Thursday, December 26, 2013

My New Year's Resolution

I realize I still have five days to come up with a better New Year's resolution, but what is the point of putting in any more effort when I won't be keeping it anyway? I mean, really...why bother?

This is perfect for me. I'm going with this.

Wednesday, December 25, 2013



May your Christmas be filled with the light of His love
and may the coming year be filled with His miracles and blessings.

Tuesday, December 24, 2013

My Christmas List

I know it is rather late to be writing out my Christmas list, but it is exceedingly simple...and the same every, honestly, should I even HAVE to write it down? I mean, how hard can it be after all these years?

WAIT!!! Maybe it is wise to write it down every single freaking Christmas. I definitely don't want any confusion and end up with elephant stuff instead.

He was a little sticky at the first vertical, but did you see how he rode through that triple combination? Perfect striding.

Sunday, December 22, 2013

This is the fatal reality of my Christmas.

Unable to bow because of my back, I am now being crushed by Christmas.

I adore Invader Zim in all his mentally mangled insanity. I identity with so much of this crazy, dark little cartoon which only lasted a couple of seasons on Nickelodeon. I'm certain parents looked up from their paper, or book, or computer and went batshit over this twisted little character and his futile plans to take over the Earth. Either that, or their kids started having nightmares. It could happen.

But I have always been drawn to the hapless, over-faced villain. Daffy Duck, Yosemite Sam, the Martian with his eludium pu36 explosive space modulator, Wile E. Coyote, Plankton from Spongebob Squarepants, and tiny little Invader Zim with his Big BIG plans.

Despite the very real fact that I am being crushed by Christmas, you have to admit that is a catchy little tune and very easy to sing. I can sing this at the top of my lungs and still manage to sound WAAAAAAAY better than any attempt at O Holy Night. When I sing O Holy Night, I sound worse than this guy -- probably because I can't match the level of sincere fervor.

Saturday, December 21, 2013

Friday, December 20, 2013

Obama's Christmas Letter to America

I never got around to Christmas cards this year. To be honest, I haven't gotten around to Christmas cards for years now. Christmas cards, when they are needed, are merely an indication that you haven't talked with that person ALL YEAR! So what's up with that?

When I was younger, before the age of cell phones, SnapChat, emails and Skype, Christmas cards were one of the most important things you did. We would carefully write a letter to include with each one, describing -- in detail -- all the events and happenings in our family over the preceding 12 months. Now everyone lives in the present moment and events are broadcast on Facebook or Instagram while they are happening. Christmas cards are nothing more than a recap.

The problem with all this excuse-making is that I DEARLY LOVE receiving them. I realize that makes for a tiny contradiction in my logic. Maybe I just need to admit that I'm too damned lazy and that I feel terrible about it but I am obviously SOOOOO lazy that I will continue to do nothing about it. Feeling crappy about NOT doing something still leaves you with the reward of not having done that thing. Life is full of tradeoffs.

Anyway, our remarkable President Peevish found the time to write us all a Christmas letter...or holiday letter more likely. Is it racist or intolerant or homophobic to celebrate Christmas instead of just "the holidays?" I forget which it is. Maybe it's all three. Might want to ask Phil Robertson.

But, whether it's a Christmas letter or a holiday letter, it was lovely of him to take the time, don't you think? 

Wasn't that nice? Now I feel even worse.

H/T: Best of Cain

Thursday, December 12, 2013

Flat-backing for weeks and no money to show for it.

As much as this pains me, and believe me, it does, I have reached the point where (a) I am acutely aware that I either need to write SOMETHING to explain my absence and quell the curiosity of my three loyal readers, or (b) simply stop blogging altogether and slip away into know...the place where I came from originally.

So, I'm writing. I know, y'all were crossing your fingers it was going to be (b), even as you were actually reading this post which clearly nullifies (b), but hope does spring eternal, as they say.

I haven't been blogging because just before Thanksgiving I threw out my back. And sitting in front of the computer long enough to write something -- and even more importantly -- to read enough political crap to have something interesting to write about is excruciating.

Years ago, when I was young and stupid,  I took a fall over a cross country fence. I was hopped up on adrenaline and so jumped back on and finished the course. Later that night my back started giving me trouble, but stadium was the next day and I hadn't scheduled an injury, so I ignored it. I made it through the competition with no real damage, it seemed. It's great to be young.

But years later, when I was in my thirties, I came off a cranky bitch of a mare who decided that Tuesday wasn't her day to be ridden...or was it Thursday? Whatever...she was pretty adamant that day wasn't good for her. I eventually ended up flat out in the arena while she did pirouettes and caprioles around me in sheer, spiteful joy. Never one to know when to quit, I caught her and got back on, riding her for another 45 minutes just to show her who was boss.

I won, but it cost me my back.

By the time I had untacked her and put her away, I could barely walk to my car. The injury to my back was in the same spot as the earlier one and I have always thought it "helped" make it all so much worse. I could not even move my right leg when I tried to climb behind the steering wheel. I was forced to drive home by using my left foot for both the accelerator and the brake, shoving my right leg out to the side over the gear shift. When I finally arrived in my driveway my husband was home (THANK GOD!) and I sat there, honking the horn, until he came out to investigate. He had to carry me into the house. And there I remained for two weeks, flat out on my back.

I eventually healed and went back to riding, swearing, and shoveling horse manure like nothing had happened, but every so often, if I am not RELIGIOUS about doing yoga and Pilates, my back will go out -- especially if I am sitting for long periods and/or doing hard physical labor. Or both.

This fall contained a heaping helping of both. It seemed for months I had been schizophrenically caught in a schedule that was either completely inactive in front of a computer or was suddenly and without respite demanding I work like an illegal immigrant on a California farm.

So one morning I merely reached out to pull my laptop onto my lap...and that was it. It was all over but the shouting. And, believe me, there was plenty of shouting. And screaming. And lots and lots of swearing. None of which made anything even slightly better.

However, eventually there were sweet, sweet little pills which were kick ass and utterly necessary because we were on a plane two days later to visit relatives for Thanksgiving.  I made it through the holiday because I had my lovely little Vicodin every four hours, which I named Vicky because "she" was FABULOUS! and therefore needed a name, as well as a hot tub with my name on it fired up with the jets. Oh...and a signature Mai Tai, WITH an umbrella.

I was good.

Really, really good.

Now we are weeks past the injury, but I'm still "tender" in that I haven't toughened up like normal. If I sit for too long, my back screams at me just to let me know that we still aren't really on speaking terms; we're still yelling at each other. So I don't sit. And I don't read. And I don't write.

So, if I don't post again before Christmas: