When it's time to change, you've gotta rearrange

It looks like slacking, doesn't it?  I write a decent post with some great material and then what? I rest on my laurels, raking in the laughs, gloating over my use of the word splendid, basking in the glow of compliments.  But if you scratch the surface of a hack like me, you'll find something else.  Performance anxiety.  So that funny post that nearly wrote itself?  How do I top that?

I don't.  I ignore Blogger and instead open all kinds of other websites - the bank account to see if the jackpot of unemployment checks has started to roll back in (it hasn't), three different email accounts where I delete most of the emails and neglect others, Facebook where I continue to mock the lack of creativity that exhibits itself with shocking regularity (bitchy!), Twitter where I get my political rage on, lots of blogs where I read and try to leave at least a speck of coherence in my comments (except for at Freida Bee's because she knows me well enough to not expect coherence), congratulating friends who've received a publishing contract, googling recipes and shopping the AT&T website for hours as I finally decided to use an upgrade to replace my old phone that is dropping more calls than it's maintaining.

I'm pleased to sanctimoniously report that I went with a" free" phone that won't add any fees to our phone bill.  I don't want anyone to think that this Welfare Queen will be texting away on some Cadillac smartphone.  Be sure to tell your Republican Congressjerks who are still out there running their mouths about how the unemployed are the problem. Ho ho ho.

All of this is predicated on whether or not our bandwidth is available.  Too many devices in this house requiring it these days, dang it, so much of my time has actually been spent reading books and another special project that I don't know if I'm allowed to tell you about so I'll just stop right there.

MathMan has been coaching basketball which leaves me to manage, with my usual ambivalence, the children who are already on break.

Sophie spends most of her time lying on her back in front of some Disney Channel program while ignoring my pleas to sit up while she eats Doritos because I refuse to administer mouth to mouth to her Dorito breath when she finally chokes.  I don't care if it is Cool Ranch. She's also participating in a round robin of sixth grade sleepovers.  I dread the day when it's our turn.  I do so hope the girls will enjoy the game I have planned for them.  Help Mrs. Golden Rearrange the Stuff in the Garage should prove to be a big hit.  Especially with the soundtrack including Katy Perry and Justin Beiber.

Nathan has gone to some of MathMan's games, but when he's home, he's pretty much lying around conserving his energy for I don't know what and, frankly, after his busy semester of a heavy class load (Latin?), baseball workouts, and a long daily commute, I don't care as long as he's not underfoot or being escorted home by the police.  The truth is, he's been hanging out with me and just talking.  At the risk of blowing my bitchmom cred, it's been quite nice.

Chloe must have learned her lesson.  She's gone out with friends a couple of times since the Malt Liquor Incident of 2010 and hasn't been sick since.  While writing about how she and Nate shared some hot chocolate in the middle of the night is sweet, it's not nearly as engaging as the other post, is it?  Other than that, she's been slinging barbecue at the place down the street and irritating her siblings by taking up space on the sofa as she hogs the TV catching up on the British murder mysteries I have on the DVR.

The tree is up, nary a game of Canasta has been played, I still have to find out which Chinese restaurant will be open on Christmas Day and if I've said it once, I've said it twenty times in the last three days, I really should call my parents and say hello.  Sometimes I wish they had a computer so that they could just follow me on Twitter and be my friend on Facebook to keep up with what's going on around here and vice versa.  That's a lie. If my mother read this blog, I'd be grounded.  Forever.  And probably into the next life, too.

Finally, the cats are always hungry.  But I read in Cat Fancy (got the subscription with some frequent flyer miles that were about to expire, tell your Congressjerks, no Fancy subscriptions for this Welfare Queen) that cats are like humans.  They want to eat when they're bored.  So I've done what has been so effective with the kids.  When the cats complain, I tell them I'll give them something to do if they're bored.  That usually fixes it.  They know "something" typically involves bleach and rubber gloves.

Also, did you know Peter Brady is a cat lover?  He is.  Every time I go to the bathroom, I look down and there he is smiling up at me from the cover of Cat Fancy. I piddle and think pork chops, applesauce and pussy.  So wholesome.

Okay, I've got to go. I'm going to watch the President sign the repeal of Don't Ask Don't Tell.

So now you're all caught up.  Catch me up.  Are you ready for the holidays? Are you in denial?  Would you rather wing it to some warm place and pretend the holidays are over? What's your favorite Peter Brady moment?