SOPA – It’s not your abuela’s soup

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If all plugins go as planned, I’ll be joining the ranks of SOPA protesters tomorrow by turning off the blog lights. I know. I half-ass blog for the month of November, then don’t blog at all for another month-ish, only to reappear saying, “Hey! Look! My site will be blacked out in T- minus 100+ minutes.” I am an awesome blogger.

For a better understanding of SOPA (and PIPA), here’s a handy dandy link to mull over when your computer screen is not a black hole portal. Wee, I’m riding the bandwagon.

NaBloNoMo

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While I gave you essentially 30 days of nothing this month, it is a little known Wonder of the World that I follow through with anything to completion. So, go me for showing up every single day in November. NaBloPoMo 2011 in the books.

Do you smell what I smell?

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Phoning it in again. This time from bed. I want to test out blogging in its very laziest form. Me under a couple of blankets, pecking out a post with one hand on the phone. Geez, Im inspiring. Soon I may stoop to blogging on the toilet.

I made the less than pleasurable drive to fetch my mom again today. It was extra fun this time as she brought the bird. After many miles of sneezing and breathing into my shirt sleeve, Mom asked if I was coming down with a cold. I figured my freak sinus attack had something to do with Floozy (or maybe its spelled Flew-Z). I was honest with her and told her so.

Oh that’s probably the alfalfa I put in her cage.
Ahh. That explains the rodeo sensory trip I’m having.
I think its more of a chicken house aroma. Teehee.

Wee. This is fun. Now my house smells like the last day the rodeo is in town.

100 brush strokes

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Here I am. Another obligatory post for NaBloPoMo. I promise something more meaty (or beany if vegan is your fancy) later (later) and apologize for these airy rice cake posts I’ve been tossing at your feet. I truly admire those of you who are able to whip up witty, clever writing amidst times when chaos reigns.

What I lack in words, I make up for with doodles and hairballs. Together! One night only! Doodle and Hairball meet for one magnificent evening of sophisticated blogging material.

Yes, dear friends. I have repurposed my hair in a doodle. And I'm doodling this doodle to you.

 

Bird is the word

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The turkey was denied an additional stay of execution and is now residing in the gullets of a few turkey lovers. This is my third year to do the whole turkey cooking thang, and I feel like I have a pretty good handle on it now. The bird was juicy and tasty. Most importantly, no one has complained of intestinal distress. Success! One day late but worth the wait.

Gav is presently enduring the long bus ride home. I’m looking forward to hearing all the NYC/Philly tales he’ll tell. He texted that he picked up a pair of beats™ in New York. I’m super excited to check those out. I love some music magnification. He later texted from a mall in Philadelphia asking what I wanted for Christmas. Umm, duh, beats. ;-) I’m a bit worried that he likely got himself some counterfeit headphones, but we’ll see. He didn’t mention anything about a Rolex.

Alrighty. I’m heading over to the Amazon site to get myself a Muppets album and Charlie Brown Christmas tree, both of which are lightening deals in T minus 3 minutes. Yippee.

 

I bobble bobbled the Thanksgiving meal

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Happy Thanksgiving to my United Statesian cohorts and anyone else who decided to eat an oversized meal today.

I umm still haven’t cooked the turkey. The Magic “8 Ball”® says the likelihood of said turkey seeing the inside of a prewarmed oven today is Very doubtful. But, tomorrow, tomorrow, the turkey will come out of the fridge and into the oven tomorrow, you’re only a day away.

I did hop up first thing this morning and put on a batch of collard greens. (they are all the fashion rage) I’ve never cooked collard greens. They turned out surprisingly edible. New Year’s Day, I am ready for you. Meh, Thanksgiving Day? We shall meet another day.

Gav’s high school band marched across my computer screen this morning. That was neat. Sounds like he has really enjoyed himself on this band trip.

I leave you with leaves.

I am thankful for goofball kids.

 

Knock, knock

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Ooh, I’m blogging under the influence of a beer and a half. I know. I’m such a lush. I’m also cracking open pistachio nuts and throwing those back all willy nilly as the occasional stray shell falls to the ground. I’m OUT OF CONTROL, peoples.

I spent today driving my mom back to her domicile after multiple failed pleas that she stay for Thanksgiving dinner mañana. There were more pressing matters awaiting her at home including a bird in a cage named Floozy who will tweet herself to death if Granny does not get the eff home already. Dogs and cats were also eagerly anticipating her return. So, wee, another day of transporting Mom over numerous county lines, this time with the added pleasure of freeway Thanksgiving travelers.

In serious need of decompressing, I went in search of fermented liquids a few hours ago. I have not imbibed in years as I’ve spent the last 5.5 years breastfeeding, finally throwing in the modesty towel this past June. Seriously, folks. I tell no lies. That makes for some tired old titties. I’ll pause and allow you to reflect upon my very tired knockers.

(that was unnecessary, i know…blame the extra half beer…)

I don’t necessarily enjoy the taste of beer, wine, alchohol, et cetera and have usually gone the fruit juice/vodka route. But, at a recent outdoor food and beverage event (break’n bread), I sampled a couple of beers and something clear which I really enjoyed. The something clear was what I wanted tonight, but seeing as I don’t know anything beyond the fact that it was clear and fruity and I liked it, mmm not so sure I’ll ever track down that tasty treat. (i want to say it was some offbeat variant of sangria) (my descriptive skills need serious tutelage) As far as the beers go, I do remember one of the beers was fruity. And I had a mental image of a mohawk. (why am i not writing copy for alcoholic beverage companies?!) (you’ll remember our beer as the fruity one with a mohawk. try one today. or have some of that clear, fruity stuff.) My trip to a nearby grocery did not yield the Clear Fruity Something I Liked, but I found the fruity mohawk beer!

So, there you go. I’m decompressing with Shock Top® Raspberry Wheat, the fruity one with a mohawk. And tomorrow I’ll bake a turkey and make I don’t know what else. And think about how successful I could be in the world of copywriting.

Sweeping it under the rug

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Is your life lacking in stirring drama? If so, I invite you to share in mine. Because I’m a giver. Really. Here, have some. Oh, don’t be modest. Take a heaping helping of my dramatic drama. Mmm, has a quite a kick to it, eh? You’re gonna want to wash that down with a shot of something with an even stronger kick. I recommend pure grain alcohol.

My mother is here at my abode and she is presently medical procedure-less. I cry drove four consecutive hours last night only to likely do it all over again next week. As a group of doctors playing telephone are wont to do, what started as “There’s a bad moon on the rise” ended up being “There’s a bathroom on the right,” and Mom was only scheduled for a Hi! How are you today? Apparently, not all that great appointment. We get to relive the nervous uncertainty next Wednesday when she’ll undergo more tests to determine if she needs a procedure or a surgery. Good times. I’ll end my last day of NaBloPoMo admitting my mother to the hospital.

I wish I could be more forthcoming and tell you guys everydirtylittledetail of the roller coaster I zipped around and upside down on over the past 24-hours. It’s a stranger (WAY more effed up) than fiction scenario. Man, if my creative consciousness could come up even a quarter of the shiznit my actual walking-talking real life coughs at me, the Pulitzer would be renamed the Deecurbzer Prize. I cannot make this drama up.

The Day of Deep Breaths. The Day of One Step in Front of the Other. The Day of Cruising on Autopilot. The Day of Zombie Mode. Aaaaand, back to the Day of Deep Breaths (because it’s especially challenging to parent a handful of kids when you’re in zombie mode staggering around craving braaaaiiiins).

Alrighty. Enough with the obscurity. Hey! I have a turkey thawing in the fridge! I almost forgot to move its frozen ass over and kept reminding myself as I cry drove last night in between the disparaging thoughts of self pity, “Why me? How much more? I need to put the frozen turkey in the fridge to thaw. Why all the hurt? Waaaaa. Must. put. turkey. in. fridge. Why? Why? Why?” Because, silly, it needs to be cooked. I’m toasting a thawed Thanksgiving turkey Thursday. (sally sells seashells by the seashore)

Side/upwardnote: Gav called while I cry driving last night and in a total stoner voice,

Mom. I am sooo hiiiiigh.

He was atop the Empire State Building. I love my goofy kids.