1 January 2017

You used to blog a lot. You should do that again. Like do that whole post-a-day for a month.

This said by someone who once had a very good blog but shut it down for reasons never really made public. (Oh I know why, but if I said, that'd be telling, and I'd be a lousy friend if I told.)

Wait.

I've been told I suck before.

Nah. I won't.

My response: Don't people usually do that in November as an alternative to NaNoWriMo? It's, like, NaBloWriMo or something like that. Which I find far more difficult that NaNo, which is only pounding out 50,000 words in a month. I did 50K of total crap in the last 2 weeks; it's easy when it doesn't have to be good (in my defense, it's all notes.)

Do it and I'll bake you some cookies.

Note the offer is to bake the cookies, not actually send the cookies to me. I'm still waiting on promised cookies from 2009.

Just get back in the habit. Make it one of your INTENTIONS. 31 posts in January.

I was still waffling about the idea. I mean, I'm working on 2 books right now, and dedicating myself to a blog post a day cut into my Reddit surfing and kitty porn time. But then my resolve to go to bed early went out with a bang last night, thanks to the assholes nearby who were setting off tiny little bombs, and I realized I have a lot to complain about, so maybe I will do it.

Random, very old picture of Max and Buddah

No, seriously, the fireworks were insane last night, and to describe it as tiny bombs is not an exaggeration. Regular fireworks do not shake the house so hard you worry that windows have broken, and regular fireworks don't bug Max. Last night it was so bad that both cats dove under the bed, and even after it quieted down, they were freaked out. I had Max literally laying across the top of my head all night, and Buddah was on the floor by the bed until around 5.

I invited him to come up on the bed with us, but I think he wanted to be able to dive for cover again.

The Spouse Thingy fed them when he got home from work, or he tried to. He opened 3 different cans and they wouldn't eat. At 11 I tried to feed them again--Fancy Feast beef, which is the favorite and even gts eaten when they don't feel great--but they each took a bite or two and walked away.

Stressed kitties don't eat, and these guys were still stressed nearly 12 hours later.

At 1:45 I drove to the grocery store and bought bacon, came home, and fried 2 slices, just to see if they would eat something. That, at least, worked. I split one slice between them (saving the rest as tomorrow's treat) and then snuck some crunchy treats onto their plates.

So hopefully they're fine now. But I'm still pissed off that people think it's perfectly fine to set off very-much-illegal fireworks, just because they feel like it, using the date as an excuse.

People, when your fun scares the shit out of your neighbors and sets off their car alarms, it's a bad idea. Find another way to celebrate. Like, in front of the TV with booze, like the rest of us.

Yeah, I never got around to that, either. I have Fireball in my freezer, and didn't even take a shot.

Oh. Maybe that's what I should do for January. Drunk blogging. 31 days worth.

Huh.