Just Another Day

Ahhhh, can you smell it? Take a deep breath. It's the smell of fear. The smell of regret. The smell of ohmigod, what the hell was I thinking to sign up for NaBloPoMo? And why the heck does it have to be November? I mean, a major holiday is in November, it's not like it's March or something when nothing is going on. It might be easier for those of you for whom fall is in serious play. It might be cold where you are, and more tempting to stay indoors. Me? In a few days, it is supposed to be 85 degrees. Although it does annoy me that it will be November and I am still able to wear shorts. Actually, most of the women here in SoCal totally rebel against the heat and wear pants anyway. Because it's November, dammit! Anyhoo, I promise I will post every day. But I don't necessarily promise that the post will be a good one. Nowhere did it say that my posts had to be good.

Don't tell anyone, but I'm taking this last day before NaBloPoMo and doing nada. Happy Halloween! And, I'll put up the same picture I put up on the other blog, just because I love you like that.

So there we were, driving along the freeway, when suddenly all we see are brake lights up ahead. I yell at caution Hubba-hubba to slow down, because obviously there is an accident ahead, or perhaps dangerous debris on the road. Surely, only something of that magnitude could force approximately fifty cars to suddenly slam on their brakes, right? Wrong. It was a highway patrolman who had pulled somebody over off onto the shoulder of the freeway. People, people! What do you think the chances are that in the middle of checking the license and registration, or in the actual act of writing the ticket, that the cop is going to see you going by and simply jump in his car? That he would just drop everything unfinished to chase after you when he's already got his sucker of the moment? What would you say, perhaps .08%? Maybe I'll give you .09% if something fairly egregious happened, not just somebody going a little faster than the rest of the pack. Yet still, there is some sort of Pa...

You know, I almost didn't post anything today because I thought, man, I am going to be posting every single darn day during November. And if that isn't enough Gina for you guys, I don't know what is. Suffice it to say I will be relying on some tricks to get me by, I'm going to guess that not all of my posts will be treatises on political upheaval in Myanmar. I mean, it's just a guess. We went to a pumpkin carving party tonight, and Mr. P carved his first pumpkin by himself. Almost. Just a wee bit of help. It was really good, too. We are going trick or treating on Wednesday night in my sister's neighborhood because they rock. My sister lives on a cul-de-sac and everyone knows each other, and one of Mr. P's little buddies lives across the street from my sister, so we are all going to go together. I was talking to the mom of the little buddy today, and she mentioned that a few other families in the neighborhood were going together and beforehand, they wer...

Ah, what can I say. I felt like some alliteration. Have you ever looked at what you've written on your blog and cracked yourself up? Or is it just me? And if you are in the mood for some kickin' Halloween music, head on over to Py Korry and get yourself some! Oh, and there just might be some music from yours truly in there somehwere as well.

For Wordless Wednesday, that is. But listen, I have a crappy cruddy camera, but you can still see the color of the moon is totally changed due to all the particles in the air from the fires. It was pretty high up, too. And, some kook decided to leave a horrible, misspelled comment that was about 50 paragraphs long, so as much as I hate to do it, I have enabled comment moderation.

I have been tagged and/or approved to steal about four different memes, and I think that I shall be saving them all for days in November when I am running a little low on brain batteries. Crap, I think I'm gonna need more than four. I find myself using the word crap quite often, I have no idea why. But I do know that Mr. P keeps saying "Dammit!" and I place the blame squarely on the broad shoulders of his father. He lets that word slip into his vocabulary quite often. Hubba-hubba tried to blame kids at school, but I know better. Every time he tries to do something and it doesn't go right, dammit comes out loud and clear. I suppose it is better than the f-bomb, but still. If I have to give up all my cussing, it's only fair he does the same. My mother told me to ignore it when Mr. P says it, that he will like getting a reaction. To me, it just seems like tacit approval, and how will I ever win mother of the year if my son goes around his Lutheran preschool be...