Bandwagon Drop-Out.

Okay, so I fell off the whole "National Blog Posting Month" bandwagon. Oops. Clearly the geniuses behind NaBloPoMo didn't take into account that it's November, and some of us have infants, and there are colds and flus running rampant and when you combine a small household with a husband who works extensively with the infested public, you get, ta-daaaaaa, a whole house of sick people. So I've been busy dealing with Punky, who has made it a point to be a complete asshole to convey how shitty she feels, and A., who... well, if you're unfamiliar with the misery of the Man Cold, you'd better go watch this. I think the creators meant for it to be satirical, but it's shockingly accurate.

So yeah. Daily blog posting wasn't happening.

While I was at Wal-Mart loading up on Nyquil, Dayquil, cough drops, Vix vapor rub, tea leaf oil, and 80 proof vodka (that last one was for me), I realized the entire store was already Christmas themed. Holy fucking Christ, people. I'm not even prepared to deal with Christmas yet. Hell, I'm still trying to simmer my rage towards A. for volunteering me to cook Thanksgiving dinner -- he thought he was being funny and that people would think he was joking. They missed the joke. I hope they like ramen noodles and hamburger helper because that's the extent of my fine cuisine. Or perhaps I could heat up some baby food cubes... after all, they're pretty all-encompassing. And easy on the digestive tract.

Anyway. Christmas. After nearly going on a homicidal mass-murder rampage through the city last year, since I was 7 months pregnant and moody and huge and I lack social grace to begin with, I've declared that we are going to map out our strategy and knock it all out as efficiently as possible... preferably with as much online shopping and home do-it-yourself projects as possible. And Punky... hell, I don't even know what to do there. It's her first Christmas so we have to make it memorable, but it's hard to happily shop for toys when regardless of what toy you put in front of her, she will go around it and happily chomp on the nearest power cord.

We've resolved not to get each other anything aside from getting new coats (Anne Klein wool pea coat, here I come, my love). We each drew a name for his family's gift exchange. My family... if I could just stick them all in therapy I'd call it a successful Christmas gift, but that's a gripe for another day.

Moral of the story: fuck the NaBloPoMo bandwagon, fuck Christmas, and fuck cold season.

So sayeth the How2.