“Hey gang, what’s the word?! Is it… avuncular?”

If you missed this Tuesday’s episode of Veronica Mars, you missed television programming at its finest. It was a Depends kind of evening, I tell you what! Edge of your seat madness, that’s what it was! With stabby unicorns of awesomeness!

Luckily for all y’all somebody had the time and the know-how to post the entire episode RIGHT HERE. If ever you wanted to check this show out, now’d be the perfect time.

Now if only I could get my hands on one of those “Ask me about my STD” t-shirts Veronica’s pal Mac wore to the Pi Sig mega apocalypse– a veritable hump the furniture, party back to the stone age, fifty keg Bacchanalia– I’d be in bidness…

(Screencap by Neptunesite.com)

Giving Thanks

When Cat and TGIM get together with family for Thanksgiving, laughter and silliness ensue!

This is a rather longish video I made for our extended family who couldn’t join us. Feel free to watch, if you are so inclined. I just thought I’d share.

Oh, Tom: Not Once, but Twice the Indignity

FADE IN:

EXT. ATLANTA, GEORGIA NEIGHBORHOOD - DAWN – ESTABLISHING 

Spacious homes dot a winding road in a quiet suburban neighborhood, where trampolines, dog runs, and autumn leaves litter hazy, tree-lined backyards.

INT.  BROTHER/SISTER-IN-LAW KITCHEN -MORNING 

Thanksgiving day preparations clutter the kitchen counter. The morning sunlight filters over a large, raw turkey, AKA: Thanksgiving Dinner.  CAT, TGIM, and UNCLE CARROL (TGIM’s brother) look on as AUNT AMY begins stuffing the turkey with cornbread stuffing. Enter MISSY PETITE, 3 (almost 4), a bubbly little girl with honey-blonde hair and a sparkle in her eye.

MISSY PETITE

(horrified)

Aaaaw! Poor pig! 

Veronica Mars REWIND: Of Vice and Men

Veronica is fed up with the vices of all the important men in her life. False accusations, blackmail, and roofies ensue. Also, airsterisks make a comeback.

(Feel free to vote for me HERE. Signing up at VEOH is super easy, so head on over. Even just clicking the link will help me (us) out. Honestly. You don’t even have to watch Veronica Mars… this recap gives you all the information you need. Not that you shouldn’t watch Veronica Mars. You totally should. It’s a frakkin’ good show. I’m just saying.)

That’s wack.

How silly, to write just to say I wrote.

I feel like I have a gun pointed at my head and someone’s yelling, “Post, dammit! POST!”

How silly, to write just to say I wrote.

I win! I win! [/Monica Gellar voice]

The lure of creative writing has always been irresistible to me. To create people, stories, worlds… As far back as the first grade– when I published my first book, Monster in Outer Space, a classic– I remember feeling the attraction. It was free reign for my imagination. The sky’s the limit! I thought. Anything goes! Hoo! And still, today, writing– the act of setting thoughts to paper– brings me joy. Harmony, even. But day cannot exist without night. Light cannot exist without darkness. And joy and harmony cannot exist without pain and dissonance. There is a dark side to every passion. One cannot exist without the other.

Which is why I am too often struck with the certainty that I will never ever EVER write anything even half as fantastic as some of my favorite authors.

To illustrate:

Say I read an amazing book– I Capture the Castle, for example– and absolutely fall in love with the protagonist, the setting, the seamless narrative flow. Let’s just say that. Me = Loving Book Big Lots. When this happens, when I genuinely fall for a book, it can be hours, even days, before I am able to pull myself out of that world, the world the author created, and back into my own. Honestly, it can be days before I stop answering seemingly straightforward questions such as “How was your day?” or “What should we do for dinner?” with non-sequiturs like, “But if Cassandra would have just given Stephen a chance, maybe… wait. What?” Which just goes to show that TGIM is a patient and long-suffering superman and it’s a wonder I still have any friends.

But when the high wears off, I’m suddenly struck with this crippling attack of anxiety and uncertainty about my own creative efforts.

“I suck,” I whisper to myself. “I could never write such compelling characters, such vivid scenery… Who do I think I am?! Oh! Woe! I am incredibly lame and sucktastic!”

But at the end of the day, I try to remember that I am me, and I have my own voice. And while I may never ever EVER write anything even remotely resembling the fantastic works of some of my favorite authors, what I do write will be my stories, mine alone, the ones only I could tell in my own way. And that is okay. Better than okay. Because, honestly. Why would I want to tell anybody else’s?

Of course, when that doesn’t work I usually set fire to my unfinished manuscripts and eat Ben & Jerry’s while dancing in my undies around a fiery wastebasket of burning hopes and dreams.

Which is cool, too.

Holiday Spirit

While taking a walk with my kiddos this evening, we passed a gargantuan pile of leaves. “Wow, look at all the leaves that fell from that tree,” I said.

Alli looked at the leaves, then up at the tree. “Well, jingle BELLS!” she exclaimed.

When asked, “The heck you say?!” she replied somewhat sheepishly. “I guess I’m just in the holiday spirit.”

Nothing is new under sun or cloud.

Yesterday I pulled on a t-shirt and some shorts, slapped on my Reef flip-flops, and plopped myself down on the porch steps. Laptop? Check. Sunglasses and soda? Check. Kids running and shouting in the courtyard? Check!

But today it’s grey and chilly and wet so I’m bundled up in pajama pants and a long-sleeved tee, sitting on my bed wrapped in my soft, down, It’s Almost Winter blanket. Laptop? Check. Supply of tissue and bottled water? Check. Kids running and shouting in the front room? Check!

The old adage says that the more things change, the more they stay the same. I think today is the first time I ever believed it.

“You have to believe we are magic…”

(You can vote for my Veronica Mars Recap at VEOH now! Pop on over for a minute! Even if you don’t want to join up and vote, just clicking over there helps me out! Pretty please? Thanks! A’ight. Carry on.)

The other day I took my girls to Dunkin Donuts to pick up some tasty after-school treats for the fam-damily. When I grabbed the glass door to the store and pulled, I was surprised at how easily it opened. I mean, I have been working out, but come on. It was then that I noticed that the glass in the door was missing, and shattered little pieces of glass were nestled forlornly in the metal frame of the door.

As the girls were picking the donuts, I chatted with the cashier about the door.

“What happened to your door? Did you get robbed? Did someone steal the donuts?!” I secretly wondered why I never thought of doing that…

“No, this morning a man– he opened the door and BOOM! it hit the wall and shattered into pieces.”

Thus assured that a clumsy man who didn’t know his own strength was to blame, and the donuts were safe, we chatted a bit more. Then the girls turned on the charm with their smiles and curly hair tossing and earned us a baker’s dozen. One extra cinnamon cake, baby! WOO!

We said our thanks and good-byes and turned to go. I walked toward the door, my two girls tagging along after me, fighting over who got to hold the donuts on the drive home. As I aproached the door, I thought, why bother going through the motions of opening the darn thing, right? Because I’m lazy? Plus, my hands were full… okay, fine. It just seemed like a totally fun thing to do. Hey. I get my kicks where I can, okay? Don’t judge.

So without even hesitating I stepped through the door.

From behind, I heard gasps of surprise and… something else. Was it… could it have been… wonder?

I spun around and saw my two girls staring at me with wide, incredulous eyes.

“Oh my gosh, Momma! I thought… I mean… never mind,” Hannah said.

Allison wasn’t as embarrassed OR shy. “Wow! I thought you walked through the glass, Momma!” she yelled. “Like magic!”

We all burst out laughing, then each girl carefully walked through the doorframe, giggling as she went.

On the drive home, I couldn’t stop grinning. Sure, my girls have the listening skills of rocks, but for one small moment they had believed their mother could walk through glass. For a few quick seconds they had actually believed in magic.

And somehow, in some small way, that thought? Well, it made my heart sing. I can’t even begin to explain why. I don’t think I understand it myself.

You have to believe we are magic

Nothin’ can stand in our way

You have to believe we are magic

Don’t let your aim ever stray

And if all your hopes survive

Destiny will arrive

I’ll bring all your dreams alive

For you

– Olivia Newton-John as Kira in Xanadu

Veronica Mars REWIND: Hi, Infidelity

Hi Infidelity ain’t just REO Speedwagon’s kickass 80’s album anymore! Watch as Cat and Paige recap the events of this excitement-filled episode of Veronica Mars:

Veronica, after being accused by a classmate of plagiarizing a class paper she wrote, makes friends and influences people. Keith bangs the hot, married chick! Professor Landry bangs the hot married chick! And back on campus, Evil Wallace and Good Wallace face-off: which will it be? Academics or athletics? Oh, and Claire’s a big faker and Parker thinks Piz is cuuuuuute.

(TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES: As soon as I can get the video uploaded, I will post the link so you can head over to VEOH to vote for the DWM recap! Only if you wanna, of course… but you totally want to, right? The swag? It will be mine. Oh, yes. It will be mine.)

“And all should cry, Beware! Beware!”

You know that moment in between asleep and awake, when everything seems to make the most perfect sense and no sense at the same time? When everything is familiar, yet… different? When personal truths are discovered, only to slip away with the morning light? Do you? Sometimes I try to hold on to it, keep it close, shut my eyes against the sunlight streaming through my bedroom curtains, but I fail. Every time. The moment flees, quick as a flash, but stays burned in my mind for a few wistful, lingering seconds before fading from my memory, replaced by longing and the knowledge that the memory of the dream, of the story, is just… right… there… Right at the edge of my mind. Flitting here and there, taunting me with moments of déjà vu, but never materializing completely, never giving over wholly to me, only freeing occasional fragments, stirring me in remembrance of what it could have been, but never what it was. A savage place! My own Kubla Khan. Lost with the morning.

That’s the moment where my imagination lives. Lately, oh how I wish I could capture it.

Did You?

Excerpt from NaNoWriMo project (and if this is cheating…? Eh. I have a life, dammit!)

When I came to, it took me a minute to open my eyes. I was spread out on my stomach, my cheek flat against—something. A rough, scratchy surface. Gravel, maybe. I was definitely outside. Cool air wafted across my face and I realized the breeze was probably responsible for reviving me. My eyelids felt stuck together, and there was a faint buzzing in my ears, making it difficult for me to concentrate on my surroundings. I did realize, however, that I could just make out the murky, darkish orange-red of the insides of my eyelids, so there was light—somewhere.

Good lord. My head ached as if it had been split open like a piñata at a child’s birthday party. But, you know, without the joy of candy. Or the sugar rush. Just one big swing of a stick—TWHACK!—lights out. Night-night, mister paper mache’ donkey. It’s been fun.

I rolled slowly onto my side, but stilled immediately when the movement caused shooting pains of white-hot heat to explode in my head, illuminating the insides of my eyeballs to a blinding pinkish-white. I gasped, waited for the rolls of nausea to pass, then slowly, ever-so-slowly, picked my head up off of the ground as much as I could manage without causing any more near-debilitating explosions of pain. I didn’t know where I was, but I was sure as hell going to figure it out, and passing out wouldn’t help anybody, least of all me. And honestly, I was really the only person I was interested in helping at the moment.

I blinked groggily up at the charcoal night sky, a streak of sky directly above me dulled to near-grey by a shaft of bright, fluorescent light shooting over my head from the headlights of a car parked several feet away.

I braced both hands against the dirt and pushed myself up slightly, welcoming the quick, stabbing pain of the gravel underneath me scratching and biting into my skin because it somehow distracted me from the whole My Cracked Skull Hurts Like The Dickens thing. Holding myself up with one hand, I touched the other to the bump on the back of my head, which, oh happy day, was the size of a goose-egg already. That’s going to leave a mark, I thought stupidly, as my hand came away from my head with a smear of warm blood across my palm.

Wincing, I tried to shift into a sitting position, on my knees with my legs tucked under to help me balance. I had to close my eyes for a second so I could concentrate on quelling the nausea that kept threatening to do something drastic if I did not remain still. The last thing I needed was to lose my lunch. I already smelled bad enough without adding vomit to the overwhelming stench of fear that seemed to be radiating off me as if I’d bathed in Eau de Freaked the Hell Out.

I finally opened my eyes again, and blinking against the glare of the headlights, looked around, trying to figure out exactly where I was.

Strange. I was on the shoulder of the highway, at the point on the hill outside of town where the secluded, deeply wooded grove that ran alongside the highway met one of Ferndale Hills largest, most exclusive housing developments, and I—at least as far as I could see and hear—seemed to be completely alone. I was also, miraculously, several feet away from my own car. I slowly let out a long, shaky breath that until then I didn’t realize I had been holding. My car. Safety.

Because I was at the top of a hill, I knew that even if the battery were dead I could still make my getaway. Thanks to my Mustang’s tendency to drain a battery faster than water through a sieve, I had mastered popping the clutch before parallel parking. Slowly, however, it occurred to my pain-muddled mind that although the motor wasn’t running, the headlights were still shining, which meant there was obviously some juice left in the battery.

Relief.

Then… keys!

What if—whoever—took my keys? It took me a full three seconds to remember that even if this were the case, I’d still have a shot at getting my baby fired up.

Let’s see, first, put her in neutral, unless I wanted to end up face first in the steering wheel. What else, what else? Just… don’t ask. Let’s just say my dad has never forgiven me for ruining the plastic cover I pried out from under the steering wheel of his car during my Gone in Sixty Seconds phase.

Expose the wires under the steering wheel… find the two matching reds… touch them together… dashboard lights up like Christmas… cross the brown lead with the reds… bada-bing!… she turns over and I’m in business.

Shakily, I struggled to my feet, stumbled upright. Everything looked blurry and the trees were all slanted at wrong angles, disorienting me, but I managed to make it to the car, wrench open the door, and collapse into the driver’s seat. And I didn’t even vomit or pass out, so I counted that a victory.

I couldn’t believe my luck when I spotted my keys in the ignition. I had been thwacked over the head by God knows who, for who knows what reason, yet I had apparently not only escaped unharmed (excluding the ginormous, bloody goose-egg on my noggin, of course, but why quibble?), but had the means to get the hell out of Dodge. It may have been the concussion talking, but I could not for the life of me figure out why someone would hide in my backseat and knock me unconscious, only to drag me out of my car on an old deserted highway, leaving me and my sweet ride all alone, unmolested. Was it a warning of some sort? Was someone trying to tell me something? He? She? could have done anything to the car, to me—

A sudden chill ran through me. With a shudder, I resolutely put that line of thought out of my head. Nothing had happened. I was fine… was going to be fine. End of story.

I cranked the keys with one hand, as the other, out of habit, flew to my neck to touch the necklace my mother had given to me.

What just happened? I thought to myself. Why would someone—Oh crap.

My necklace. It was gone.

I searched everywhere. The seats of the car (front and back), outside on the gravel, even under the car, but it was gone.

My necklace. The necklace. Gone.

Well… this can’t be good, I thought.

You like me, you really like me.

Hee. Thanks to all of you that went to VEOH, created accounts, and voted for my video! (and if you didn’t, come on… whatcha waitin’ fer, yo?) They selected my video to feature on the Veronica Mars MySpace page! I know, right?! Booyah! Yay, me! And yay, all y’all, for voting.

Oooooh. I sure hope they give me some of that “official Veronica Mars swag” they’re bragging about. I’ve always wanted some swag. Well, I’m not really sure what that even means, but it sounds totally COOL. So there’s that.

Okay, truthfully? As far as I can tell, I’m the only person who submitted a recap video this past week, but still! Exciting.

Random Thoughts and Silly Questions

Discussion over breakfast:

TD: Why are so many of my friends’ parents a lot older than you?

Cat: Well, I was pretty young when I had you, actually. Let’s see… okay, I was twenty-four.

Oohs and aahs all around. Then…

Allison: Wow! Hey, Momma… how old was I when I was born?!

Discussion in the car after final soccer games.

Hannah: Mom, why don’t you ever let me buy any pet fish?

Cat: Sweetie, all the fish you buy end up dead.

Hannah: Okay. Good point.

Veronica Mars REWIND: President Evil

Help me out! Vote for my video recap HERE, yo?

The first in a weekly series (for VEOH) of Weekend Update-style recaps of my favoritest show Veronica Mars. See?! Now you don’t even need to watch the show! Not that you shouldn’t! You totally should. I’m just saying.

Enjoy! Or mock. Whatev.

Halloween candy? Totally evil.

Halloween is evil.

Well, not the dressing up part, that’s pretty darn fun. And giving out candy to the sugared-up neighborhood ghosts and goblins? I can’t say I hate it. And pumpkin carving is gross– ooey-gooey pumpkin innards!– yet oddly satisfying.

No, it’s the candy. Damn that candy! Everything is fine ’til my kids bring home those loot bags full of free candy; suddenly, I can’t seem to help myself and must…eat…more…candy! Bring on the fun-sized Snickers and Almond Joys! Break out the candy corn and Tootsie Pops! Hand over that Hershey bar with almonds! MUST HAVE CANDY! Gimme, gimme, gimme!

But I’m allergic to it, you see. No, seriously. Whenever I eat it I break out in fatness.

*sigh*

Halloween is totally evil.

Because I WANT an ulcer, that’s why! GOSH!

“National Novel Writing Month is a fun, seat-of-your-pants approach to novel writing. Participants begin writing November 1. The goal is to write a 175-page (50,000-word) novel by midnight, November 30.”

The hell, you say? An entire novel? In one month?! Why, it just can’t be done!

Or can it?

So… yeah. I’ve decided to write a novel this month. You know, because it simply isn’t enough for me to care for three children (and one TGIM), work full-time, create Veronica Mars recap podcasts, get my Yoga Booty Ballet on, and promise to Post or Die! every day this month. Oh, no, no, no. I must and shall do MORE!

Seriously. Check out my Word Count Widget in my sidebar under “Stats and Stuff.” Pretty sweet, eh? Eh? I’m official and e’rything, see? Too cool.

But what’s up with only twenty-four hours in a day?! Huh?! Who’s lousy idea was that?!

Damn those ancient Egyptians.