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A third attempt at this blogging business. |
30DBC PROMPT: Wow...I really need to pay attention during the unofficial months of the "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS" ![]() What's up folks? How's everyone been? My blog calendar lies...it says it's been ten entire days since my last update here, but my last entry is from, like, I dunno, some time back in November when I could wear shorts because I didn't have to worry if my jeans would still fit. Well, it's December...nearing the middle- actually, let's be formal and call it The Middle Third- and it's snowing like it's the end of the world (and the aftermath is supposed to be some kind of frozen-over prototype of Hell), and- oh! Yeah...after hardly ever wearing jeans for most of the last year and a half for reasons partially related to me attempting to show that there's still some athletic skill left in this now 38-year-old body, I no longer own a pair of jeans I can safely fasten without breaking blood vessels in my eyes while attempting to inhale. If I can even get them past my now-thunderous thighs. Can I get another Reese's peanut butter cup please? Just unwrap it and aim it at my mouth...it'll find its way in. Thanks. Let's reminisce, shall we? Because let's face it, my writing schedule these days is about as dependable as my athleticism. ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() And that's another reason why we don't do math in these here hallowed halls of internet hysteria. Now if there were an emoticon of a GIF of the "man" emoticon limping, that'd be me, and hey, I've got an idea...why don't we SHUT THE HELL UP NOW. JUST...NO. STOP. (Like I said, more on that later). BCF PROMPT: "Write a story or a poem about your favorite holiday." Well, since I've been away for awhile, it's time to play catch-up. And since I'm not feeling the need to be poetic, I'll just recap in my usual form what went down recently, like a story. It shall be Thanksgiving-themed, because that's my favorite holiday. See? It's like a win-win for everyone! I actually made it (sorta) back home to WNY for that particular weekend. Plans were all up in the air, because it all depended on the weather in the area where my mom lives. It was supposed to be crappy here in CNY, and crappier there, and were that really the case, then it would've been a no-go. Which I would've completely understood...who wants to drive three hours to get me, and then drive three hours back, in a snowstorm? We figured we would've known by the Tuesday night before, so I could have time to pack and be ready. We got a little bit of snow in Cortland, but the Buffalo area was supposed to get pounded with the Lake Effect stuff, which throws me into all sorts of confusion because my Facebook feed still has all the local weather personalities from WNY cluttering up my feed, and none of the Cortland/Syracuse weather people, because screw them, and while Buffalo's getting blasted and panicking and old ladies are scouring every store they can for milk and toilet paper, I'm chillin' in shorts with the windows open here listening to the rain hit and the drunk college girls get stupid 'cuz the rain might ruin their $189 Uggz. It still boggles my mind that it seems like the dollar amount spent on clothing runs directly opposite in proportion to its functionality, but maybe that's too many hard winters spent toughin' it out in hand-knitted mittens that soak up all the snow the minute you try to make a snowball talkin'. Anyway, so I made it back to the town my mom lives in now, which is not really close to the Buffalo I know, but for frame-of-reference activities it's Buffalo (although I did not get to Mighty Taco or Ted's or anywhere else in-between, and that's ok because there'll always be another chance for that). We had a full-blown turkey feast at my brother's friend's house, which was awesome because they're great people and were more than accommodating. I was, in complete disclosure of this sounding like a cliche, very thankful. After dinner, I hung out with out host family's son (shout-out to my boy Cullen!!) who's seven years old and has Spina Bifida and gets around better on his elbows than I sometimes do on my legs (and I mean that with the utmost respect). He's a great kid...very engaging with a wonderful personality. He's sharp too...he caught on to all my little tricks while we were trying to play the Spongebob version of Ants In The Pants. Not that I'd try to cheat a kid out of a children's' game that requires skill and coordination, but c'mon, a game called "Ants In The Pants" in this day and age is something that 1) would never fly as a title nowadays in our politically correct society; and 2) he's seven, wears pants that require assistance being put on, and did I mention "Ants In The Pants" is the dumbest name for a game ever? My man Cullen caught me snaggin' his ants, which I'm pretty sure is not something you boast about anywhere ever. And that's not even the most mind-blowing part of my experience. At one point, he wandered off to play Xbox. Cool. In a turkey daze I found myself wondering what he was up to, and caught myself wondering what the point of the game he was playing was. The avatar would run and jump and scale walls and do all sorts of crazy shit, enough to bore me but not enough to completely lose my interest. Meanwhile, Cullen had cuddled up against my leg while I leaned on a shelf...he was comfortable enough with me and his game, so I didn't care. Then the avatar took out a sword and would slice people up randomly. I, of all people, am not one to be shocked by anything, but this was slightly jarring in the fact that a child was basically unsupervised in the presence of a strange adult male while playing a video game that basically requires you to kill other people. I mean, for someone whose only Xbox history is Rockband, even I was slightly uncomfortable watching a little kid do malicious grown-up work the Xbox's apparent opus in its catalog, Assassin's Creed. I've never killed anyone, but I've seen it done in movies before, and that's enough for me. Yet here's a kid doing it with relative ease. And then he asked me if I wanted to play. Not being one who turned down adorable children, I obliged. And I've played plenty of Nintendo games at twice and three times Cullen's age, and probably killed a few people in my time as a quote-unquote-don't-quote-me gamer, but holy shit...Xbox controllers have way too many buttons and allow avatars to do way too many things. It's like having ten wallets with eight different credit cards that are only good at certain store. So when it was my turn to play, well, let's just say I couldn't quite manipulate my guy quite the same way. Every button only made the avatar walk. No jumping or running or killing or looting. Picture those same ten wallets, with the same credit cards, only they're in one of fifty different pockets on your person, you can't get your melted snow-laden gloves off, and it doesn't matter because all of the credit cards are maxed out anyway and you're living in a society that doesn't take credit anyway (or you're 96 years old with no arms trying to write checks and it's still the Prohibition times but you've managed to procure enough booze and you just start wandering around aimlessly like you're about to discover radiation and disco and can't do a thing about the sausage swimming in the drinking water). Yeah, that was me. I managed to bore a small child that can't walk by playing a video game I absolutely suck balls at. I am a bad friend. But hey, he liked me, and didn't want me to leave, and we all need friends (unless you're like me and just lopped off a ton of "friends" from my Facebook list, which is no easy feat either). Happy belated Thanksgiving, people. I'll understand it if I'm eating Hormel's "Compleats: Turkey With Dressing" next year while sticking to simpler games that I'm more familiar with getting destroyed at, like Words With Friends. MUSICAL BREAK!! I did manage add a little bit to my iTunes collection while I was away, so feel free to check this out before the next segment (even if it was only adding a few things I'd already once owned and was enhancing the variety). THE DAILY BOX SCORE: ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() I had more important things to add (how can I not, having spent like two weeks away from not being a completely immersed person who contributed to WDC's bloggatorial landscape as semi-often as I would) but my brain's fried and my anxiety is testing my medications' limits, so I better be moving on with my evening. It's crazy what standardized testing of an adult's aptitude can do to one's brain, let alone a teenager's, especially with the crazy hormone changes and societal pressures. Let's just pretend we've all been here before. Peace, I wish I was, and GOODNIGHT NOW!! |