End of Television Shows (Contains Leverage Spoilers)

So, this Christmas season, two shows that I love aired their final episodes One of them I haven’t seen yet because it’s a BBC show and there is a painfully long delay between its airing in the UK and the ability to watch it Legally in the USA.  While it does mean I have to avoid sections of the internet as to not get hit with spoilers, I do like that for me, the show isn’t actually over yet.  And that’s nice.

The other show, well, I finally bit the bullet and watch the finale the other night.  Leverage on TNT lasted for five seasons, and aired it’s final episodes on Christmas 2012.  For those of you who want to see, but have yet to watch the Leverage series finale, stop reading now, because here there be spoilers.

So, as heartbreaking as it is to see Leverage go, his finale was one of the best finales that I have ever seen.  There were several references to the pilot episodes, and other popular episodes over the past seasons.  There were one on one scenes between each set of characters with heartwarming moments that often left me tearing up a bit.  There were fake outs that I didn’t believe for second and fake outs that confused me for a moment. And in the end of it all, there was something I never would have guessed, but worked brilliantly in the end.

Here are the real spoilers: I love Parker.  She grew from a comedic relief type character with an occasional heartwarming scene, to one of the reasons that I turned the show on every week, to the reason I continued to watch the show.  She went from a talented thief with no real emotional value but a love for money, to a genuine member of the family that the team had become, and the finale pulled Parker straight through to her full potential as the leader of the team.  I never would have predicted it through the series, but once it was revealed, it just made perfect sense for me.

This show meant a lot to me over the past five years, and I’m sure that it will mean a lot to me for years to come.  I was glad to see it get a proper ending, and a sendoff in style.

<3

People Talking

It is extraordinarily fun to watch people talk.  I don’t mean listening to people talk, but literally watching them.  It can show just how alike, and how different, people can be.

Everyone knows someone who talks with their hands—who gestures with every word and seems to be incapable of sitting still once a conversation gets going.  But it’s fun to watch the varying degrees of it.  There are people who just make little gestures, small hand movements to point in the general direction of people and things that they are talking about, maybe the occasional strong gesture to reinforce a point.  Then there are people who only make grand sweeping gestures—hands, arms, and sometimes full upper body movements to really send a point home.  In the worst cases, they just look like they are out and out flailing.  I can’t help but wonder sometime how many passersby they’ve hit accidently in their mission to tell their stories to their full extent.

But even in people who don’t gesture, it’s still just fun to watch people talk—especially people who speak the same language, but have different accents.  While they are technically forming the same words, their mouths and jaws move in different ways to form the distinct sounds.  I am guilty of watching interviews of people with accents different than mine, and getting so involved in watching how they form the words, that I’ve completely missed what the words string together to mean.  It’s a bit of a problem when I fixate on an accent for a little while.  Any visual medium in that accent is pretty much lost on me while I watch people talk...

So—maybe I’m weird, and no one else does this.  But if you have a chance, try it.  It’s likely that you’ll just think I’m crazy and move on—but it might prove to be a fun way to pass some time. And who knows, maybe you’ll find it just as fascinating as I do.

<3

Being Childish

I am often accused of being childish.  This could be taken a variety of ways, and I think that a lot of the time it is intended to be an insult. And sometimes it is rightly used as an insult. Such as when something serious needs to get done and I am throwing a temper tantrum about a small detail.  Granted, those instances have become less and less as I’ve gotten older, but when it does happen, I deserve whatever people want to say about me.

But more often than not, I am “Being Childish” when I am having fun.  Mind you, this is fun that doesn’t hurt anyone. Usually, it’s relatively simple things like spinning in circles, or walking so that I only step on the black tiles.  I am perfectly aware that the white tiles are not clouds that I will fall through, and that the red tiles are not lava that will burn off my feet, but that doesn’t make it any less fun to hop, skip, and jump from back title to black title.  If I’m not hurting anyone or getting in anyone’s way—then what’s the harm?  Just because you are miserable doesn’t mean you have to step on my happiness, does it?

Well, that took a grumpy turn.  And maybe it was a bit childish, but you know what? I won’t apologize.  I’m okay with being childish every now and then.

<3

Christmas and Fifty

Guys!  Today is two different and very awesome things.

 First and most obviously of all, it's Christmas!!  Christmas is easily one of my favorite holidays of the year.  It’s winter, which I love.  It’s got Christmas Music, which I love.  It’s got presents for me, which I love.  It’s got presents for other people, which I love.  It’s got wonderful religious services and performances which I look forward to every year, and love.  All in all, what’s not to love.   Well, what’s not to love is being away from my family this year, which stinks, but I did get to skype in with them earlier this morning while they were opening presents, and I’m probably going to skype into the “dessert party” at my Nana’s later tonight.  And, my mother and sister will be coming up to visit in a couple of days, which is very nice. And right now I’m all alone in my apartment, which is very nice and relaxing and a very good present in its own right.

Secondly, and only obvious to the keen observer, this is my fiftieth blog post here at Building a Door.   This also means it is officially the longest blog I’ve ever managed to keep going.  I know. Shocking, right?  I’m pretty stunned myself! 

So, here’s to baby Jesus and Fifty more posts!!

May your stomachs be full, and your hearts be light. I hope you get cool things to play with and are surrounded by people who love you. I hope these things are true whether you celebrate today as a holiday or not.

<3

Tragedy

The worst kinds of tragedies take two forms: those involving large, almost inconceivable numbers, and those involving children.  Even the most hard hearted of people suffer heartbreak when a child dies needlessly.  And when several children die needlessly, it grows exponentially with each loss. 

Tragedies are bound to bring about a hundred different things.  Heart break, Anger, tears, controversy, prayer vigils, political debates, news reports, people who only want to talk about it, people who never want to talk about it, blog responses, and the list goes on and on.  Maybe these are good things.  Maybe they are bad things.  Maybe they're neither, they just are.

The truth of the matter is I’m not okay.  I won’t be for a while.  It was too close, and they were too young, and it never should have happened for so many different reasons. I won’t be okay for a while, and in a way I’m okay with that, because this is something that shouldn’t leave me okay for a while.  I’m talking in circles, and I apologize, but there doesn’t seem to be a better way to say what I’m trying to say.

What I’m trying to say is: I’ll walk and talk okay.  I’ll post on here like I’m okay.  And eventually, I will be.  But until then, please forgive me if I’m a little off—maybe a bit too eager to be happy about something, or a bit too upset over something minor.  I’m doing what I can with what I have.

<3 

Fiction: Legal Theft Project--Coming Home Late

He swore quietly as the key got slightly jammed, and he had to rip it out of the lock and start again. Normally, he wouldn’t have been so irritable, but it was four in the morning, and he was just getting home from work.  The lock was just lucky that he had the next day off, or he might have just kicked the door down in anger and desperation to get to his bed.  This second time, though, the key slid in smoothly and the lock turned without a hitch. 

The house wasn’t as quiet and dark as he had expected.  Coming from just off the entrance way was the flashing lights and repeating forty five second audio track of a DVD title screen.  He locked the front door behind him, and then followed the sound to the living room.  Decked out in a pair of sweat pants and a tank top, his angel, Emily, was sound asleep on the couch.  Logan looked up and watched the DVD title a couple of times.   He couldn’t remember what the show was about, but he remembered Emily telling him about how she used to watch it in fifteen minute intervals when she was trying to stay up to finish an assignment in school.  “Something about it seemed to wake me up better than a shot of caffeine,” she had said, “It’s hard to explain.”  The fact that the show was on coupled with the fact that she wasn’t covered in a blanket despite the fact that the room was freezing meant only one thing to Logan. 

Emily had been trying to stay awake to see him. 

Instantly, all his anger from work, his drive home, even the sticking lock, just melted away into nothing.  He flipped on one of the small lights on the desk that Emily used to write by, and then walked forward and turned off the television.   Making his way back to the couch carefully, he leaned down and kissed her gently on the forehead.  She woke up slowly, blinking at him in the dim light.  “I’m awake?” Her voice was soft and cracked just slightly as she asked the question.

“You’re awake.” He assured her.

“Oh good.  I was having the strangest dream.”  Her voice was a little bit stronger as she woke up a little bit more.

“Oh?” He invited.

“Yeah. Daniel Jackson and Mal Reynolds were trying to convince me to go out dancing, but I knew I had to stay home and cook a birthday dinner for Neal Caffery.”

There was a moment of silence before Logan smiled. “Stargate, Firefly and White Collar.”

“Ah, but which Stargate?” Emily teased.

Logan hesitated. “SG-1?” It was more of a question than an actual answer, but Emily smiled sleepily and raised her hand to pat him softly on the cheek. 

“Oh, he learns. I’ll make a TV geek out of you yet.”   She let her hand drop back to the couch.  She shifted a little as she laid there, pushing her shoulders back a little deeper into the cushions.

Logan made a face.  He knew that look.  Emily wasn’t nearly as awake as she was pretending to be.  “I’m not going to be able to convince you to get up and walk to bed, am I?”

Emily raised her hands half heartedly, her eyes already shut again. “You can carry me if you want me in bed so badly.”  There was half a dirty joke behind her words, but he decided to ignore it for now.

“Alright then. Budge up.”  Logan grabbed a blanket off the nearby armchair, and crawled into the empty space Emily had made on the edge of the couch.  He covered them both with the blanket.  Almost automatically, Emily turned and curled into his side, which he used to scoot her back towards the cushions, and give himself a little bit more room.

“I love you,” Emily muttered against his chest, more so that he felt the vibration of the words than heard them.

He leaned down and kissed her gently on the top of the head.  “I love you too.”  In that moment, Logan thought he wouldn’t mind working nineteen hour days for the rest of his life, as long as he got to end every single one of them like this.

My wonderful friend, Gwen, legally thieved the opening line of this piece for yesterday’s post on her blog, http://apprenticenevermaster.wordpress.com/. Check out her blog today to see what I thieved from her.

Fiction: Legal Theft Project--A Quick Paint Job

Jordan smiled at Kylie through the small window beside her front door, decked out in painting supplies.  Kylie tried to suppress her smile, and gestured to the mail slot in the door. Jordan put down everything in his arms, and squatted down, lifting his side of the flap and peering inside.

“If you think that I am letting you into my house with all of that, you have clearly lost your mind.”

“Come on, Ky.  You want to get that room done, don’t you?  If you don’t let me in now, it will never get done.”

Kylie considered her options for a moment.  Jordan had a point.  Kylie wasn’t exactly a poster child for productivity, or getting things done in a timely manner.  And Jordan had come prepared to work.  She locked eyes with Jordan through the mail slot.  “Do you promise that you will paint the study, and only the study, in the manner that I will instruct you?”

For just a second, there was an evil little glint in Jordan’s eyes, but as quickly as it came, it went.  “Yes, I promise.”

Kylie decided to give him the benefit of the doubt despite all her better judgments. She stood up, and heard Jordan collecting all his equipment on the door side.  Kylie pulled the door open, and Jordan stepped across the threshold.  He took a deep breath, and let it out in a happy sigh.

“I’m going to regret this, huh?”  Kylie closed her eyes as she imagined the inevitable.

“Probably.” Jordan shrugged, and headed up the stairs.


The first line of this story was legally stolen from my dear friend Gwen. See what she did with the line I gave her today, and see what she originally wrote for this starting line tomorrow over at http://apprenticenevermaster.wordpress.com/.   <3

Hiatus.

I know I just got started in a sense, but I am going to take a small hiatus. Two days ago, only eight miles from where I work, a great tragedy struck, one that I never could have imagined, and now wish that I didn’t have to experience.  It has left me in a place where I don’t think writing anything non-fiction out of my own brain will be of any good.  I don’t know how long this break is going to last, but it will last at least long enough to get my head going in the right direction again.

Thank you so much for your patience. Please keep all of those poor families in your thoughts and prayers.

<3

Fiction: Legal Theft Project: Normal

The name of the game was staying calm, and acting normal.  That’s the way she would survive today.  And the days to come, actually.  Because when, eventually, they showed up at her work place to question her co workers about today, they could genuinely tell the police that Amber was her normal self.  No one would look at her now and think, “You know, maybe she does have her ex-boyfriend, a man wanted for triple homicide, hiding in her apartment. Maybe she really does still love him, and she’ll do anything to help protect him.”  Granted, she doubted that anyone would be that perceptive, but she didn’t even want a doubt in anyone’s mind once the suggestion was on their radar.  If things were going as planned, at this very moment, Michael was packing away the list of things that Amber had written out for him, and trashing the house up.  That last part had been his suggestion.  He wanted it to look like he had stolen her away, so that if things went south, she could claim that she had nothing to do with it.  They would leave tonight, in the middle of the night, taking her car.  They would go—well, they hadn’t figured that part out quite yet, but they would go somewhere, as far as they could.

Amber hadn’t asked Michael if he had committed the crime. Michael hadn’t said if he had or hadn’t.  Amber had a feeling that she didn’t want to know.

She smiled, and greeted the next customer. Staying calm and acting normal. 

Fiction: Legal Theft Project: Travels

(So—My wonderful friend and former roommate, Gwen,  and I decided to do a writing challenge that I learned about through third party.   We would each write a story, and then give the other person the very first line of the story.  From that first line, we would each have to write our own stories.  Then we could compare and contrast. 

Well, she gave me a line, and I wrote.  You can check out her stories over at http://apprenticenevermaster.wordpress.com No really, go check them out.  She’s amazing.

Here goes nothing. )

Robin made a habit of getting lost in every city she visited. That was the way that she really got to know the place.  Her theory was the way that a city treated a lost tourist was the way to get the real vibe of exactly what was going on.  

Sometimes, a city was consistent.  Every single time she got lost in Virginia Beach, the teenagers would send her in the wrong directions, and the adults would send her in the right ones.  In New York City, people were surprisingly friendly and helpful, if and only if, you could find one to slow down long enough to help. 

Other cities changed with every visit. In Boston, Robin once had a great experience where she was escorted on an impromptu tour of the city by a very nice woman who was so proud of her city she wanted Robin to not let an hour or so of being lost taint her view of a city.  Another time, she was beat down and mugged for every penny. In London, she had been ignored, sworn at, escorted through the underground, lent money for a cab, and even invited out to see a show. 

But every time that plane landed, or the train wheels squeaked to a stop, she could feel the tingling in her feet, excited to switch off the GPS on her phone, and hide the map, and walk in whatever direction looked prettiest, ready to be lost once again.  What would the city show her this time? 

The Safety of Hollins

Missing Hollins to me is missing my friends, and the sense of sisterhood, not missing the physical campus I’ve got no real love for the Hollins campus and certainly no love for the Roanoke Valley as a whole. That being said, there is one thing I miss about the Hollins campus terribly. The safety.

At Hollins, I never felt confided, not really.  If I woke up at three in the morning, suddenly desperate to get out of my room—I could. I could leave Tinker, or the Apartments, or Rose Hill and walk to Dana, the science building, to get some work done, or just walk the road circling campus, The Loop, with my own thoughts, depending on what exactly it was that woke me up. If I left something in my room, or I really wanted a quick snack from the rat, I felt comfortable leaving my bag wherever I was studying or working, and knowing that I would most likely come back to find everything still in its place, sometimes even with notes from friends who came looking for me in my usual places.  

The real world doesn’t have that kind of safety or freedom.  That sucks. There is no pretty way to summarize it, it just sucks. It’s one of the absolute shames of growing up.

<3

Best Thing My Family Ever Did For Me.

Easily the best thing my family ever did for me was tease the crap out of me.  Sitting here, I can think of at least five different running family jokes that are directly related to something stupid that I said or did at some point.  On in particular is a joke based around something that I’m pretty sure I never actually said, but that my father said in jest, teasing me.  Somehow, the legend of it has been twisted so that people believe that I said it.

I hate being late, so right after we moved, I was understandably anxious about going to work for the first time from the new address. My brother and I were working the same shift at the movie theatre that day, so I was ready to go when I wanted to leave, and was eagerly encouraging him to do the same.  It got to the point where I was dressed, Polo, slacks, and extremely annoying shoes, and literally following my brother from room to room like the most annoying creature I can become.  What I believe I said was “If we don’t leave by 5:05, we’re going to be late.”  What my father hear and repeated was, “If we don’t leave right now, there’s no point in even going.”

To this day, if I even so much as suggest that we start getting ready to go somewhere, I am inevitably met with “Because if we don’t leave at exactly time one minute after the current time, there is no point in  even going” along with a nudge or a half smile in my direction.  Five years later, and there is still a joke about something I never actually said.

But it doesn’t bother me.  In fact, I think it’s kind of funny.  That’s why it’s the best think my family ever did for me.  I’ve been embarrassed for most of my life.  It’s basically my default setting at this point.  There is very little that can be done to me or around me that makes me uncomfortably embarrassed.  It’s absolutely wonderful, and a trait that I believe will help me later in life.

<3 

A Little Bit Obsessive

Anyone who knows me knows that when I become a fan of something or someone, I will throw myself face first into being a fan, bordering on obsessive, almost trying to make up for all the lost time of not being a fan, until I relax into being a casual fan, occasionally bouncing back into being a super fan when something particularly exciting happens in the fandom. Anyone who has talked to recently knows I have become a fan of Jon Richardson.

But there is a twist.  Even in this phase of slightly obsessively watching everything I can find that he was in, Jon Richardson is both my absolute favorite, and my least favorite comedian at the same time. He’s got several jokes that cause me to stop breathing for a moment from laughing so hard.  Some of his rants contain points that I relate to so intensely, that I will pause the video, run to the nearest human being, and point eagerly at the screen and yell “See! I’m not the only one who feels like that!” He’s probably one of the best comedians to turn to for a quick pick me up when I’m in a bad mood.  Honestly, look up his routine from the Apollo on YouTube, and it will be an amazing thirteen minutes of your life.

However, he also depresses me.  Some of the things he says hit very close to home, almost painfully so. This is a an extremely attractive man (to my eyes, and many others—so don’t start arguing with me on that point) who is hilarious and relatively successful.  He has been single for eight years, at least. He believes, very strongly if his public persona is to be believed, that he will never find someone to stay with for the rest of his life.  Because he’s odd and insistent.  Much in the same way I am odd and insistent.  I don’t even have extremely attractive, hilarious, and relatively successful to fall back on.  It’s a bit of a bitter pill to swallow.  Because he’s funny—but maybe he’s also right.

Bah. I’m going to watch 8 out of 10 cats. Like I said, he’s good for a pick me up.

<3

Fiction: Late Nights

Ellie sat at the top of the hill, looking down at the steps that were carved into the hillside, the triangle stack of rocks that made a pulpit, the wooden cross that sat behind it and the beautiful dark water of the lake that laying behind it.

Ellie pulled her knees in a little closer to her chest, pulling her hoodie down over them a little bit farther in an attempt to block out some of the night’s chill.  She couldn’t go inside yet. Too much was still running through her head to actually head back to bed for the night. 

After a little while longer, she heard soft footsteps and knew that someone was standing behind her. She didn’t even have to turn around to know it was Benjamin. Because whenever she was feeling particularly introspective or “thinking meaningful thoughts” it always seemed to be Benjamin who would show up. Her suspicions were confirmed when he sat down on the grass next to her with a thud. 

Cutting her eyes to the side for a second, she took his appearance in.  Benjamin had clearly attempted to sleep as well.  He wore a pair of blue green plaid pajama pants, and a thick hooded sweatshirt.  His hair was sticking up in the back, and Ellie had to wonder if he had been asleep before coming out here.

They sat there in silence for a while before Ellie sighed.  It was barely audible, but Benjamin knew it as his cue.  He scooted a little bit closer and put his arm around Ellie’s shoulder, and pulled her into lean against him.  “So, Ellie, what brings you out here to stare at a lake at three thirty in the morning?”

“You know, I used to imagine that I would get married here,” she offered instead of actually answering the question, “Dad would walk me down the aisle, the edges of the stairs would be decorated in flowers.  I could stand on the slight slope so that I didn’t look as ridiculously short in comparison to my husband as I undoubtedly would be.  The sun would bounce off the lake and it would all sparkle like diamonds.  I used to imagine that it would just be perfect.”

“And now?” Benjamin asked.

“What do you mean? Now what?”

“Well, you said you used to imagine that you were getting married here.  What do you imagine now?”

“Oh,” Ellie chuckled to herself, “Now I know I’m not getting married.”

“You don’t want to get married anymore?” Benjamin was shocked.  For as long as he had known Ellie, which was most of their relatively short lives, she had always dreamed of being a wife and mother.  Not exclusively, mind you, but it had always been a part of her plans.  The fact that it wasn’t anymore was simply mind boggling.

“Oh, no.  I definitely still want to get married.”

Benjamin opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, before just letting out a breath with a puff.  “Okay, I’m confused.”

“I want to get married. But the truth of it is that I am way too picky and my expectations are way too high.  I’m never getting married.” Ellie wasn’t saying it for sympathy, or for those reassuring comments that She was wonderful! Or that of course she would find a perfect husband.  She was saying it because she thought it was genuinely true.  Somehow, that just made it that much worse.

Benjamin knew Ellie well enough to know that at this point there was absolutely no “right thing to say.” So he just hugged her a little tighter and leaned his head against the top of hers. “Well.  We’ll see.’ He whispered.

“Yeah. I think we will.” Ellie replied, snuggling a little closer into his side.  They sat there together until she finally fell asleep.

With the well-trained movements of an old friend who had done this several times before, Benjamin scooped Ellie up into his arms, and carried her back to her cabin.

<3

Planning for the Future

You remember how this blog was originally about my quest to get out of Shelton, CT? And you know has long since turned into me getting overly annoyed and overly excited about things?  Well, that’s all for one basic reason.

Trying to figure out the future is depressing.

Dreaming about the future is fun. You can be anything.  You can do anything. You can go anywhere. You can marry anyone.  Quite literally your only limits are the limits of your imagination.

Planning for your future—less fun.  There are logistics to work out that don’t seem to actually have solutions.  There are questions of “How much is that going to cost me?” and “If I move there will I be able to find a job and/or legally be able to work?” and “It takes how long to get that processed?”

There is also the crushing reality that, statistically speaking, I’m not likely to end up anywhere that I want.  Or I’ll get close to where I want, sinking a ton of time, energy, and money into it, only to discover that what I thought I wanted isn’t anything that I wanted at all, that I’ve wasted years of my life to reach a goal I am disappointed to have reached.  

I think that’s why it’s so much easier for me to daydream about the future, and to make excuses to not get anything done.  That’s why I’m in trouble in the long run. Unless I buckle down and really force myself to face the bitter truth of It all. Wish me luck.

<3

Crazy Concerns

Sometimes, I wonder if I’m crazy. I mean, in some capacity. I know that I am. I’m mental about things like my to-do lists, and I get very annoyed when my hands are sticky and I’m not allowed to wash them.  But there are a hundred little things that I do every day, that I think every day which I keep very close to the chest.  I’m not actually sure how many of these things actually make me crazy, but something has to be said about my automatic and passionate instinct to keep all these things a secret.  I mean, I’m talking about them, but I won’t actually tell you, because the idea of telling makes me feel a little bit sick. So, either, I’m crazy and it’s a good idea for me to hide what I do because people would suggest that I be locked away for my own safety. Or, I’m not crazy for what I do, but my instinct to hide actually makes me a bit crazy.

I don’t know.  It’s very likely that just trying to figure out if I’m crazy is the fact that actually makes me crazy.  One day, this blog will just be a video of me being carted off in a straight-jacket, doped to the gills.  A doctor will later shake his head and report, “She wouldn’t have gone crazy, if only she had stopped wondering if she were crazy.” I will be a tragic, slightly ironic warning tale for future generations.  And you lot can proudly, or shamefully, say you know me when.

<3

Three Facts About Me

Here’s a fun fact about me that few people know.  I like triangles.  No, I actually kind of love triangle. I know that seems like a silly thing to dedicate a section of a blog post to, but I think that triangles are really awesome.  I find that at any given time, things left in my hands will inevitably be folded into a triangle or cone shape.  Designs with triangles in them are automatically prettier than designs without.  I also have a fascination with the number three, and it’s multiples.  I wonder if my fascination with three comes from my love for triangles, or if my love for triangles comes from my fascination with the number three.  I also wonder why I wonder about these kinds of things.

Here’s a fun fact about me that a lot of people know. I cannot draw to save my life, but that does not prevent me from doodling all over the margins of many a notebook.  I have a few consistent doodles and a lot of random scribbles.  My most common doodle involves a heart, and a combination of, surprise, surprise, triangles.

And fact number three, which some people known and some people don’t.  I adore logic games and crossword puzzles.  They are so much fun!  Maybe I’m a geek, but there is nothing quite as satisfying as figuring out the last piece of a particularly difficult puzzle.  It’s a very selfish exhilaration, but it can be the world’s best pick me up after an extremely stressful day. 

So there you go.  Three really random facts about little old me that you never really needed to know.

<3

Fiction: Carrots and Straws

Howard stared at his wife.  She was standing in the middle of their kitchen holding a bunch of carrots in one hand, and a bag full of plastic bendy straws in the other, starting to tear up.  This would be very unusual, even for Haley, expect for the fact that she also had an eight months pregnant belly.  “I just don’t know what to do.” She nearly cried.

Howard knew that laughing would not help the situation.  Neither would asking where in the world she got the carrots, because he knew for a fact there were none in the house when he left for work that morning.  Howard figured that his only safe option was to say, “What don’t you know what to do about?” and to stay carefully out of arms reach just in case Haley decided to start swinging. 

“I wanted to make you a delicious dinner, because you’ve been so patient eating only baby friendly foods, but I wasn’t sure what I could make and I couldn’t find the casserole dish, and we were out of carrots and—“

Howard stepped forward and pulled Haley into a hug before she could really get on a roll and then have a complete breakdown. He hugged her from the side so that he didn’t risk freaking her out about “squishing the baby,” an irrational fear she had developed over the past two weeks or so.  Haley let out a slow breath and rested her head against his chest.

“I’m sorry,” she groaned.

“You’re sorry? What on earth for?”

“For being a bad wife.”

“You’re a bad wife? Since when?”

“Since forever.”

“Forever? Huh. I haven’t noticed.  No. You know who was a bad wife?  Wasn’t there some woman who cut off her husband’s dick while he slept?  Like in the nineties? That, my dear, was a bad wife.”

“How do you even remember that?”  Haley couldn’t help but chuckle a little. 

“I’ve got a knack for old news stories.”  Howard laughed back, giving Haley the smallest of shakes.  “You want to make me happy with dinner tonight?”  Howard felt Haley nod against his chest. “Then let’s go out.”

“Out? Where?”

“Oh, I think you know where.”

“Ick. Howie. Come on.”

“Your call.”

There was a moment of silence and then, “Fine.  But this is the last time until this baby is at least six months old.”

“Deal.”  Howard slowly took the carrots and the straws out of Haley’s hands, and then placed them down gently on the counter.  Wrapping Haley up in her coat, they headed out to Howard’s favorite restaurant. 

Maybe he was a little bit taking advantage of the situation.  But hey. She most certainly was the best wife ever.

My Argument With Christmas Music

Okay.  Anyone who knows me knows that I am I huge fan of Christmas music.  I keep it on my iPod year round.  I have been mocked, more than once, for singing “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” to myself on ninety degree days.  I start listening to it with regularity in October, much to the complaints of my friends and family. Now that I can hear it pretty much everywhere that I go, I am a much happier person.

But Christmas music and I need to have a few words.  There are songs that the general public seems to believe are Christmas songs, that really, really, aren’t.  The two worst offenders are “My Favorite Things” from The Sound of Music, and  “Hallelujah” which has a million covers, but was originally written by Leonard Cohen.  I like both of these songs, don’t get me wrong, and I don’t really complain when I get to hear them, but they are not Christmas songs, and when I am trying to listen to Christmas music, I do get a little snippy when they come on.

I mean, “My Favorite Things” I can kind of understand.  Snowflakes on noses and eyelashes, brown paper packages tied up with string—I can see the Christmas-y vibes there.  But Hallelujah?  All it has going for it is the word Hallejuah.  I mean, have you ever actually listened to the words of that song?  It’s wonderfully depressing at times.   It’s not all at all what I think about when I think Christmas Season and Christmas Spirit.

So, let’s all agree, shall we?  Good songs, yes, but not Christmas music.

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