And then one day Sheldon says to me, "You never wear Sunday." It was all suspicious. Where was Sunday? Where had I left Sunday?

Wayyyyyyy late as always, but here we are.

Some Things That Happened At, Around, or During My 20-Year High School Reunion

Remember, my class was only 101 students, most of whom went through the entire 13 years K-12 together, and many of whom still live in our hometown ...

--The time for prep having slipped away in the course of daily life and then interstate travel, I went to the pumpkin patch thing with unwashed hair, a shirt that did not go with the only pair of shorts I brought which I had to wear because it was almost ninety fucking degrees in October, and sandals with not even the barest attempt at the pedicurical arts. And you know what? That was OK. Ten years ago I would have died rather than show up like that; this time, it was not even a thing. Growing up! I can do it!

--A classmate told me she had my name on her baby name shortlist each of the three times she was pregnant, because "You're smart and pretty, and that's what I wanted for my girls." It was honestly one of the sweetest things anyone ever said to me.

--I talked olden tymes with one of the former hotties of the class, with whom I was pretty good friends in the last couple of years of HS in a casual way, and whose ass I kept from FAILING ART sophomore year (we had to do a team project, I did 100% of it and let him stand with me at the presentation to the class, and "our" mutual A put him just barely over the line), for like ten solid minutes -- and then he goes, "So -- I'm sorry -- I didn't catch your name -- who are you again?" The other former hottie (and I mean, both these dudes were FORMER hotties, lordamercy, time is not always kind) in our convo triangle almost fainted, then started laughing his ass off -- "DUDE! It's [Gleemonex]! How can you not know that? She looks EXACTLY THE SAME, BRO!" All night this second guy kept coming up to me going, "Ahh yeah, who are you again?" and laughing more. It was hilaaare! (Really it was -- and it kept getting funnier the more beer we drank.)

--This one guy, after a really good conversation and him telling me about his family -- four kids, two adopted siblings plus one "mini-me" and one profoundly special-needs child -- almost assaulted me for saying I'm voting for Obama (again). I swear he wanted to punch me.

--Among the bathroom reading in Ma Gleemonex's house, where we were obvs. staying, was a very slickly-produced, high-end, Martha Stewart Living-looking magazine called life:beautiful. Only it was like -- bizarro-world Martha. Cause it was Christian -- and y'all, the Christians are not well-known for their design sense and production values (OMFS, the clip art, the default fonts, the lack of proofreading in the average Christian media item ... ). So it looks like Real Simple or something, and there's these ... these  articles ... like the one about "pro-life films" (reviews, summaries, guidelines for doing a movie nite at your church and how to talk about abortion when there might even be some babykilling sluts in the audience that you don't even know about!), tips for DIY "backyard Bible clubs" (basically VBS but in some lady's yard instead of church, and presented as a way to get the unchurched neighborhood mini-heathens into the christing lifestyle, which I swear to Shatner if anybody recruited my kid into something like that without my consent, I'd burn their fucking house down), recipes for "fun" summer snacky cakes and cheesy poofs (suggested accompaniments: lemonade, peach tea, lime fizz ... ugh, teetotalers), that sort of thing. Despite my utter repugnance, I was fascinated -- could not put this horrible sneaky thing down. I'm haunted by it still.

--We drank actual alcohol, legally, at a restaurant that is inside the town limits! Holy shit! That might have been the most bizarro thing of all, come to think of it.

--I had fun. And I think even Mr. Gleemonex -- the tallest, slimmest, most handsome of all the husbands -- didn't hate every single minute of his life those few days. Although he is still prone to occasional reminders that I "owe him, big time." Which is true. :-)

Makes you wanna just rare back and puke at it

I do not now, nor will I ever, shop on Thanksgiving Day. It's the last real holiday left in American life, and I will not support forcing retail employees to come in to work to try and catch a few extra dollars for their corporate employers. It's cruel, it's stupid, it's unnecessary -- and I'm voting against it with my dollars.

I mean it, Internets -- the only things open on Thanksgiving Day ought to be emergency rooms, movie theaters, bars, and pharmacies. And whoever works in those ought to be paid triple-time and/or be recruited from an all-volunteer workforce (as in, nobody gets forced -- it's an opt-in schedule). Holy two-for-one cashmere-sweatered Shatner, y'all -- do your goddamned shopping the next fucking day.

On a related note -- I contributed a couple of dollars to this fund, because as you know, I fucking hate Wal-Mart and I want to kick them in the personal regions for what they've done to American workers, American towns, and the general direction of retail in the world, and also I feel compelled to put my money where my mouth is w/r/t supporting the people who are taking such a risky stand against the world's worst corporate citizen, the 800-pound gorilla, the thug in the room, the lawless disrespectful Marlo Stanfield, the maniac Gyp Rosetti -- fuck 'em.

Don't do me like that

Hhhhhooohhhhhhhhly shitballs was that crazy. Are y'all doin like I am, just kind of walking around in a daze of relief and eye-blinky random giggling? Do you just have so much more time on your hands now that all your political tumblrs have slowed down for a little bit? Faaaaaaaaaahhhhck. Whew. Jesus.

I mean -- Internets, I was all set to cancel my fam's trip to Texass over Xmas. No offense, Francine (BTW how come I can't see your blog anymore? No love? Invite me, invite me!) -- but the day before this hallucinatory bogmonster shitshow of an election, I was like, If that fucking motherfucker shitweasel assclown wins there's no way I'm going to that redneck backwater piss-head state ever again. They're not getting a GODDAMNED DIME of my godless homo commie librul fascist money and they can fucking SUCK A DICK. My family wants to see me, they can get on a GODDAMNED PLANE and come to CALI-FUCKING-FORNIA where I am FUCKING STAYING FOREVER. 

It was violent inside my head, I'm telling you.

And now it's all snickerdoodles and bookstores and things will be Okey-Dokey, y'all. Thank Shatner, whom I never doubted for an instant.

One millisecond of brilliant light, and we're vaporized!

A few things I'm pretty much gonna be doing all the time now: 

--Staring at -- no, gazing in rapturous wonder at -- our new windows. We're in the middle of replacing the flimsy, gappy, craptacular ones that were part of the original 1971 install at our house, and y'all ... I never knew how much I could love a window. I thought this was about energy efficiency and such. But. They have trim! They're clear! And so quiet that they make me feel like the silent-drape-runner-obsessed chick on Twin Peaks! It looks like people live in this house now!

--Adding a shit-ton of Old Bay seasoning to everything but desserts. And even desserts had better watch out, because madre de los primos de cristo y todo los santos en las guantes de las bibliotecas is it the greatest thing in the history of ever.

--Having anxiety freakouts complete with the sweaty fantods every time I think of tomorrow. (Note today's date. Add one. FREAK THE FUCK OUT. Tremble, cry, read 538 and try to fucking BREATHE.)