Thursday, November 27, 2014

It's Thanksgiving!

My wealth is not possession but enjoyment.  - Henry David Thoreau

OMGYOUGUYS. HAPPY THANKSGIVING! I love Thanksgiving too much. All the food, all the warmth, all the gratitude consciousness . . . it is a wonderful thing.  I won't be celebrating until tomorrow, but let me tell you, when Roast Death Chicken goes in and that veg is prepped, there will a celeBRATion. I may even turn on Netflix Fireplace episode 2. That's how effing atmospheric it's going to get.

I hope you all enjoy your day with family and friends and eat turkey until your pants pop and you go into a food coma and get to doze on the couch with football on in the background and it's all full of fuzzy warmth and later when you're eating leftover-turkey-and-cranberry-sauce-sandwiches there are games at the table and so much pie that-- OMG I FORGOT THE PIE. Gotta go.

Big hugs and lots of love,

Wednesday, November 26, 2014

Get the Smell of Christmas in Your Home!

Youguys, like, how common is food poisoning REALLY? I mean, let's say hypothetically I came downstairs this morning and found that my fridge door had been hanging open all night - that little sliver of orange light in the darkness - do you think it's probably still okay to drink this milk I've got in front of me? And the bird I got to roast for Thanksgiving: it won't kill me, will it, from a few hours at room temperature? I ask because IF THIS HYPOTHETICALLY HAD HAPPENED, I'm totally planning on pretending it didn't because I DON'T WANT TO BUY A NEW BIRD. *chugging milk, furtively shutting door*


Speaking of the holiday season, my mother-in-law Betty gave me the following household tip when I was in Scotland last weekend. Apparently all I have to do is simmer the below on the stove 'to get the smell of Christmas' in my home. Sounds to me like Betty wants me to make mulled wine:
If I must, Betty. If I must.

Sidebar: I once threw a Robbie Burns party and simmered some cinnamon sticks in a pot of water on the stove to make the flat smell good and everybody who came into the house thought I was cooking and oohed and ahhed and I was like, 'Oh, yeah, been slaving all day. Cinnamon stick?'

I should really throw more parties.

And last but not least: I'm in the home stretch with my manuscript! 
Big hugs and lots of love,

*What better thing to be thankful for than a healthy bout of food poisoning to lose those holiday pounds! 

Tuesday, November 25, 2014

Plastic kills, Mom.

Youguys, This Is The Day. The day I prove what proofreading stuff I'm made of. The day I am going to read for twelve straight hours and YEAH, I JUST GOT PRESCRIBED GLASSES, WHAT'S YOUR POINT.

I am going to leave you with Happy Tidbits today in lieu of a proper post. I hope this is cool. If not, GET YOUR OWN BLOG.

Tidbit One, a snippet of a greater story: my sister has blogged about the differences in my nieces, and while the post in its entirety is great, those differences can really be summed up with this single interaction:
The Younger One: [trying to eat a candy cane without taking off the wrapper]
The Older One, alerting my sister: Plastic kills, Mom.

Tidbit Two: Hedgehogs Muffins:


Tidbit Three, from my favourite tumblr. Captions theirs:



The internet wins again! Now if you'll excuse me, I've got brain cells to fry.

Big hugs and lots of love,

Monday, November 24, 2014

A word after a word after a word is power. - Margaret Atwood

I think it's safe to say Margaret Atwood has never read my blog.

Youguys, it is officially Deadline Week. My last manuscript is due at the end of this week and because of the wonderful wedding-weekend I just had, I am approximately two days behind schedule. This means I have to make the next three days look like five days. Luckily I can bend space and time so this shouldn't be a problem, but here's what will not be happening this week as a result:

Huffpo'ing, buzzfeeding, funny-or-dying, or jezebelling.
Making homemade hot sauce with the millions of chilis from my recently-deceased chili plants.
Getting dressed.
Acting anything like a normal human.

You may notice blogging is not on this list. Because darnit, this is MYBLOWRIMO and I am going to finish what I started. Though I'm not saying it's gonna be good, or that we're going to be wrapping it up on a high note.

Hey, look! A picture!

When in doubt, throw in a picture of a cathedral. People will think you're classy.

Okay, it is officially Go Time. Wish me luck!

Big hugs and lots of love,

Sunday, November 23, 2014

On weddings, boathouses, and yet more graveyards

A purpose of human life, no matter who is controlling it, is to love whoever is around to be loved. - Kurt Vonnegut

HOLYCOWYOUGUYS. Can we talk about yesterday's wedding for a minute? Only a minute. I can't imagine this would be interesting to anybody who wasn't there.*

First, the bride:
RIGHT! Meet Anne: famous for ball-busting, straight-talking, and having legs a mile long. Ugh.

Second, the weather. Scotland in the autumn is riDICulous:
It's honestly enough to turn your stomach.

Third, Glasgow Cathedral:
For the best Gothic ceremony a marriage can buy. Goats optional.

This morning we took a walk to the Loch Lomond boathouse because the air was crisp and clear and also we gained twenty pounds after eating for five hours straight last night and also they had a little restaurant serving coffee and also, how could you resist this?:
Motto: Making People Punch Themselves in the Face Since 1968.

It turns out half the London crew had the same idea. It's like we're all friends for a reason. Behold, the Ladies of Sporting Hackney**:
 This isn't all of them, of course. The others were no doubt in more sensible places, like bed. This is Maria the Intellect, Marie the Edge, and Louise the Style. Just wait until you meet the Comedy, the Party, and the Class***.

It's how we roll.

After we got back to Barrhead, we took a walk to visit Alan's aunt and uncle and had to pass a graveyard to get there and I kid you not:
THIS ROLLED RIGHT IN. IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY. It's like they know I know. 

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to find a cross made of garlic. Our trip back to London isn't going to protect itself. 

Big hugs and lots of love,

*I say this only because I would totally tune out anybody who wanted to tell me a wedding story. Please. Start with the traffic you encountered on the way there. I've got all day.

**Sporting Hackney: the London football team that binds our group like so much spilled whisky on a parquet dance floor.  

***This is you, Rachael. Once you're in, you can never get out.