Songs of My Misspent Youth: Head Over Heels

I don't set goals. I don't make plans. Life taught me that doing those kind of things only was setting up to be let down.

But I said to myself one Friday--it was after midnight so in fact Saturday--in November as I watched the adorable new video for Head Over Heels by Tears For Fears, "I wonder if this song'll still be around in 25 years? I wonder if I'll be around in 25 years?"

I imagined meeting up with the only acquaintance I knew at the time, I imagined what we'd be in the future. I was of course a successful doctor with an awesome husband who was off raising our fabulous children and I had no regrets whatsoever about anything and my overachieving not-really-friend who just stopped in to brag was totally amazed at how great everything had turned out for me. I still wore the same type of clothes, my hair would still be long and just starting to go gray.

Watching the video, with the epic book-carrying and nose noogies as penalties for carrying fake weapons into a library, I counted on my fingers what year it would be in 25 years. 2010. Every November when I hear the song, I high-five myself for picking such an awesome song and figure out how many years are left.

One year.

I'm happy for the life the song ended up having, that it turned out so popular. I have good memories with this one.

Funny how time flies.

Songs of My Misspent Youth: Head Over Heels

Wa Do

Sometimes I wonder if I'm just a contrarian for the fun of it. After all, there are a lot of things considered "normal" that I don't agree with, and I've been that way a long long time. But I'm grateful to every conflict, because it makes me question my beliefs and convictions, and when I can look at what I hold dear and know that I am happy with my life, and not because someone else tells me what I need or how I should feel, that's gratitude.

I don't eat meat, I don't follow any religion, I'm no longer on the good side with pumpkin pie, but none of that was ever what this holiday was about to me. It was about my family, and I was always grateful for my family, and am still grateful for the family I'm blessed with. I consider my cats and dog part of my family without question, and include those who have gone before, and even those who don't know I exist.

I'm grateful for what's left of my mind, grateful to my limits, grateful for the will to keep going, grateful to the original caretakers of this land I live in, grateful for the leader we have now, and grateful to nature itself for teaching me how to forgive.

I'm grateful for the new people I met this year, and grateful to my old friends. If you're reading this I'm grateful, and I wish you things to be grateful for in your life for.

The subject line is thanks in Cherokee. I'm grateful for the drop or two of Cherokee blood in my veins, and strive to be worthy of it and all the bloodlines that have combined to make me. It's the least I can do to show my gratitude.

Wa Do

NaNoWriMoWordcount -- Week 4

The coffee needs refreshing, I've been on the floor a few times, but I get back up and keep going, just like always.

I've written nearly 40,000 words and yes, I drew the header images for each of these posts. It's one of those things I do. It's one of those things I enjoy doing, like writing. I wish someone would pay me to draw things and write so I could resent my gifts and feel like a sell-out.

NaNoWriMo ends, unbelievably, when November ends. Monday. That will give me one day to make up the words I didn't write from tomorrow until the weekend. Not that I haven't done that twice before.

Happy frikkin' national overeating days!

NaNoWriMoWordcount -- Week 4

Songs of My Misspent Youth: True Faith

When I first heard True Faith by New Order, I didn't know it was about drugs. I just knew it was AWESOME!

People used to ask me if I was on drugs all the time. Now they don't even ask, they just assume I am, and cross the street. But I'm not. I never was. Never even snuck a cigarette. Only drank on holidays with the family, and now...not at all. I'm utterly dull, aren't I? So sorry, I prefer to experience reality untainted by chemicals. Then again I can blurt our weird stuff with only the help of whatever naturally occurring hormone decides it wants to mess with me at that moment.

For instance, I would get these episodes where I'd freak the hell out for no reason, you know, waking up to the house on fire when it wasn't or being convinced I was about to get my head chopped off in the fastener aisle. Sleep deprivation has it's down side. But when coupled with chronic migraines, low blood sugar, a wonky thyroid, some other weird chronic illness AND metal in the eye, it's a bonanza for crazytime!

When I'd mention that I loved this song, this song about losing a childhood to fear with the nifty Philippe Decouflé-directed video, people would, once or twice, give me a funny look. The same kind of funny look I'd see when I'd talk about the cheap detective story where the hero stabs people in the eyes with pretzels when he runs out of bullets that I wrote while I couldn't sleep. I was a perfectly normal child. But I didn't realize that at the time because I was dealing with people whose perfectly normal childhoods involved Bonanza and spy stories. SAME THING. Seriously, kids...don't worry about it. You'll be fine and don't let anyone make you feel like a freak unless that amuses you as much as it amused me until I met actual freaky people and holy hell was I dull compared to them. Nevermind, Here's a neat video.

And if you can't get enough of that dude who was smacking the other dude, BEHOLD! He was in Codex.

Songs of My Misspent Youth: True Faith

I'm Not Lying But I Bet My Pants Will Be Frying.

Yeah, I know I'm not here. I'm writing a book, but I actually wrote this post back in October and scheduled it for today, like I schedule all these posts because I'm a robotic scheduling vacuum of nothingness--now with fancy flaming pants!

I decided back in September or so to maybe get myself a pair of pants. Actual never-before-worn pants purchased after 1988. For myself. To wear. I usually wear either pants I bought in Alexander's in 1987 or pants that everyone else in my family gives me after they've "outgrown them" if you take my meaning. Only the pants all look like...you know how when you put clothes on a scarecrow? Okay, like, I should wear size 10 pants but most of the pants I wear are size 14 and I have a 12 or two but also there's the autistic-like hate of anything touching my skin to contend with so I don't like getting new pants, but maybe the holidays might involve other real people seeing me and dammit maybe I want to look a little nice before I'm dead. I'm turning into a cougar, holy hell.

I got corduroy pants from Blair because they were the cheapest corduroy pants I could find that actually pulled all the way up to my waist, which is where I like wearing my pants because I'm an old lady who hates those low-rise abominations. I got them in black, because that's my idea of fancy and I can also wear them if anyone ever dies in the cooler weather months. THIS IS HOW I THINK.

The fancy-yet-cheap black corduroy pants arrived and were so baggy the crotch was around my knees. WAY TO LOOK HOTTER, DUMPY!

I sent the pants back, because I have enough pants that sag more than the body in them and have decided I'm not going to take that sort of treatment anymore. I checked off a bunch of boxes and basically set up an exchange where I would be sent the next size smaller and some political prisoners would be allowed to cross the border.

Should it really surprise any of you that I buy my clothes online? Because it shouldn't. If I go through iGive.com North Shore Animal League gets a donation so my freakish unwillingness to leave my house to go find some damn pants to put on does good for the little creatures of the world.

About a month after I ordered the pants I learned what happens when Blair gets an exchange is they charge for the replacement pants before they're mailed out and then they do a credit for the returned pants, but the credit doesn't go through as fast as the charge. So I was charged double for these cheap black corduroy pants that may catch fire and because I splurged and had the leaky roof seen to again I was $2 in the red, no thanks to Blair's asinine exchange policy. Which is so annoying I have actually put more unedited words on my blog than I have in quite some time.

Wait, I didn't tell you about the fire hazard? Yeah, while all this bull is going on, I'm seeing recalls for all the chenille clothing sold by Blair. Now, I realize corduroy is not chenille, and I also realize it's weird to have the consumer recall information news feed in my Google Reader, but now I'm envisioning these great flaming pants blazing their way to my door, and I want to stab them, repeatedly. The pants, that is. Not Blair. Blair, I just won't buy from ever again.

As of this posting, the pants have arrived and are lovely but I still do not want to test the flame-retardedness of any of my clothing. Nor do I need to hear that it will all be fine and some people have no pants, let alone fancy corduroy pants, because that defeats the purpose of me entertaining you all with this post.

I will be sure to let you all know if I catch fire.

(Photo by DexterousArtisan)

I'm Not Lying But I Bet My Pants Will Be Frying.