Sanity? Check.

Before I tell you the story of the First Crazy Person I’ve Talked to in Ages, I need a bit of sanity check.

Let’s say you ask a sales person at a local Best Buy if they will have any, oh, I don’t know, Nintendo Wiis anytime soon and the following conversation takes place:

BBguy: Yes, 6 am Friday Morning!

You: 6 am?

BBguy: Yup, we’ll have a whole bunch of them at 6 am on Friday.

You: So we’ll be back at 6 am on Friday, thanks.

Would you then assume that they are opening at 6 am for some big sale, and that if you show up at 6 am you’ll be able to enter the store and make purchases? Because we sure did. But maybe he just meant that he had to work at 6 am on Friday, and was scheduled to unpack the Wiis and place them on the shelves or something.

I’ve got half a mind to complain. If it weren’t the fact that I had not even gone to bed yet, so it’s not like I had to crawl out of a warm bed to come down to a dark shopping center at 6 am, I would. What we found were 3 other shoppers and two security guards. And a big huge sign on the building saying “Grand Opening Sale. Friday Nov. 30th and Sun. Dec. 2nd. Best Buy Presents Avril Lavine.” ( I don’t know how to spell her last name, and I don’t care enough, about her, to look it up.) So we assumed it was for the big Grand Opening that they were opening at 6. It was 5:52 and the security guards told all five of us how to line up and then went back inside where it was warm. That should have been our first clue.

Here comes crazy! Third in line, all decked out in Canucks gear, he seemed to be unaware of societal norms of personal space. Namely mine. Sometimes its a fine line between “crazy” and “just really drunk.” But something about this guy just screamed “perfectly sober.”

Crazy: Hello! Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Me: to you too!

Crazy: are you with that guy? (points to Wil)

Me: Yeah, that’s my husband.

Crazy: Oh. I want to get married. Let me ask you something…

Me: What?

Crazy: Is he CRAZY?

He was referring to the fact that Wil was wearing a sweater and shorts, and it was very very cold out. But he had a cup of coffee in his hands and it was almost 6, so I’m sure he would have survived. I might be selling Crazy short, and he could have been referring to the fact that the sweater was striped but the shorts were plaid. Something I, too, thought was a bit odd when he put the ensemble together.

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Deadly Bulb. I’m about to write you a reality check. Or would you prefer the cold, hard cash of truth?

I mentioned, earlier, that I signed up for an online writing “intensive.” It’s kinda freaking me out, frankly. First of all, I’m expected to critique others? Seriously? I’m sure some part of my brain registered that fact before I signed up, but now that I am faced with the imminent fact, it’s daunting. Critique how? I don’t critique. I’m not a critiquer.

“Nice penmanship” doesn’t really work in an online environment.

I’m having flashbacks to 12th grade AP English class. That class caused no end of stress and anxiety related stomach pains. (In fact, so ingrained in my psyche was the fact that stomach pains were associated with anxiety and stress, I lived with gal stone attacks for a year before going to the doctor. I just figured I was REALLY stressed.) All we did in that class was write. The goal was to be able to sit down and write a standard 5 paragraph, approximately 500 word, essay about any topic at a drop of a hat. And to do so well enough, in a big expensive test, that you could clep out of college hours of English credit.

Which I did.

So I suppose, for that, I owe AP English a “thank you.” But I lived in constant fear of my teacher using my work as an example of what not to do. He seemed far more fond of examples of what not to do, in my memory. I never got any kind of extraordinary praise, so, therefore, it stood to reason that everything I did was crap. At best, mediocre crap. I never felt like I was up to the standards of that class.

And, ok, most of the time it was anonymous, but the peer critiques were merciless. Except for mine. They were non-existant. There was also the ultimate fear that he would put your paper on the overhead projector. God… even if it was anonymous, I think the blushing look of horror on my face would have given me away. Don’t get me started on the times it was not anonymous.

For some it was intellectually stimulating, I suppose. Not for me.

Every day I would quiz my friends Julie and Holly what had happened in their 3rd period AP class, so I would know if I would need to find a miraculous way to be somewhere other than 5th period AP English. Or, better yet, just learn to be invisible.

So yeah, I’m in an online writing intensive and I’m a bit freaked out. And – double ack – my homework is due tomorrow!


I’m hunting down the elusive First Person Plural

Now comes the time of Christmas shopping. I have purchased one present so far. I actually purchased it months ago. I was so proud that I told everyone in the store IT WAS A CHRISTMAS PRESENT!! Can you believe that shit, I asked them. They could not.

I don’t want to give away all our secrets, just in case. Now is a time of keeping secrets. Good and wholesome secrets that are revealed on December 25th. Or in our case, December 22nd, because that’s when my family will be here. Suffice to say that Wil and I, WE are on the hunt for a particular present for his daughter. WE have looked everywhere where one would find this particular item. It’s gotten to the point where WE have started asking various stores if they will ever have this item again. Best Buy said yes, come back Friday, at 6 am. And so WE shall.

But, if I see this item all over the place after I make a special six am trip down to Best Buy on Friday, I’m going to be seriously annoyed.

You know, WE aren’t the ones who really need it. Santa does. WE are just doing him a favor. (Can I quit all capping WE now? Do you get my subtle hint?) Wil was teasing Jackson about what kind of presents she was going to get when we last visited her. She gave him some sass back that can only come from a child who has recently made it to double digits in age, and who knows full well that Santa doesn’t exist (probably) but CHOOSES to kick Christmas old school.

“DaaAAd, YOU don’t bring presents. SANTA does.”



Happy Thanksgiving Everyone

I decided not to make a full thanksgiving dinner. It’s so much work and I am the only one who would be into it. Next year, I’ll just travel down to the states and have Thanksgiving dinner cooked by my mom. The way god intended me to have it.

I made homemade mac and cheese. I read that the average person consumes 4,000 calories per thanksgiving meal, so I thought I’d make a single dish that could give me all that in one serving. Saves time. I did, however, get the fixins to make myself a pumpkin pie. hee!

Gotta go make me some pie!

Happy Thanksgiving!




Only Candy Spelling understands.

With the arrival of Christmas marketing in the stores, comes the sad realization that some of my xmas shopping traditions will not be met this year. Chief among my favorites is the Gift Wrap Wonderland at the Container Store.

The Gift Wrap Wonderland at the Container Store is my Happy Place. Ever since it opened, shopping for my wrapping paper has become my favorite holiday shopping activity. It can take me a long time to chose the overall theme. You need to get two or three rolls in a corresponding theme and color scheme. Are you going to go bold and modern? Perhaps Bright red, white and silver? Perhaps you feel more renaissance era jewel tones? They’ve got it. Along with many matching tags, ribbon, bows and accessories.

It’s wonderful!

Since I can’t travel freely to the states right now, I’ve kept my eye out for this year’s wrapping theme. Lo and behold a new Michael’s opened up just down the street from me. Yesterday, I found three complimentary rolls of paper in muted, somewhat countrified, colors. Cute reindeers on one. Along with bows and ribbons, etc. It was no WONDERLAND, but I liked my selections. I showed them to Wil and told him he had to pretend to be interested because there was no one else around to admire my choices until my family comes to visit in December and sees their presents. I’m afraid he has to do that a lot.



I don’t think I will be able to finish 50k by the end of November. Despite my best intentions, I have not involved myself in any local NaNo events, I feel quite apart from the fun. I’ve gone back and forth about this, in fact if you asked me 30 minutes ago, I was still trying to figure out how to finish. I even contemplated changing to an auto biography because if there is one thing I should be able to write about, with little or no research, quickly, it’s my life. 50 thousand words divided by 40 years is 1250 words a year. Easy, right?

Nyah, I am just not interested in writing 50 thousand words about myself. 50 thousand more words. Someday I should figure out how many words I’ve written about myself on this blog. Damn site more than 50k, I’d reckon. I want to keep working on my mystery. It’s just going very slowly. And I guess that’s ok. As long as I keep working on it, I’m going to go ahead and give myself permission to work at my own pace. I’ve been struggling with one scene for many days, each and every word. This is not how you win NaNo, but it seems to be the way I am working this year.

Officially I’m blaming the loss on the fact that I still have not received my 2007 NaNoWriMo tshirt, despite the fact that it shipped on October 3rd. I’m a little sad that I’m giving up. I’m disappointed in myself, since I have all this time on my hands.

Well, bummer. Awww, Momo is giving me kisses on my feets to cheer me up. And, on the upside, I made some really yummy buttermilk mashed potatoes for dinner. So I’ve got that skill going for me. Which is nice.