So as I look around at the unicorns farting fruit scented air freshner, I take a bite of broccoli that tastes like chocolate and has zero calories. The elves and faeries have taken care of all my laundry. The gnomes found a cork to put in my incontinent dog and the helpful little birdies are doing the cooking from now on.
Ahhhhh. Finally I can really concentrate on my solution to world peace. *Big sigh of contentment and fulfillment*
Have you ever been so inundated by your to-do list that you literally walk around in a circle because you don't know which way to go first? I've done that two times today.
Next Saturday is the CPRW meeting. It is also our town's parade, so I'll need to leave the meeting early so I don't get locked out of said town. I'm also running free children's games at the celebration afterward. I just hand delivered parade information to my side of the town, which is essentially one street. Main Street. Very original.
I'll be missing part of the guest speaker's presentation which makes me a little sad. He's a former k-9 handler/police officer. Not sure of his official title. I've got too many other things going on in my brain to form coherent words.
Which is oh so helpful for the 50/50 writing challenge.
This week I have meetings and kid taxi-ing and gathering materials for the games and housework and writing and website updates and a cake to bake and ebay listing and soldier packages to compile and send and - and - and - you get the idea.
Oh. And I was called for jury duty. No lie. $9 a day for the first three days if I get chosen. At this point, I'm glad. It'll be like a mini vacation. Instead of Calgon take me away, it's Judicial System take me away. (Though this is coming from the gal who said a few months ago that a jail term was synonymous with spa getaway.) Only I'm not allowed to bring my computer into the court room. So no writing will get done unless it's long hand. Bleah.
So what are you drowning in? Lay it on me. Make me feel better about losing the Sea Monkey War, and Operation Dirty Laundry Pile. I'm sure you're just as busy as I am.
So now the sea monkeys are really messing with me. It started yesterday when I couldn't get one of my urchin's songs to stop playing over and over in my mind. Robot Monkey Head - (click here for a preview) an entertaining song the first two or three times, but after that it grates on every last nerve ending your body has in its possession, rendering you a jabbering brainless mass that lashes out randomly at almost any stimulus. So after about two hours of this torture, I came to realize that the voice of the singer was too high and burbly to actually be the real singer.
That's when I knew it was a cunning psychological tactic. The sea monkeys must have come in while I was sleeping and implanted it in my brain. So now not only are they stooping to mind games, but they're extending their ranging territory.
They've also upped the insult factor in their petroglyphs. Insinuations about a person's foot fungus and b.o. is really crossing the line.
Be forewarned little sea monkeys. The gloves are coming off. And being replaced by big rubber ones that snap when you put them on to protect myself from dishpan hands. You know what I mean.
In other news on the home front, the youngest urchin learned how to gallop on Friday and hasn't stopped since. She gallops everywhere she goes, even if it's just two steps. I feel like I should be galloping behind her with two half coconuts and theme music ala Monty Python.
I'm off to make war plans and brownies. Until next time!
I am a huge Dr. Seuss fan, so I was happy that the ALA chose this quote as one of three to represent Banned Books Week (September 26 - October 3) for 2009. Their website has lots of great information and free downloads.
The downloadable lists of banned or challenged books from the previous four years were very interesting. And it makes a great TBR list. I found a book on there that just made the jump to the top of my TBR pile. Uncle Bobby’s Wedding by Sarah Brannen. It's about two gay guinea pigs. I just can't pass that up. There are lots more. Some old favorites still getting heat, like To Kill a Mockingbird and Catcher in the Rye, and some new ones that I'm going to check out.
Last year during the Mark Twain Prize for American Humor honoring George Carlin, Denis Leary related a story from his childhood. When he was an alter boy back in the sixties and seventies, his Catholic church would print in the bulletin different media deemed inappropriate for the parish and urged church members not to purchase them. Young Leary saw it as a "what to buy" list. That's how he found Carlin's albums. And that's how I view the banned and challenged list.
So go check it out. Support intellectual freedom and your First Amendment rights. Read a banned or challenged book.
So I've been working on deciphering the sea monkey petroglyphs that are now adorning my bathtub walls, and I can tell you for certain that it ain't "Beans, beans the musical fruit . . . "
It's the typical small-minded, war mongering propaganda you'd come to expect from a burgeoning under water society. "Death to the tyrannical cleaner", "Smite the scrubbing brush", "All cleansers down the drain", "Say no to health care reform". That's as close as I can translate. Wish I had a secret decoder ring, though. Maybe I'll start checking the backs of comic books for one.
I've also been receiving intel on the possibility that there may be future under water nuclear testing in the sea monkey realm. Ever since I installed an automatic shower cleanser to up the weapons in this war, they've gone on the offensive.
On to other news. I only got 100 words written yesterday, but I hurt my hand and my leg while up on an extension ladder as I cleaned the second story gutters. A huge-assed UFO buzzed me. More specifically, UFI (Unidentified Flying Insect). Almost fell off the damn ladder. Yes, I nearly died by highly ingrained wussy girlie tendencies of dodge and scream like a little girl while twenty-five feet off the ground.
I am woman hear me roar.
Got lots to do today and no time to do it, so I better get on with it. Have a good one, and pray that I stay on the ground.
So a lot is going down at Casa de Quinn, or for my legions of silent French Canadian lurkers, Chez Quinn. A lot that is going to derail me from trying to get back up on the writing horse. 50 words for 50 days begins tomorrow and I have: ~ a new weekly schedule that is more disruptive than helpful
~a bunch of blue hairs ganging up on me and wrangling me into volunteer positions that I have no time for (They want me to make corn husk dolls with children at the Founder's Day celebration, then expect me to find corn husks, dry them somewhere and keep them at my home for three weeks. Then one helpful senior citizen dropped off a bag of green corn husks in a huge plastic bag and it has promptly rained for two days. So it sits on my porch gathering dampness and probably attracting wild critters. By the time it stops raining, it will be a moldy pile of crap. Plus create new fliers and update, add to and change their website.)
~My phone is out -again. Has to do with the fact that our house is old and falling down around our ears and the list of fix it projects is longer than both my arms.
~My incontinent dog is still very incontinent.
~A sea monkey uprising is imminent. They are now leaving aggressive and taunting petroglyphs on the walls of the bathtub.
~NJRW conference is coming up and I have lots to prepare for that.
There's lots more, but I've bored you enough, and I'm pretty sure you've got a list like this running in your own home. So enough.
One of the real reasons I'm not writing is I'm in a "My writing sucks and I should just give it up" slump. I need to try and write my way through it, but it's easier said than done.
On to other news. Supernatural's season opener last night was awesome. They packed so much into it and laid the foundation for some new story arcs that look pretty dang interesting. Dean had some awesome lines. My favorite was angel condom and asshat. Tres classy. (Am I pandering too much to the French Canadians today?)
Got to go. Time to start my new career as a Wincest fanfic writer.
Yes. I'm still here. The talk went pretty well. I did some nervous fast talking, and probably covered things a little too quickly, but my handout was pretty thorough. I didn't break out into hives or anything, but I was sweating a whole bunch. Instead of Sweating to the Oldies it was Sweating to the Karate Talk.
I was half tempted to play Kung-Fu Fighting as my intro. Loosen up the crowd, so to speak. There were pretty many people there. And I think I threw up a little in my mouth when they had to add an extra table to have enough seats.
I realized later that I got started too early, and Misty didn't introduce me. She even asked how I wanted to be introduced, but I was just too anxious to get it over with. So, oops. Sorry Misty! I had talked to most of the new people who'd come to the meeting. There were five.
Dan, my surprise assistant, was a very good sport. He's a bit of a wild card, and I was a little nervous that he'd run away with the show because he has such an outgoing personality, but he was great.
So all in all, I didn't vomit on anyone, so I'm calling it a success.
Well, I have my handouts, complete with diagrams and pseudo-behavioral objectives. I have Benadryl in my purse, and a case of Calamine lotion in my car. (Though maybe I'll strap it onto the back of my motorcycle if I decide to ride to the meeting.) I have my secret assistant lined up along with the bribe for said assistant. So I'm as ready as I'm going to be. I'm really hoping that since it's Labor Day weekend, there won't be many attending the meeting. Plus I didn't see it advertised in the two venues where I usually see it. (They probably didn't want to advertise using the terms kick ass heroines.)
In theory when I initially propose these ideas for myself I think it's smart. My brain conjures up all kinds of convincing psycho babble to convince me. "Get outside your comfort zone. Push yourself. Put yourself out there." But as it draws near and the reality of the situation hits me full force, I come to the conclusions that either my brain is trying to kill me or I'm just a complete idiot.
Gotta say I'm afraid my homicidal brain might come up with something like a Tourette Syndrome outburst, though I don't suffer from the disorder, to murder me with embarrassment immediately upon speaking. My go-to curse words for the past two months have been fucktard and shit balls, (though maybe I'll work in futtering just to make it complete).
So I'm thinking it should be a pretty interesting meeting.