*looks guilty*

I sorry.

I very bad.

I not blog for long, long time.

*ahem*

It's been over two months since my last blog. Here's my excuse: life stinks. Life is crappy. I would just simply say life is bad, but I remember a sort of language reversal movement in the '90s during which time "bad" meant "good" so I will leave that alone.

All right, life is not "bad," per se, but it has a lot more bad moments/days/weeks/months/years than I was prepared for way back when I was a teen-ager and dreaming of the time I would become an independent adult. Those of you who know me already know why life is crappy right now, and for those few of you who don't...I really don't want to talk about it, so just take my word for it. OK? Good. End of story. Moving on.

I have heard the anguished moans of those poor souls forced to suffer, blog-less, through the goings-on of real life (which is known to us Internet-savvy fan fiction writers and message board posters as RL) and have decided to tap away at my keyboard once more. I wonder...how did you all survive without me when I disappeared from the "ravening-wolf-ridden wastelands of cyberspace" (as SFL once put it)?

In case you're wondering, that was sarcasm. Most of the time the only person I entertain with my thoughts is myself. Usually I'm the only one who finds my jokes funny.

I remember once trying to explain to my mother, in my own words, what happened in one of the Patrick O'Brian books...Killick had cleaned Jack's cabin in preparation for a grand dinner, and so had shoved everything to the sides of the room. There was a pennant draped over a cannon, and as Stephen came into the room, he kicked it out of his way...which resulted in its ending up in Killick's way as he came into the room trumpeting about dinner being served and carrying a massive platter with buttered cuttlefish on it. Well, Killick tripped over the end of the pennant, lost his balance, and ended up drenching Jack in butter sauce.

As I rolled about on the floor nearly crying with laughter after trying to explain it to my dear mother, she simply favoured me with a bemused smile and said, "I don't get it. But...YOU think it's funny, so that's good."

Why was I talking about this again?

I forget.

So...the following part of my blog was written on the 29th of November and saved as a draft. I didn't publish it because, well, I never finished it (gee, imagine the logic required to make that decision. Aren't you proud of me?). However, I didn't get rid of it because I can't stand to throw away anything I write regardless of how bad it is.

(This also explains why the blog is dated from the 29th of November! It's actually the 8th of January, 2007.)

***
I'm blogging now because I feel guilty for neglecting the poor blog for so long and because I need to vent about nonstop Christmas music. And rude people. And shopping. And working. And having no money. And having to pay $475 DOLLARS for ONE LOUSY SPEEDING TICKET! And having my health insurance go up. And rear-ending somebody's car because I am stupid.

So have I ever mentioned just how much I HATE Christmas music? Well, all right...it's not so much that I hate it, but that it gets really old really fast when it NEVER STOPS. Pairing a frustrated yours truly with endless repetitions of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer (which, by the way, is a horrible song -- first the reindeer hate Rudolph because he's different, then when Santa asks him a favour, they suddenly decide they love him???) is the surest recipe for disaster you could ever ask for, short of...no, I'll leave that for you all to fill in in your own minds.

(And has anyone ever noticed that people pronounce "Christmas" very oddly when they're singing the word in a song? Now most normal people pronounce it "crismiss" while they're speaking. But when they're singing? We get all sorts of variety, from "cris-MUSS" to "cris-MOSS." *rolls eyes* I don't understand it.)

Well, as annoying as Christmas music is (if I hear Nat King Cole start singing "Chestnuts roasting on an open fire..." one more time, everybody had better put their cute little Scotty-dog-patterned hand-knitted wool mittens over their ears, because I'm gonna scream loudly enough to drown it out), I think dealing with rude people is worse.

What, I ask you, would be the point of someone waiting for approximately 15 minutes in line at a petrol station and then, when a pump is free, zooming into the space like a duck on a June bug and taking up so much room unnecessarily that the other person in line who is waiting to use the pump next to the one in question (namely, me) has no opportunity to move more than a few feet forward -- not nearly enough to get close to the pump, let alone use it?!?!

I am merely asking.

Hmph.
***

That was the end of my November 29th blog. I intended to go on ranting, but didn't have enough time at that point. Now, looking back, I see just how pointless and petty it all was and don't have the inclination to finish it. Besides, I'm sure my little audience would rather hear something more uplifting than a rant.

This is all I have from you for now, except to say that I already miss my dear Clair. My next blog, which I hope to begin very soon, will most likely be entitled "A Visit to the Pharmacy, 75 Years Too Late."