At this advanced age, she’s going through a nostalgic phase- I suppose it has to do with graduation being ever closer. She keeps talking about “her childhood,” while I try to hide the obvious- that I still consider her to be inside that childhood, while she believes she’s waaaaay beyond it.

This evening brought hand slappy games of the sort that little girls give up around 5th grade (apropos of nothing, “Hot Hands” has its own wiki page. Weird.), and waxing on about “when I was a kid.”

That led on to this Disney movie, Teen Witch, which I sort of remember, but not really. I’ve blocked a lot of really awful movies that she used to love. It was purely defensive, not even conscious, but if I’d actually let things like the Spice Girls’ movie into my brain, it would’ve exploded.

So, too, this gem. “Teen Witch” was made in 1989 (which I’m sure you’ve already figured out, based on the hair), and Ali says she hasn’t seen it in years, but damn if she didn’t know all the songs. When I found this for her on YouTube she shrieked- so did I, but for a different reason:

And, of course, when she begged, I ordered the damn thing on Amazon. I figured she’s not the only one with not a lot of high school time left in which to be nostalgic.

:::sigh:::

The only way housework could be done in this place was with a shovel or, for preference, a match.

Terry Pratchett, Witches Abroad

But I suppose that’s to be expected, post holiday? The official cleanup and resolution implementation begins today.

Probably today. Quite possibly, anyway.

Too many people, when listing all the perils to be found in the search for lost treasure or ancient wisdom, had forgotten to put at the top of the list ‘ the man who arrived just before you’ .

Poor me, too. I followed a link to YouTube this AM only to have a very strange promo on the top of the page. Curiosity might’ve killed the cat, but it damn near blinded me.

What the hell is this?

Wow. I have a cousin who has been totally in lurve with him (and Englebert Humperdinck aka “Engie” ) since I was a kid. She bought me my first two albums- the Grease soundtrack, and Manilow’s greatest hits.

That was a long damn time ago, but I sort of remember that he had an upper lip back then. Now he looks like the world’s most cheerful zombie.

(Incidentally, the only reason I shared the pain with you was that the universe told me to do it. Srsly! I flipped on my Sirius right after seeing this and the original song was on. It was more than a little freaky, so I decided to pass it on. Lucky you.)

Despite the fact that at the time I thought my brain would explode like a goose force fed on ChristmasCheer ^tm,the delay turned out to be a good thing. It gave me time to get through all five stages of Christmas Card Grief:

1. Denial - There is no way Christmas is in a month! I refuse to believe it- we just had Christmas! This is totally a scam! Nonononono. No. Absolutely not.
2. Anger - Alright, dammit. It’s coming, fine. I’ll have to get the crap out of the attic, and- aaargh!! the cards, the aggravation, the shopping. F*ck!
3. Bargaining- Alright, well, if I can find some funny, non-syrupy cards it might not be so bad. Maybe if I just did a few, the really important ones, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. Well, until I run into somebody who didn’t make the cut…
4. Depression- Oh, who am I kidding? I’ve never once gotten them done on time! How many boxes of cards that I intended to complete with personal and meaningful sentiment were never even opened? And even if, by some unlikely miracle, I did get it done, they’re still mass-produced damn cards. How many looks of smug superiority will I have to endure from parents who had professional photos taken months ago to show off their perfect little angels?
5. Acceptance (with a big spiked cup o’ eggnog)- Well, wtf. Might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb, right?. Why bother with the farce?

So I now proudly admit to all the world: I am a bad little Christmas Elf, and have decided that I am just fine with it.

He looks really, really unhappy about this particular wardrobe choice.

So what do I get caught up in? I started finally editing photos from November 1st, All Saint’s Day, and end up posting to the other blog this photo of the Schoen’s Funeral Home clock/ advertisement that hangs over St. Patrick’s Cemetery.

How long does that take? 5 minutes? At most?

But then…but then. Then I start wondering, “Hey, is Schoen’s even still around? If it’s closed I should mention it.”

So I google it. Yep, it’s open! And it has its own website, how…ew! They have a ‘merchandise’ heading? What the hell does THAT mean?

Oh, no, you’re kidding! A video put out by a casket manufacturer to market to the bereaved. How very…classy.

What the hell is THAT thing in the video? Seriously? They have tacky corner cutouts where they’ll put “personalizations” in? to show what they were interested in? Like the jumping trout and screaming eagle they’ve chosen to highlight? And then you can remove them to put them in photo frames they conveniently sell?

Lord, I’ve never been so happy I’m being cremated.

But now I really want a copy of that video to put on here. Only it’s not embeddable, as far as I can tell. Time for more googling.

Nope, I can’t even ’save as’ and post it. Guess I’ll just have to put a link to the thing.

Hey, wait, what about YouTube? Oh…damn. This is even weirder.

Anyway, it’s shorter, and the kicker is right at the end. I won’t spoil it for you- it’s only 30 seconds long:

And THAT, ladies and gentlemen, is how I lost an hour of my afternoon.

“Cats are sacred,” said Dios.

“Long-legged cats with silver fur and disdainful expressions are, maybe,” said Teppic. “I’m sure sacred cats don’t leave dead ibises under the bed. And I’m certain that sacred cats that live surrounded by endless sand don’t come indoors and do it in the king’s sandals, Dios.”

As the owner of cats with unlimited access to outside, cats for whom the world is their toilet, I’d like to know why, oh WHY is the couch corner so irresistible??

Pratchett tries to show me up by writing up a storm.

I read about National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) in the spring and decided I’d participate when it came around in November.

Famous last words.

You’re supposed to write 50,000 words in a month- 1,667 a day if your output is consistent- and voila, you have a novel. It doesn’t have to be a good novel- it just has to be a complete one. The idea being to get out of your own way- WRITE, dammit- don’t edit. Just let the words come, even if you’re not sure they’re the right ones. And that’s one of my big problems. I’ll agonize over a paragraph, a sentence, a word…and then a bunch of time has passed and I’m nowhere. And depressed.

I’m so terribly behind right now I just can’t see how I’m going to catch up, but I’m going to take tomorrow mostly off and really plow through this weekend. If I can’t kick ass on the book, then I’ll be kicking my own ass for all time…and I can be merciless in that regard.

The funny thing is NaNoWriMo’s prep materials are all like, ‘go tell everybody what you’re doing! Tell them you’re doing this amazing, difficult thing and make them all be super duper nice to you! Make them cook and clean and rub your back every single night and tell you what a phenom you are!”

Riiiight.

That might work with lots of people, but not when you live with a real, honest to god, serious & important capital-W-Writer. Then you feel like what you’d be saying is, “Honey, I know you have actual deadlines and writerly stress and all, but I wanna go play make believe, okay?”

Plus…well, he already cooks for me, so I’m not really about to ask him to do anything else. I’m pretty spoiled already.

If you wanna kick my ass, feel free. Here’s the link to my word count- currently pitiful, but hopefully shooting rapidly upward!