Baby, It's Cold Outside
Listening: Scarlet Ribbons - Michael Crawford (Christmas Album)
I don't really see there being another update 'til maybe Christmas Eve sometime, so I might as well fill the gap. Christmas weekend is officially here, bringing with it all the joy, pressure, and unbridled avarice that this time of year is so well known for. I woke up at 9:30 this morning to the sound of my sister invading the house with a bunch of friends of hers, and was in the den when my parents came home at 10 in a spitting fury because they'd taken the day off to wrap Christmas gifts and my sister and said friends were not supposed to be here. My mom had a minor spaz-attack and stormed out to run some errands that didn't involve being home, leaving my dad to usher the ditzy teens out of the house. I was essentially forgotten in the carnage, which suited me just fine.
Last night I was kidnapped. I mean that quite literally. And this time, ninjas weren't responsible. Cole and Matty P turned up on my doorstep and informed me that I had five minutes to get ready and come with them, or they would be removing me bodily from the house. When I decided to test that declaration by using the last of my five minutes to devour my salad, Matty P shoved me out through my front door, in my socks and t-shirt, without shoes or a jacket. I was flipping out from the cold and wetness of everything, and he informed me, very coolly, that if I would just get into the car things would be warmer and dryer, so I made a break for it, and we all piled in and drove off. Only when my whining reached an unbearable pitch did Matty P turn around and go back to my house long enough to let me get a coat and shoes.
Two hours later, Matty P had a flat tire and had to change it in the cold, wet, blustering snow. Karma.
It's been snowing on and off for a few days now, which is lifting my hopes for a white Christmas. Just typing it is probably a jinx, but we haven't had a white Christmas for nearly three years now, and I just want there to be some snow on the ground come Monday. Not like last year, squick, when it rained all Christmas day.
I got dropped off at my grandparents' last night to accompany them to the airport. The reason for this was the arrival of one of my two favorite uncles, Darren, who's been living up in Fort McMurray for the past three years or so. He despises the place, but he's still under contract for another year, so he can't move back home just yet. Nobody who moves up to Fort Mac likes it, my Uncle Darren least of all. Last year he couldn't even get the time off to come home for Christmas, so that makes this year uber special.
Saturday night, another beloved family member gets in for Christmas--my uncle's boyfriend, Mark. (Yes, I know we're not actually related to him, but Mark is part of the family and if you disagree you are wrong.) The last time I saw either of them was on summer vacation two years ago, so my excitement is palpable in the air. Mark has the same cheery, addictive personality as Jam, which is probably why I felt so familiar with him when I first met him. Seeing one of either my uncle or Mark home for Christmas is rare, but both of them at the same time is on par with a Bigfoot sighting. The reason for my excitement should be obvious by now.
I have to get through three solid days of Wal-Mart before I can hit the jackpot of Christmas Day, so I'm praying that things won't be quite as retarded as I get this horrible feeling they will be. I'm working tonight from 6-11, which is never a bad shift, and I have no idea about tomorrow, but I'm working Christmas Eve from 9 a.m. to 5:30 p.m.. Every time I tell people I'm working Christmas Eve and then what time, they say, "Oh, that's not so bad." This is incorrect. Admittedly, it could be worse and I could be working until 12 at night or something, but the fact of the matter is that I will be at Wal-Mart for 8.5 hours on Christmas goddamn Eve, and I will miss various family traditions during that time. Also, I don't get paid extra on Christmas Eve, which just adds insult to injury. There's no real point in whining about it though, so after this paragraph, I will say no more about it.
On a lighter note, I wish to share a tiny victory with you. Back in late September sometime, I lost about thirty pages of my novel-in-progress, Usurper. I had a minor skitz, but the fact is that Usurper is my baby, and as lazy as I am, I'm not lazy enough to let it die from the loss of thirty pages or so. I've been tapping away at it in an effort to regain my lost ground ever since September, but MUN and work interfered greatly. However, Christmas break has proven extremely condusive to the creative process. As of 4:30 this morning (yes, I was up all night writing it, hush) I have officially caught up to where I left off, and (I feel) improved on the pages that I was forced to rewrite. I have since surpassed said point and progressed to the end of the chapter I was working on, effectively bringing Usurper up to more than 200 pages and nearly 150,000 words.
Now watch me do my victory dance. *shimmies*
I must be off to continue my writing streak, but I hope that all you cats have a good Christmas weekend and don't get stampeded by crazy shoppers or reindeer or turkeys or whatev'. I believe I'll be getting kidnapped from work at 11, and Saturday will probably drain me of any and all will to live, so the next time I will probably be posting will be Christmas Eve, when my house gets invaded by crazy relatives and I have to make an escape. In the interim, don't get buried by snow and for the love of God remember to finish your Christmas shopping, seriously.
Icarus wants to thank Benji for his invaluable insight and for reminding her of the golden rule: "Julia, crazy people don't wonder if they're crazy".
I don't really see there being another update 'til maybe Christmas Eve sometime, so I might as well fill the gap. Christmas weekend is officially here, bringing with it all the joy, pressure, and unbridled avarice that this time of year is so well known for. I woke up at 9:30 this morning to the sound of my sister invading the house with a bunch of friends of hers, and was in the den when my parents came home at 10 in a spitting fury because they'd taken the day off to wrap Christmas gifts and my sister and said friends were not supposed to be here. My mom had a minor spaz-attack and stormed out to run some errands that didn't involve being home, leaving my dad to usher the ditzy teens out of the house. I was essentially forgotten in the carnage, which suited me just fine.
Last night I was kidnapped. I mean that quite literally. And this time, ninjas weren't responsible. Cole and Matty P turned up on my doorstep and informed me that I had five minutes to get ready and come with them, or they would be removing me bodily from the house. When I decided to test that declaration by using the last of my five minutes to devour my salad, Matty P shoved me out through my front door, in my socks and t-shirt, without shoes or a jacket. I was flipping out from the cold and wetness of everything, and he informed me, very coolly, that if I would just get into the car things would be warmer and dryer, so I made a break for it, and we all piled in and drove off. Only when my whining reached an unbearable pitch did Matty P turn around and go back to my house long enough to let me get a coat and shoes.
Two hours later, Matty P had a flat tire and had to change it in the cold, wet, blustering snow. Karma.
It's been snowing on and off for a few days now, which is lifting my hopes for a white Christmas. Just typing it is probably a jinx, but we haven't had a white Christmas for nearly three years now, and I just want there to be some snow on the ground come Monday. Not like last year, squick, when it rained all Christmas day.
I got dropped off at my grandparents' last night to accompany them to the airport. The reason for this was the arrival of one of my two favorite uncles, Darren, who's been living up in Fort McMurray for the past three years or so. He despises the place, but he's still under contract for another year, so he can't move back home just yet. Nobody who moves up to Fort Mac likes it, my Uncle Darren least of all. Last year he couldn't even get the time off to come home for Christmas, so that makes this year uber special.
Saturday night, another beloved family member gets in for Christmas--my uncle's boyfriend, Mark. (Yes, I know we're not actually related to him, but Mark is part of the family and if you disagree you are wrong.) The last time I saw either of them was on summer vacation two years ago, so my excitement is palpable in the air. Mark has the same cheery, addictive personality as Jam, which is probably why I felt so familiar with him when I first met him. Seeing one of either my uncle or Mark home for Christmas is rare, but both of them at the same time is on par with a Bigfoot sighting. The reason for my excitement should be obvious by now.
I have to get through three solid days of Wal-Mart before I can hit the jackpot of Christmas Day, so I'm praying that things won't be quite as retarded as I get this horrible feeling they will be. I'm working tonight from 6-11, which is never a bad shift, and I have no idea about tomorrow, but I'm working Christmas Eve from 9 a.m. to 5:30 p.m.. Every time I tell people I'm working Christmas Eve and then what time, they say, "Oh, that's not so bad." This is incorrect. Admittedly, it could be worse and I could be working until 12 at night or something, but the fact of the matter is that I will be at Wal-Mart for 8.5 hours on Christmas goddamn Eve, and I will miss various family traditions during that time. Also, I don't get paid extra on Christmas Eve, which just adds insult to injury. There's no real point in whining about it though, so after this paragraph, I will say no more about it.
On a lighter note, I wish to share a tiny victory with you. Back in late September sometime, I lost about thirty pages of my novel-in-progress, Usurper. I had a minor skitz, but the fact is that Usurper is my baby, and as lazy as I am, I'm not lazy enough to let it die from the loss of thirty pages or so. I've been tapping away at it in an effort to regain my lost ground ever since September, but MUN and work interfered greatly. However, Christmas break has proven extremely condusive to the creative process. As of 4:30 this morning (yes, I was up all night writing it, hush) I have officially caught up to where I left off, and (I feel) improved on the pages that I was forced to rewrite. I have since surpassed said point and progressed to the end of the chapter I was working on, effectively bringing Usurper up to more than 200 pages and nearly 150,000 words.
Now watch me do my victory dance. *shimmies*
I must be off to continue my writing streak, but I hope that all you cats have a good Christmas weekend and don't get stampeded by crazy shoppers or reindeer or turkeys or whatev'. I believe I'll be getting kidnapped from work at 11, and Saturday will probably drain me of any and all will to live, so the next time I will probably be posting will be Christmas Eve, when my house gets invaded by crazy relatives and I have to make an escape. In the interim, don't get buried by snow and for the love of God remember to finish your Christmas shopping, seriously.
Icarus wants to thank Benji for his invaluable insight and for reminding her of the golden rule: "Julia, crazy people don't wonder if they're crazy".
posted by Icarus at 8:17 AM
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