interesting "study" in Southern psychology (see, Dr. Blalock, that psychology hasn't wormed its way out of my system just yet), so I picked it up, and now I must divulge to you the dark secrets of how indescriminatory I am with my library card (hey, it's free! so if you don't like it, you can just return it a week later, and be none-the-poorer... the beauties of our tax-dollars at work).
Well, this is pretty funny, but man, does Mrs. Rivenbark write in some run on sentences! Enjoy y'all!

"Shoot, that's thirteen and the bread basket hasn't even arrived yet. We followed with: Enron; Ronnie Reagan; da-doo-ron-ron; how to pronounce Ilyanla's name and wonder if she signes her check with a little exlamation point like on TV; speeding tickets; the comeback of fishnet pantyhose...
There was more of course: how pineapple salsa always give me bad dreams; is brown or gray the new black; why nobody RSVPs for a kid's birthday party and how that makes you crazy; the trend of sending invitations to big-budget parties for engaged couples and then, on the same invitation, hitting you up to help pay for it (consensus: tacky beyond words); liposuction (well it had been an hour); Russell Crowe; crow's feet; the Black Crowes (this is typical estrogen stream-of-consciousness stuff; try to hang); Chelsea's sleek new bob; Sarah Jessica Parker's sleek new bob; how we'd have kept the curls; the Winter Olympics; how somebody's brother-in-law used to live in Salt Lake City and said they do, too, drink coffee out there; how our waiter lookes exactly like Joey on Friends."

I hadn't even started reading this one yet, when I jumped on ahead to Part 3: Chapter 3. But I think I'll go start in on Part 1: The Southern Family, Chapter 1: Stop Watching Your Plasma TV and Start Selling Your Plasma!
I got a good feeling I'm gonna be laughin' so hard, milk's gonna done shoot out that thur nose o mine, ain't it? Gosh, I miss Tennessee!