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December 19, 2005

Not surprisingly, "poop" and "Christmas" both go well with Cabernet.


I spent this past weekend sleeping on the sofa, or shivering under piles of blankets on the bed or sprawled out on the cool linoleum of the bathroom floor during flu-shot-induced hot flashes. I left my house a grand total of ONE TIME all weekend. During these many hours of reflection and observation at Chez Spinster, I discovered what these cats do all day.

Nothing. They do nothing! all! day! long!

Frankie wakes everyone up at 4:30 a.m. (food! meow!) and then they sleep. Hard. Around 10 a.m. they get a random burst of energy, just enough to chase each other, knock the mail off the table, and poop. Then it's nose to the grindstone/pillow all over again. Well, let me tell you what. Gravy days are over come January 1, these felines have to get jobs. Pull their own weight. (They misinterpreted the edict last year as "poop their own weight.")

Anyway, enough poop. Let's talk Christmas.

Except... I kind of didn't do Christmas this year. I decided to sit this one out. I know, I know ya'll. This very minute my mom is reading this and wondering if her girlchild needs, maybe, medication. Or a wine IV. Because she raised me right, what with the sparkly lights on EVERY STATIONARY SURFACE and tinsel and icecicles -- yes, icecicles, don't act like you haven't tossed long sparkly pieces of redneck tinsel on your tree, because I know you have -- and everything happy happy holiday.

There was even the year we discovered Flocking. And boy was that a pretty sight. We flocked EVERYTHING. Because flocking! It's snow in a can! And if you spray it for more than five seconds... you get high. That's right. All ya'll who do not flock think that we are country tacky because of the over-flocking. However, the truth is that while we may indeed be tacky, we are also unable to control the flocking once it begins. Flocking is highly toxic, and intoxicating, and once you get a whiff, you want to flock everything. Even the cat. It's a lot like Christmas crack cocaine that way.

But where was I? Oh. Yes. Christmas. And how I decided not to participate this year.

Because don't you think that when you're thirty-four and suddenly divorced (I say this as if it happened all in four days) and you live far from home and you're maybe just a little ... pensive and so on, don't you think it's OK to sit out Christmas? And just use this time to catch up on the Tivo-ing, and do some knitting, and randomly assign your cats jobs ("You there! Sobakowa! You should join the LAPD! They're really into beating people up! You'd love it!") and so on. Yes. That's what I think, too. And all my friends and co-workers are mentioning how busy they are, and they have to run to the so-and-so to buy this and that for so-and-so, and they haven't mailed blah blah blah and I ... I just can't compute. It's like I have been inhaling the flocking or something. Because I didn't even realize that Christmas is practically FIVE days away, and I so far I have accomplished this much:

zero - Christmas lights decorating house
zero - presents bought
zero - cards purchased
zero - cards sent
zero - trees or other indoor decorations hung
zero - Christmas carols played

I'm batting... zero! And I would like to offer this apology right now to every person who thinks I maybe forgot them, or to whom I have stared at glassy-eyed as they talked about their frantic holiday preparations. I'm glad that ya'll are celebrating and shopping and going to holiday parties and so on. I haven't forgotten you. I haven't joined the Scientologists. I just don't have it in me this year. Pretend I'm high on flocking, it will all make more sense.

Sobakowa's Manifesto

Sobakowa's Manifesto

Sobakowa's Manifesto

Sobakowa's Manifesto

Posted by laurie at December 19, 2005 10:16 AM