Yes, our governor is clinically insane. We've known it for quite some time, really, but no one outside the state seemed to care much until now. Palin-Blagojevich 2012!

Anyway hi. I inexplicably have a raging headache and while waiting for the advil to kick in, I remembered this trick I heard about years ago: pinch the area between your thumb and forefinger. It's some reflexology or acupressure thing, or whatever. It actually worked. I've tried it before, but never with such success. Maybe it depends on the type of headache? Anyway, the headache comes back when you take the pressure off, which makes for awkward typing.

Here's a thing:
As my neff and I were making cookies in the kitchen on Christmas, we were playing Christmas music and I was singing along. In the dining room, the eye-talian's brother commented to my brother that I have a good singing voice. (I didn't hear him, but I know that's what he said because my brother raised his voice and said "I know, my sister can't sing for shit, it sucks." This is how convos go, with my brother and me.) What was funny about it was that at the time, I was singing You're A Mean One, Mr. Grinch. Not exactly standard material - I do love an excuse to get into character, drama queen that I am. Some of the theatre is still in me, I guess.

But it made me remember how the first thing I ever wanted to be was a singer, when I was a little girl. I don't remember when or why or how that dream went away, but I certainly wanted it for many years. I think I realized I wasn't any good. I mean, I can sing. But it's really just an average voice, nothing at all special. I could always carry a tune and have quite the set of lungs, and I never suffered a moment of stagefright in my life. Which is what led to me being a bit of a singing star in elementary school, which I'd completely forgotten about until that comment at Christmas. There were a handful of us, the same kids every time, who wanted the solo parts in our little school plays. I generally got something. The one I remember most vividly was Amahl and the Night Visitors, which omg - so hilarious.

(The best part of these kindsa stories is that I know Dawn is reading along and nodding, laughing, remembering.)

I played the mother and I had at least one solo, maybe two or three. Man is it HILARIOUS to think of what that production must've looked like. I mean - we were ten years old, all of us. It was a bona fide opera, pared down to a few little ditties. Heeeheheheheee I remember there was this part where I was supposed to steal the gold from the page (played by Bobbie Sullivan, who hilariously decided her costume would not be complete without silver garland wrapped around her wrists and neck) and I grabbed this necklace-like thing, but it was connected to everything else and sudenly there I was, wrestling with a neverending chain of clattering stage props as everyone tried to get on with their lines. After that, I made a habit of grabbing a gold cup (styrofoam, from McDonald's, spray-painted in the art room) instead.

The whole drama of it was the backstory, the multiple performances. Well first was the drama of the audition. It was me against Amy Smith and someone else - was it Phebe? Or maybe Heather, or who else? One of the more insanely popular girls. Wow, I can't remember and it was SUCH a big deal. Somehow, I can see Phebe playing the part - but I dunno. Anyway, as we each waited our turn to go up and sing at the audition, a couple of the other girls were talking shit about me, how I shouldn't even bother trying out - like that. One of the wee bitches was eventually dismissed by the music director with a "You could go be a shepherd instead, you'd like that" - and the girl was just appalled. It was quite the humilation, to be sure you'd be made soloist and instead you get fobbed off on the shepherds. (If I recall, Dawn volunteered to help choreograph the shepherds' dance, so I decided to hate the girl even MORE for her dissing of the shepherds.)

Then it was me and another girl chosen to be "Mother" - I swear to god, it was Amy Smith, wasn't it? (Well, it has to be her or else I'm remembering an entirely fictional episode, and I'm sure I couldn't have done that - way, way too vivid, and hinges on her specifically.) She was the most popular girl in the school, though I never could understand why. She wasn't especially pretty or smart or funny or rich or... anything. But she was the center of the universe in 6th grade. I hated her. So did Dawn, and all our friends. She was just so mean. And of course, she was unbelievably full of herself. Anyway, there were two girls to play one role, and three shows - morning, afternoon and evening showings. We each got one of the day performances, but the big question was who would take the stage for the night performace? Aside from getting two performances instead of just one, the night show was the one that mattered most. It's when the parents came. For weeks, it was what Dawn and I talked about. We obsessed on it. It was like our only way to be involved in the potential humiliation of our nemesis. If the director chose me for the night show, it meant:

1. Someone is better than Amy Smith.
2. *I* am better than Amy Smith.
3. Amy Smith cannot get everything she wants in this life, just because she's popular.
4. There is justice in the universe.
5. I win! We win! Yay us!

There was a lot riding on it, as you can see. And the teacher refused to pick someone until she'd watched us both perform on stage, in front of a live audience. So in the dressing room (which was actually a storage closet next to the gym) just after the afternoon performance, someone had the news. I don't know who. In my head, it's Dawn saying it - but that could just be because we were so thoroughly together on this whole thing, it was impossible to say who wanted me to win more or who prayed more or was dying with the not-knowing more - we like shared a brain and heart on this issue, I swear. That's always been what's so great about Dawn: she has always, always believed in me, and cheered me on, and been on my side, and scorned anyone who dared to think I wasn't terrific. She never doubted I'd get it, and if I hadn't, she'd have just said "Because teachers are idiots and Amy Smith is a bitch." If ever I lost, it wouldn't be my fault - not according to Dawn, anyhow.

But anyway, whoever it was came in and told me she'd just heard the director say that Beth was going to sing in the night show, yes I heard her say so, just now, right outside the door, she just decided! Dawn and I high-fived and shouted and laughed and grinned like loons to everyone who shouted congratulations at me, all while Amy stayed quiet, head down, packing her costume away. I wasn't necessarily well-liked, but plenty of the girls hated Amy enough that they were thriled to see her lose, even if they didn't care much about me winning. Because that's what it was to us: a competition. And the popular girl always won.

I swear, I don't know if I've ever had a more exciting, triumphant moment in my whole life. There was a fair share of it all that was just petty, and vindictive, and childish satisfaction in another person's dashed hopes. But there was also this wonderful, wonderful feeling of knowing I'd gotten something I wanted because I was good enough, and better than the others, and that I had this talent that no one else could match. And it was all me - a decision not based on who my family was, or how much money we had, or how pretty I was or wasn't, or who my friends were, or whatever else. It was just based on abillity. I actually won. On the merits. Talk about thrilled.

It was pretty fuckin sweet, I must say. I really miss that. Not the winning so much (though it is an awfully fab feeling), I mean I miss the stage and backstage and playing parts and trying out and being chosen and all the fun and goofing around with friends and hoping and wishing. All that. It seems impossible that I spend a day in an office, tapping things onto a monitor, filing invoices and making copies instead of memorizing lines and making funny faces and practising and planning costumes in my head.

Anyway. It's late, and why can't I ever just relate a simple anecdote in a few well-chosen sentences? Everything always turns into a big rambling story. It's what I complain about when my mother does it - tangent tangent tangent, details details details I don't need, just get to the point already, the end.

My headache is gone, so to bed with me now. I'm out for fun with Heather and Joe tomorrow night (which is what I really meant to blog about: Heather and Joe and how they're such totally perfect fun friends, but oh well - next time, I guess) so in case I don't type at you tomorrow, have a safe and happy new year. Drink some bubbly, eat some lentils, kiss someone cute at midnight, and fall asleep wondering if next year will be half as crazy as this last one.

Night night.

Okay, here is jmc with some SBD. I can't figure out if Kate intended anything as SBD (Kate, dear, make with the links from now on, eh?) so go here and see if anything seems bitchy to you.

Oh Gawd:

Chicken Soup For The Soul: The Book of Christmas Virtues, by various dunderheads

I have no idea how to describe this slim piece of cheaply bound bullshit. I only read the first of the six mini-essays. I semi-read the second and skimmed thereafter. Since it turns out my building manager lied and my leaking window frames were not, I repeat NOT repaired today - nor the grody sticky mess cleaned up, as promised - I didn't really need anything to further disgust me.

So the first one can be boiled down to "I never cared about becoming a mom and then I became one and discovered it's the most wonderful thing in the world and all you career girls should SUCK IT, BITCHES."

The second one is "I don't remember the details of my kids' childhoods because it was all about me and my own feeeeeeeeeelings."

The third one is: "A Christmas in poverty can be easily remedied by many! exclamation! points! (and a trip to the dollar store)."

The fourth: "Yay for menopause!"

The fifth: "Hey wow, holiday shopping is really meaningful when your dad is dying."

The last: "Don't give up on true love because all you have to do is sit in the mall and wait for an old guy to have a heart attack."

Now, normally I would not be so flippant and dismissive. But I swear to you that there is no other point to these little stories. They remind me of my mother's conversational tangents, except edited. You know, I have always wondered why on earth anyone is interested in reading my little blogged anecdotes because honestly: boring and pointless blather. Just a lot of dumb blah blah. But I take it all back, now I've read this. My god, I'm bloody Dickens in comparison. These story-bits are like the really really really crappy versions of Hallmark cards.

And I guess there are supposed to be virtues represented by each of these tiny tales, but hell if it transmitted anything to me besides general contempt for my intelligence. I guess the corresponding virtues might be:

1. Being a mom is better than anything else. All other life choices are godless and empty, whether you know it or not.
2. You're allowed to forget important stuff.
3. It is good to buy stuff for poor people at Christmas and give it to them in a conspicuous and self-centered fashion.
4. Accentuate the positive even though you're secretly fixated on the negative.
5. Don't blow it when someone you love is dying.
6. Be patient and a heart attack can work to your advantage.

Mmmhhm. Feel that Christmas glow.

PS: Kate, you were totally on target. Go you!

Oh good god - the teevee just said that the top 3 most admired women in America are
1. Hillary Clinton
2. Sarah Palin
3. Oprah

I admire none of these people. Gag.

Oh yeah, I opened this window to say: SBD? Anyone? Come now, you know you want to. Or maybe you don't, what with the holidays and all. If nothing else, do tell us your worst gift this year. Mine is (so far) the Chicken Soup book. Hey, maybe I'll read it and SBD it? Yeah, I will.

Comments open, see ya's later.

The disturbing thing about Facebook is how people who would (under normal circumstances) never want to be a part of your daily life, suddenly feel an urge to "friend" you - with the express purpose of seeing what you're up to every day, and who your friends are, and how you're spending your free time, and blah di blah blah, just kinda being in the loop on your life. And about 98% of the time, it's people from high school - who you haven't spoken to in 15+ years. Because you haven't cared to speak to them in all those years. Nor have they cared to speak to you all that much or els they would've picked up a phone once or twice since graduation.

So why this desire to build a place that's like a microcosm of high school? I mean, wasn't high school itself enough of a microcosm? It seems to me this is exactly what Facebook is - just a handful of friends and a boatload of acquaintances who pass each other in the halls every day, and know a little bit about everyone's life. I mean -- I had enough of that in high school. I get enough of it now in the workplace. I don't need any more of it.

Clearly, though, I am lacking some essential nostalgia quotient which is present in nearly every other human. Why else would I have to ignore so many friend requests? I don't even use my real name, you know - and yet some people figure it out. Today I got a friend request asking me if I was that Beth from that high school and if so, "I just wanted to say hi!" Okay, considered me hi'ed. This is like the 10th one of those I've gotten and it just baffles me. I always just want to write back: "Look, we were in some classes and after-school activities together 20 years ago. That was nice, and you were nice, and it was a long time ago. I wanted out. I got out. I don't particularly want to go back to it or to you or to any of this, harmless as it may be. Have a nice life."

The number of old friends who've found me and I was happy to friend? Two of em. And those two were very, very close to me back in the day, and I missed their friendship rather a lot. One of them, it's nice to know she's around and okay, but we haven't exactly resumed any kind of true friendship. We just kinda touched base, and it's nice to see her around, in a virtual-world kinda way. The other friend - I'm very glad that friendship did resume. But it didn't actually happen through Facebook, because Facebook is not about talking or connecting in any real way or even being a part of another person's life. It's just some bizarre, low level, constant-ish, tangential contact with little or no meaning. It can be fun, like when Dawn throws virtual snowballs at me or lets the world (and me, because I am there) know that she got an iPhone. But I'm just not into empty chit-chat with people who just sorta remember my teenage self.

I dunno, and all of it makes me feel like a snob or something, ignoring friend requests from some nice people, but the truth is? Aside from the friends I've stayed close to over the years, I don't care about any of the people I went to high school with. I just don't. I don't want to see them, or know what's going on in their lives, or anything. That shared experience we had? Really is not all that special to me. I don't like to think of the town I grew up in; I don't like to go back there; I don't like meeting people from there. There is no romantic glow around any of it for me. I don't hate it or anything, or mind when it comes up in conversation, or hold some kinda grudge against "those people" or whatever. It's just that I don't miss any of it, aside from some aspects of my own youthful self.

This is all in stark contrast to, say, Dawn - who I swear has like half of our graduating class on her friends list. She thinks it's neat to know what's going on with everyone. I guess it must mean she's about a thousand times more social than I am, but honestly - I am a very social person. I guess it's the type of socializing, I dunno. It's just one more thing about this growing-older bit, where as I go on, I get less and less tolerant of ... pretense, maybe that's the word? Pretending to care when I don't, or putting in time/effort to keep up a basically shallow relationship out of which I get nothing but white noise. That's not to say a network of semi-friends isn't perfectly fine (lots of people would feel lost without that), it's just that I don't want semi-friends at all and grow more hostile to various social niceties as time goes on.

Hey wow listen to me ramble, huh? It's just I got this umpteenth friend request today and it unduly pissed me off. I'm like a crotchety old woman before my time.

Of course, if any of these old high school people could fix my leaking window-frames immediately and forever, I would friend them in a heartbeat. Just sayin'.

Hey, anyone want a Chicken Soup for the Soul Book of Christmas Virtues? It's one of those useless girlcrap gifts I got, which serves only to depress me (because seriously? Chicken Soup for the Soul? HAVE YOU EVEN MET ME???) and yet I can't throw it away because, ya know: book.

Hm, maybe I should hold onto it. If I ever have a bockety chair leg, it could make a good shim.

We have the most ugly weather ever this week. Fucking rain. Fucking drip drip. Gyah I am soooooooo bored

Why no, of course I don't mind that my windows are leaking profusely. It's no problem at all that the one end of my futon is soaked yet again, and that the windowsills are overflowing with rain water and the floor has puddles. I can't imagine why I'd care that there's obviously leaking into the wall and ceiling above, indicating a growing structural problem. And naturally I've pointed all this out 3 times in two weeks, asked for a return call from management to let me know what they're doing about it but never received acknowledgment of any kind, and provided documentation that shows a history of my written and verbal communications on the subject, starting back in September.

But really, why on earth would I be upset at the drip drip drip drip drip drip dripping? It's nothing to get upset about. I'm sure. Not at all.

A funny thing about Thunder is how when I'm gone, she kinda stops eating and drinking so much. As well as pooping. So when I come home, she heads straight for the litter box (leaving a, um, very fragrant offering), then grabs a mouthful of food, sucks up fluids at the water dish for several minutes, then plops down and begins cleaning all her fur. She's currently in the grooming phase, whilst the lingering scent of Febreeze wafts out of the bathroom.

It's cute. Like a little ritual. Neurotic thing will resist performing instinctual bodily functions until she has an audience, presumably so I can fully appreciate The Gloriousness Of Her Felineness. She slays me.

So anyway: Yay Christmas. I pretty much got crap I don't want or need or care about, but then that's sorta what Christmas is, for adults. My neffs got a Wii, leading to many hours of fun for all. I am generally not a video game type, but the Wii thing is actually fun to both do and watch others doing. Even the boring stuff. Beats me why.

I am now in possession of about 3 day's worth of food - gnocchi and eggplant parmesan (turned out awesome this time) and a stuffed artichoke and gads I dunno what else. However, I also return with far less rum. Here's what I realized: I am the beverage lady, at my brothers's's's house. Every time, I'm always serving up some kinda drink for everyone. I made hot cocoa (from scratch, because I am a snob about hot cocoa) for the neffs and hot buttered rum for the rest of us. The hot buttered rum was quite a hit. And then of course, a lot of tea - I got the whole fam hooked on tea years ago, and we drink gallons of it when I'm there. Ooh hey and I made apple brown betty in my new pan and it was terrific. My younger neff and I also baked the peanut butter cookies today - he's always wanting to cook with me - and they turned out just especially tasty.

So yeah, all in all - excellent food and drink. The eye-talian has changed a bit over the years, I noticed. She always would let me help out in the kitchen, but this time I was given responsibility for whole dishes, things she'd usually just ask me to chop stuff for and she would take it from there - like the artichokes and the broccoli fritters. But today I made the artichoke stuffing and then stuffed em and put em in the pan, and I fried the damn fritters myself. Strange, how that seems like such a significant concession on her part. I think being an extremely busy business owner has just made her less of a control freak around the kitchen. Or maybe it was just because it was only family - her and my bro and the kids, and her brother and me. Makes for a very relaxed and enjoyable holiday, I must say. No pressure.

And many leftovers. Not that I'll have an appetite for quite some time.

Anyway yeah, hi, Merry Christmas. Kinda sad its over. Whole winter stretching out with little to look forward to in all those white frozen months.

Oh crap. I was supposed to call Dawn. Dawn, I forgot to call you, sorry! And now it's late-ish and I don't want to wake up the undoubtedly snoozing household. Okay, I'll call in the morning and hopefully we can get together. I have a present and everything. Not that I couldn't mail it, but still.

Hey, that's a little something to look forward to -- I got packages coming in the mail. Coupla presents and my exciting iPod speakers. Yay packages.

okay okay I gotta sleep. Too little sleep, too much food, plenty of exertion all day, and no nap. Snooooooze.

Hope all y'all had a nice day, too. And good leftovers. Ho ho ho.

Headache: still there. Less, but very there.

Music from Dawn's fab-music inclined husband: downloading, 71%.

Phone: ringing.

Caller ID: mother.

Me: not picking up.

Her: not leaving a message.

Ahhh, Christmas, the season of traditions.

Here's what I was thinking as I soaked in a hot bath that almost did its job: I think as I get older, my tolerance for many things falls away in great big crashing chunks. Not that this is an unusual phenomenon - everyone knows this happens, right? Except I'm only 35. And I don't mean I'm slowly becoming a lovable curmudgeon (a.k.a. crotchety old bitch - although I'm sure that's happening too), but rather that there are ways I was willing to be, tangents of self that I was willing to follow - that I'm just not so willing anymore. I don't know if this is necessarily a good thing. Or a bad thing. It just is. I dunno, and maybe it's something I'll think through and verbalize, but also maybe not. All I know is - I never met anyone as reliably inonsistent as myself. And it means that I never know what's ahead of me, and that I'm forever figuring out who I am under all these layers of non-me.

But right now - headache, and the music's done downloading, and maybe I'll warm my wilson and lie down early tonight. I'll take to my bed, for a day, like a grand lady.

A grand lady without anyone to make her a pot of tea and serve it in bed with buttery toast points. Ah, me. It's so hard to find goos servants anymore.

Oh my god, the headache. It hurrrrrrrts. Better than it was before the sudafed, but still. Gah. I think I will go soak in a very hot tub. But only after I gloat to you all that my Calphalon pan - which retails at $160 and I got for $20 and is now up to like $40 and climbing, all of which is just to make it clear that I WIN, I AM THE BIG WINNER, GO ME!! - arrived today. And it is awesome. So completely, totally awesome. I will make apple brown betty in it, tomorrow, to celebrate the glory of my new cookware.

It is almost as awesome as my red faux-velvet reindeer with hot pink sparkles with which, by the way, Thunder has an obsessive fascination. I'd take a picture of her staring at it wide-eyed, and sniffing at it, and sort of licking at the edges of its boa, and tentatively reaching a paw out to it, etc etc etc, but I think I mentioned my camera is dying? Yeah, so I can't show you, sorry. (Actually I think it may be a bum battery and I should try to get a new one sometime eventually when I remember to.)

So yeah, anyway. Hot bath. Maybe some scotch.

Merry merry, y'all. :-D

It's SBD (Kate participated, go Kate!) and I missed it because I went out and drank hot wine and gabbed and ate bad-for-me food and now I'm thawing out and I'm tired, I tell you, SO TIRED. But it was fun, and sorry I can't manage to tell you about Christmas Anthology Story #2, because I'm not done with ti yet, oops.

sooooooo tired.

In conclusion, my camera appears to be dying a slow and agonizing death, and this right here is the best thing I ever bought in my whole life, ever:



It is magical.

Good night.

Oh gads, you should hear the non-stop howling of frigid wind around my wee garret here. All day. It's yet to get above zero and I, needless to say, haven't stepped foot outside my front door. I'm just hanging out and drinking cheap wine (woohoo) and throwing various things in a pot and seeing if I can make pumpkin soup come out in the end. I'm hopeful. It might not be good, but it will indisputably be pumpkin soup.

They say we'll stay under severe storm don't-dare-go-outside watch until tomorrow afternoon. Every cross your fingers and pray they close my office tomorrow. I don't mind working, really, I just mind getting there.

Oh my. I am snowed in and borrrrrrred. I was gonna post a buncha pictures of Christmas decorations but the camera pooped out before I could download more than one or two. Gah.

Oh but guess what I got today? A Calphalonanananon or whatever pan on sale for only $20! WOO HOO. Here look at how cheap some of it is. If you're looking for a last minute gift or anything. I mean cmon, 88% off! So awesome!

Also I got myself some ridiculously cute speakers ummm here they are and they were more than half off. Yay sales! Yay presents for me!

I made hot buttered rum. It is yum.

Tomorrow I will totally make pumpkin soup. Do you have a favorite pumpkin soup recipe? Please email it to me. I never made it before but I have the appropriate squash product and my fab KitchenAid hand blender, and a whole day of being snowed the fuck in, so it's on, bitches. Curry powder may be involved. I'm just sayin.

Oh ho hum. I am sobering up. I should make more hot buttered rum now.

I unexpectedly worked far too late tonight.

The second night this week, in fact.

I even got snapped at this afternoon, for something that I didn't do.

And they still haven't even come to look at my leaking window.

Plus, it's 20 degrees and 6 inches of snow on top of deadly ice.

But?

I'm still in a great mood. I just spent an hour shopping around iTunes for chip-chip-chipper happy crappy Christmas music and am really excited about listening to it tomorrow on the train, on the way to work.

It's kinda sick. I think if this lasts through the winter it might warrant medical investigation, but for now I'm just chalking it up to the joy of a Christmas season spent NOT in retail. (Seriously, if you're working in any aspect of retail, wuit immediately. IMMEDIATELY, I tell you. It'll put 40 years on your life.) Plus I have a two-day work week next week, so there's that.

Ooh ooh ooooh! My camera's working! I'll have to show you pictures of my christmas decorations they are so great you'll just PUKE, I tell you.

But okay - sleep for now.

Um. Except I have a few little bows and bells I want to hang. Just a few. Like, a dozen. Or more. But then I'll go to bed, honest.

Oh for godsakes, stupid morning shows, stupid newspeople, and stupid fucking Caroline Kennedy. It's like there are certain names that makes the media just fall in convulsions on the floor, and one of those is Kennedy. And ooooh, she wants someone to give her a Senate seat. It's revolting, I tell you. And I actually really like Caroline Kennedy, but jesus fuck almighty, GIVE ME A BREAK. And it's not about "some people question her qualifications" it's more like "many people question the state of our democracy when you can just fling out the name Kennedy and have one of the highest political seats in the land handed to you because it makes some people feel all warm and fuzzy."

GAH.

And as long as I'm venting my political spleen, let me just give a tip to the RNC: The same weekend a bipartisan Senate report finds the current Republican President and his sidekicks were actively responsible for torture - as in ordered it, as in, they said "do this now" and "try stripping them naked and putting hoods on them siccing dogs on them and pointing and laughing" - as in, Dick Cheney just said yesterday "yeah I did that and I'm proud". Okay, so the same weekend this report comes out, the RNC decides to create a web video about how shocked and outraged they are. They're not shocked and outraged about what this administration has done, no - they're shocked and outraged that Barack Obama hasn't said more about the Blagojevich scandal. They're very busy staying extremely quiet about that report, as they thick-headedly cogitate on how to "rehabilitate" their party.

I mean, I don't even have words for that level of fail.

So yeah, my note to the RNC: I will never vote for anyone with an "R" next to their name. Ever, in my lifetime. Ever again. Not even the few that I have truly admired until now. Not even the ones who are running against the sleaziest of Democrats. Not unless one of them, one day, loudly and unequivocally expresses outrage and disgust and shame about the last several years of shitting on my constitution. And then I'll only vote for that particular person. Maybe when you remember that whole "endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights" which this country was founded on and which was intended for ALL HUMANS, not just the white American variety - maybe then I'll think about it. But until then, you're all just mincing little pussy boys who love to focus on the imagined sins of others a little too much. All while you insisting on what excellent Christians you are.

I'm not exactly holding my breath.

And there's your morning under-caffeinated rant. Now back to your regularly scheduled goofiness, like how Diane Sawyer is now showing late-night jokes about the shoe-throwing incident. (Instead of like, oh say, maybe talking for even 30 seconds about why the entire Middle East wants to throw shoes and worse at us.)

Motherfuckers, alla them.

Oh Lord, y'all. What a day.

Yeah yeah SBD let's celebrate with these fabulous people:

Kate!
and
jmc!
and
nobody else because we are all lame.

So I will now write this at the level of a 2nd grade book report.

My Reading Report by Beth Kingston

I got a book to read. It is called Regency Christmas Wishes. It has five stories by five authors and it is all about Christmastime and falling in love and joy and peace, but not Santa. In old-time England, there was no Santa, but they did have Christmas and mistletoe.

I have read the first story which is by Barbara Metzger and the title of the story is "The Lucky Coin". It is about a man who is a baronet which is a kind of nobleman but not very noble. His name is Adam. He is a poor farmer and he is running out of money. He goes to London to ask the banker to give him more time to pay his bills, but the banker is mean and says No!

Then Adam is walking in the street and decides he will go try to sell his only coin. Oh I forgot to say a stranger gave him a coin when they were in the carriage together on the way to London. This coin is very special it is gold but it is not English. But maybe worth something because it is gold. When Adam is in the shop to try to sell the mysterious coin, he sees the most beautiful girl in all his life and he falls in love right then, and so does she but they don't say anything. It is all secret in their hearts.

Suddenly, a robber comes into the shop with a knife, Adam chases him and catches him, but he gets hit. Adam is hurt. When he wakes up, the police give him a reward and the pretty girl comes to check on him and invites him to come drink tea at her house. With the money and the beautiful girl, it is like all of his wishes are coming true.

Then he goes to her house and finds out she is the niece of the mean banker. This is very bad because they are in love. Later on, Adam makes friends with a lonely dog and then finds an old friend who gives him money and clothes and a bed to sleep in, so it is like his wishes are coming true again.

This story is very short but there are many wishes in it and they all come true, even a bad one that Adam has to take back (in his head) to make it un-true. Because of all the luck, he has lots and lots of money and the pretty girl loves him and the mean banker gets nice and they will all spend Christmas at Adam's house.

I did not think this story was very real. First of all they fell in love faster than real people and second of all nobody has that much luck. All in less than one week. If I had a gold coin that made all my wishes come true I would probably be interested in that coin and not a girl with a mean banker uncle. The author should have wrote about the adventure of the coin and the girl could just be a happy thing somewhere in the middle of all the coin stuff. But then it would not be in this book which is supposed to be romantic and not about gold lucky coins.

Well I guess that is all. I will probably read the other stories in this book. I hope they are more realistic than this story.

The end.

Okay check this out I remembered SBD! In the morning! I kept reminding myself all through my shower. Ah the fruits of intense mental labor.

So, youse got anything to bitch about? I started that Regency Christmas anthology last night but didn't get far, so I'll take it on the train with me and see if I can get through at least the first story (which is already fabulously lame) to report on it tonight.

But right now I need to go put on about 70 layers of wool and fleece so that I can make it the two sub-zero blocks to the train. Oy.

Hm. I'm Little Miss Organize this weekend - which was my goal, so yay me! - and I'm finding that all this crap in my closets that's always getting in my way? I don't really want a lot of it. And yet it feels wrong to throw it away. I guess I could give it to Goodwill or something? It's stupid stuff, like candles (and the holders for said candles) and cheap picture frames and a craft-basket full of never-crocheted yarn (I just don't crochet anymore) and tons of pillowcases, for some reason.

But then I think - maybe keep it because sure I don't need the decor stuff now, but it's not like it's ugly and what if I move to a place with lots and lots of shelves? Then I'll be annoyed that I tossed out this stuff. And it's not like it's oodles and oodles of it. Just a few shelves' worth. I got these fabric storage cubes, and it'll all fit in there. So keep it, right? Right.

Except I don't want it. I'm feeling very bogged down with Stuff lately. Hence my whirlwind of organization. If I don't use and haven't used it for a few years, then I just want to chuck it.

Blah bleh bluuch. Okay, I will keep it for now in case this is just a passing mood. But in a year, if I still don't want this stuff, it's off to the Goodwill with all of it, even the really nice photo album from Italy that was a lovely gift but I just don't do photo albums, it seems. I dunno. Maybe I should use the album for old pics. Because I was GOING to go through The Box and organize alla that, too, but I've gotten all involved in the closets and may run out of time.

And note to self: when in the midst of major sinus issues, scrounging through closet dust is, at best, ill-advised.

Jesus FUCK it is cold out there. I mean seriously - I only bother complaining (on the blog, no less!) about the cold when it's beyond the beyonds. And I'm here to tell you: it's way beyond, man.

Here are some bits n pieces:

• What the fuck is up with the recent trend in short-sleeved sweaters? It's the dumbest motherfucking thing ever. I went sweater shopping and found NO SWEATERS with full-length sleeves. All are half or three-quarters. I can only conclude that mentally retarded people are designing clothing. Retarded. Completely.
• I got this new (and cheaper than usual) cat food because they were out of the regular kind. This new kind is salmon and tuna and all seafood. My cat LOVES it. She eats every last crumb, no matter how much I set out. Then within an hour she starts crying - loudly - for more. Here's the hilarious thing: the paper bag-o-food is on the low shelf right by her bowl. She could easily rip it open and pig out. But she doesn't. I can't figure if it's just general fastidiousness (a very catty thing) or if it's just that she can't imagine a world where someone does not serve her (also a very catty thing).
• My window is leaking again, so I complained again, and they still - after 4 days - have not even come to look at it. I'm beginning to think they don't care to fix it. If they don't, I guess that means dirt-cheap rent for me, because I ain't paying full price for a leaking apartment, mofos.
• Ever since Blags got arrested, there are helichoppers in my neighborhood, hovering over his house - especially in the morning, I guess trying to see if he'll go to "work". It's really really annoying, the noise. Fuckers.
  
• My sister had her (second) baby, a boy. This makes it an even dozen for me: 6 girls and 6 boys. No, I don't buy Christmas gifts for all of them.
  
• Remember how I got a new TV circa 6 months ago? The old one is still on my floor. I want to recycle it, but this city is utter shit for recycling. Which is hilarious (as we locals often discuss) considering Daley's goal of being the Greenest City Ever. And it's true you'll get all the help in the universe if you want to get LEED certified or put a garden on your roof, but GOD FORBID we have a complete and simple curbside recycling program. That's just too much work to put together, it'd seem.
• I kinda want Indian food. Should I splurge? Hmm. Maybe.
  
• Because I got The Duchess Of Duke Street (series 2, disk 1) to pop in the dvd player, so wouldn't that be a perfect Friday night? Flannel jammies, BBC mini-series on the TV, and delivery person handing over abag of hot spicy Indian food. Gorgeous.
• Look!
• Flowers!
• For bullet points!
• Yay!
  

Ugh. My sinuses - all week, they are the killing of me. I have to go put in my contacts and I don't wanna. Feels like I have sleepers in my eyes all day every day.

I was explaining to my friend Heather last night that my mother called the goop that gathers in your eyes "sleepers". She'd wake us up in the morning and tell us "get the sleepers out of your peepers, it's time wake up." I'm sure there's probably some official word, but I'm sticking with sleepers.

So last night we randomly went to see Wicked. They raffle off open seats, and we won! Well, Heather won and the really adorable gay couple behind us - BOTH of them won, and you can get 2 tix if your name is called. So the one guy's like "I'll get em and you can have em." Because he's the nicest guy on the planet, apparently. Anyhoo, they were fab seats and it was a really great show. Musicals aren't generally my thing, and I didn't like looooove it or anything - but it was still a great time.

Also? My KitchenAid mixer is here. Hooray! I suspect I will spend all weekend in the kitchen. Totally awesome.

Okay okay - put contacts in ouchy eyeballs and go to work. I'm on it.

I just want you all to know I am fighting the very strong urge to walk the 5 blocks (through the freezing wind and extra-wet snow) to Rod Blagojevich's house (corner of Sunnyside and Richmond, I believe, in case you feel like google-stalkering) and heckle. Or maybe just sit in a lawn chair with a tub of popcorn, waiting for the next episode in the sordid affair of Illinois Goobernatorial Shenanigans. I will point and laugh and laugh and laugh.

I think I've mentioned him before. He often jogs down my street. I find it amusing that he was apparently wearing a sweat suit during this awesome day of handcuffs and posting bail and whatnot, not only because wearing a sweat suit in public (unless you're actually working out) is like the #1 sign of loser-hood, but also because it confirms to me that all his running gear is blue. I have no idea why that's so funny to me, but there you have it. I think because I'm convinced he thinks it brings out his eyes, the vain motherfucker.

ANYWAY. This whole episode also confirms my geeky crush on Patrick Fitzgerald, the stunningly competent US Attorney. Seriously, the man is fucking awesome. Do not even try to pull any shit as long as he's around.

I don't really have any insidery goodness to offer here. All I can tell you is that I haven't found a single person in the city who hasn't reacted with relief and even joy. We hate him, you see. Haaaaate. We have hated him for years. His popularity rating is as bad - actually worse - than GWB's, for godsakes. I mean, even his father-in-law (a fellow politician, one in the garden-variety-corrupt Chicago tradition) publlicly depsises the guy. You might naturally wonder - then why did we re-elect him a coupla years ago? Well, he ran against that wart in heavy makeup, Judy Baar Topinka. The idea of having to see Topinka on the news every night... oh barf. It was truly horrifying, that election, just the thought that either one would end up as governor and there was nothing to be done to prevent it. It was like being forced to marry either Donald Trump or Rosie O'Donnell. It's like, But do I have to kiss either of them with tongue?

Anyhoozenhauer, we've all just been waiting for the last year or so for jerkface to get indicted. And though I think no one is remotely surprised at how sleazy he is, everyone is appalled and revolted at him trying to sell Obama's Senate seat. And we knew he was an asshole and a complete idiot, but we're still a little staggered at HOW dumb he is. I mean, you're being investigated, for two years, by Patrick fucking Fitzgerald, and you talk about selling Obama's senate seat ON THE PHONE? Good god. Epic. The stupidity is epic, I tell you. It's just movie-like.

Oh, and yes, that's really his hair. All of it. Not a toup. And my fave nickname for him is now Blagodicks. And I'm STILL actively and near-daily pissed about his open-road-tolling scam (look it up), but there are so many fuck-ups that it's hard to choose the one that's most seethe-inducing.

And probably no one but Kate is interested in all this, but there it is anyway. Now I will go make soup.

Oh hi there, SBD? Anyone?

I got nuttin. I did order some Regency Christmas thing, but (despite being all FALALALALALALAAAAAA) I am not really in the mood to read it. And I'm not really reading anything else. I've been - weirdly - doing crossword puzzles. It's very bizarre. No, REALLY bizarre. But there you have it. Words that appear in every crossword: ore, ire, tar, eel.

Hey, know what I AM doing a lot of? Watching this British TV series made in the 1970s, set in the 1900-1920s, available on Netflix, which I totally just joined last week because why not. It's called The Duchess of Duke Street and I'm pretty sure it's the most boring show ever created to like 99% of the world, but is the most engrossing thing ever for the 1% like me.

It's about this scullery maid, see, who wants more than anything to be a cook, the best cook in London. And she takes care of all that in the first episode, cooks for the Prince, reputation assured, etc etc. But THEN it gets fabulously soap-opera good, with forced marriages and being reduced to penury and affairs with royalty and nervous collapse and meteoric rise and epic fail and all set in the loudest broadest cockney accent ever.

The hilarious part to me is how the scullery maid-turned-chef is allegedly just the prettiest girl, oh her pretty face will cause her problems, oh isn't she just the most attractive young lady? It's so fucking British because seriously - this woman is actually not pretty. I mean she's not ugly, but pretty is not exactly the first word I think when I see her. It's Gemma Jones, see here. And that's a rather flattering picture, I must say. Now imagine her face contorted with an Eliza Doolittle-times-fifty accent, screeching more often than not. I suppose her features are quite fine in repose (not pretty - just "fine" in that delicate English fine-featured way) but her character is always making big exaggerated expressions, like a fishwife, god bless her.

Anyway, so the British beauty standard cracks me up. But the awesome part of the show is how the main character isn't always that terribly likable. At least once every episode (usually more than that) I mutter "Christ, what a bitch." And normally I'd follow that with a "but gads do I love her" - but I don't actually love her. She's abrasive and bossy and annoying and crude, along with being incredibly clever and admirably practical and softhearted and honest and a bunch of other good things. That's what it really comes down to: she's a very real person, as far as fictional characters go. It's fucking brilliant.

Anyway, the first like 4 or 5 episodes are this epic journey, but after that it settles down nicely into self-contained episodes about the hotel and its guests. She winds up as the proprietress of London's most exclusive hotel, see. At first, after it settled, I was like "eh" - but I stuck with it and it got really good after a couple of episodes. The whole first season you can watch instantly by streaming from Netflix, but the second (and last) season is only available on disk. So now I only have one episode left of Season 1 and I'm scared it'll be a cliffhanger and I won't get to watch Season 2 until like Friday or something. Gah. And I'm dying to see if/when certain characters from the past show up again, and aren't we heading into WWI soon and omg what if Lord Hazelmere actually REALLY marries that dancer?!

Anyway, I totally love this show. If anyone else watches it, let me know how you feel about it, too.

PS: Dark chocolate sea salt caramels from Trader Joe's = awesome. Just as an FYI.

Okay, so it's approximately zero degrees outside (well more like 14, but the wind chill is at 0) and I'd planned to stay inside today except for laundry later this afternoon, after (a) it warms up a bit, and (b) I work up the gumption. So this morning was all about homemade brunch in my jammies while watching Meet The Press (kind of a Sunday ritual anyway), followed by some cleaning and more Christmas decorating. because fa la la la la laaaaaaaa!

But! I completely missed it yesterday, when I was doing errands. I don't have any eggs. And I'm neraly out of milk. And am totally out of cheese. There is like no way to make an omelet without eggs and cheese, for godsakes.

So I guess maybe I should run out now. Put on the boots and the fleece and the wool and the flannel and whatever else. But waaaaah.

I live in Chicago, so I bet there's somewhere I could call to get breakfast delivered. Hm.

Okay hi you know how my job isn't exactly dreamy and life-affirming, but it's not bad and has awesome benefits and cool people and pretty low stress? Well they also unexpectedly have generous Christmas bonuses and I got one! A lot of money! Me!

So I've already been going around all sickeningly cheerful because of Life In General, and then this last weekend I plunged into this unprecedented-in-my-life Christmas Joyfulness (where I brought home a haul of holiday decorations from the Dollar Store, which has NEVER happened before because even those rare times I've been in a holiday mood, I am never I repeat NEVER in a holiday decorating mood, much less a holiday shopping mood, UNTIL NOW IT IS SO FREAKY) (and the second I came home with the holiday haul, I immediately regretted not buying more and have been eagerly awaiting the weekend so I can go back and max out on garland and shit, wtf?) and NOW I am all intoxicated with the sudden infusion of unexpected money.

HURRAH!

So I just went to Amazon and bought myself various stupid little-like things that I've been wanting/needing forever but never wanted to spend money on - like: a paper shredder. Of course I need a paper shredder, because it's stupid to let the junk mail credit card offers and suchlike to pile up until I feel like converting it all to confetti with the time-consuming, olde tyme use of a pair of scissors. But jaysus, who wants to spend a decent chunk of money ($30 on the cheap side, I could order two days of Thai food, gah!) on a paper shredder? Ya know?

Anyway, so I bought that and other stuff like it, as well as the exciting KitchenAid immersion blender. In red, to match the monkey canisters. I've been saying I'll get one for approximately forever, so along with the rest of the stuff I keep thinking I should get but somehow always fail to get, I just added it to the cart and proceeded to checkout without letting myself think too much. I have over-thought all of these products for years, for godsakes.

Well I did pause once, at the gift options section. I would have totally had them wrapped for myself so I could put them under my wee bitty Christmas tree ("Merry Christmas, Self! You're fabulous!") but the price on that service seemed rather exorbitant. So I will wrap them myself, because -- well, because I want to. So there.

Yay presents for me! YAY!

This is boring, because reading about other peoples’ dreams is always boring

Last night I dreamed that Dawn and I were (for some ungodly reason) in South Africa, which in my dream-world was separated from the African mainland by a canal. Or a strait. I think it was a strait. Usually you could walk (well, wade, really) from South Africa to Africa-proper, but Dawn and I had to cross when the water was totally high and the whole thing had just basically become a short expanse of ocean. We were all like “Um, but how to we get back?” And the strait-keepers were like "You can wait a week or you can swim.”

Except – and this was like CGI cool – there were angry crazy sea monsters. The bit where we could cross seemed to be cordoned off in some way from the ocean itself, so the sea monsters were like flailing their tentacled, ropey arms and razor-like dorsal fins and spiked tails and whatnot over the not-very-high barrier. Twas intimidating. But still - wait a week?! So I was like “I will if you will.” And Dawn agreed, so we took off our jackets and plunged in to swim to the other side amid the boiling nighttime monster-infested water. It was scary but we were determined. I think we were running from something. Maybe the law. We like to live on the edge, after all.

Then? Next thing I know, I’d made my way back to Indianapolis. And there was no Dawn. I had a vague memory of getting onto the African continent and thinking that I’d get back home no matter what it took, keep going, grit and determination, no time to lose, etc etc. But no memory of anything else between diving into the sea-monster water and arriving in Indy. And I of course started to panic, because where the hell was Dawn? When had I last seen her? Did she make it through the sea monsters? I don’t know. WHERE IS SHE. I was severely freaking out and just had this massive, massive guilt because how could I leave her? With sea monsters! I was like How could I not stick with her? We should’ve stayed together, I should’ve been looking out for her, but I didn’t because I was all focused on getting to the other side, stupid stupid stupid.

So the guilt was killing me and I was beginning to freak out about What Do I Tell Her Parents And Her Husband. Then it morphed into like an episode of Buffy, when Faith comes back and pretends not to know of some massive betrayal while all the time she's plotting revenge on Buffy. Except Faith was really Dawn, wearing black leather and too much lip gloss. I was the Buffy role in this scenario, except I wasn’t really Buffy in my dream. Anyway, it got Really Weird and the anxiety was sort of overwhelming, and then it shifted to a new dream.

In the new dream, I was with my niece and neff and there was some confusion about which train we should be on. We switched trains at the last minute, putting us on the wrong train, and the doors closed and I was like OH SHIT WRONG TRAIN. Then some young dude was the only other person in the train-car with us and he pulled the emergency stop, opened the train doors, and walked out into the tunnel, pulling my neff with him. I went all Auntie Rambo on him and grabbed my neff back, nearly taking the guy’s arm off in my rescue shenanigans. But somehow my neff was still in the tunnel, by himself, while his sister and I were safe in the train. And I was telling him to get in the train, hurry. I knew the doors would close any seond and the train would take off and he was there in the tunnel between the train and the wall. But he just looked at me, like he didn’t hear me or something.

So I shouted “Get in the train!”, which I actually shouted in real life, waking myself up and pissing off my sleeping cat.

Then I couldn’t fall asleep because omg the guilt of abandoning Dawn in a sea-monster-filled night-time ocean strait. How could I DO that? Honestly, even in a dream? How? It was horrible of me. Dawn, I am SO SORRY, I swear to GOD I would never ever EVER do that in real life, ever. I promise. NEVER. Gads, I wouldn’t even do that to a stranger, much less a friend, much less someone who’s like a sister to me. Gah. It was horrible. I still feel bad about it.

Even when I tried to assuage my guilt, I couldn’t fall back asleep because someone – maybe a downstairs neighbor – was playing some crazy version of Bally Hai that was performed on that horror-movie music instrument. What is it? A theremin or whatever. I swear, it was insane, but it wasn’t part of my freakish anxiety dreams. It was real. I even opened the window to see where it was coming from, because it lasted like 20 or 30 minutes. BallyHai. At 4am. My hand to god.

And that’s why I didn’t get enough sleep last night. The end.

Dudes, I am so tired. SO TIRED.

Also, I am right about everything. Always. About everything. Whatever it is, I am right. Which makes other people, well, wrong.

But I am currently SO TIRED so gnite