In our staff meeting yesterday I used my five minutes to tell everyone why I hate November. It really is such a useless month, the strange lull between my birthday (and Halloween I suppose) and the Christmas season! The only reason I can tolerate the month is that Christmas marketing begins in November as demonstrated through my first Starbucks Christmas cup today:
I don’t want the fall to be shortened by any means, what I propose is this: let us shorten November to one week. There will be a day for Halloween-hangover recovery, two days for Thanksgiving party inviting and planning, one day for gorging on tryptophan in a vain attempt to ignore the awful month, and three days for leftovers and dredging decorations up from the basement or down from the attic or out from behind the couch. Then, those twenty-three other days shall be officially added to December.
With my plan we can feel free to decorate and shop and plan for and enjoy what is already the Christmas season anyway. No more complaining about gross consumerism setting up for Christmas far too soon. The stores just recognize what we all know deep-down, November was probably a mistake. [America should probably elect me as president. Who cares about economic plans–I’ve solved November! Oh, wait…I’m not old enough. Ageists.]
In order to survive the tedium of this ancestrally-imposed waiting period, I have enrolled in the silly NaNoWriMo challenge of writing a 50,000 word novel in 30 days. I have a daily journaling practice, but I was looking for a way to jump-start a daily creative writing process. I had a pretty good one going over the summer, but as soon as travel season swept me away most of my established habits (exercise, healthy eating, writing, sewing, music) kind of got lost in the miles. I am going to take something I despise (November) and turn it into the best month of the year.
This is the month where I do exactly what I want, artistically. This is the month that I get to have fun.
After all, I’m officially 22 now, and as my mother told me on my birthday I’m only 8 years away from being 30. [I told her that she was 8 years away from being 57, and anyway, 30 is the new 20.] If I don’t nourish my artistic side now, when will I?
I am also determined to be in a show asap. I’m dying here.
Since my novel is going to be a silly lark, I am writing what has become my audio-book guilty pleasure for long drives: Chick Lit.
The Emilie of 5 years ago would have probably needed to be resuscitated if she had ever thought that the future (present) Emilie would enjoy Chick Lit, but present (future) Emilie is just telling her to get over herself.
In other news, you know your band-aid is too tight when your thumb looks like it’s been Bunnicula’d.
[Referring to the cabbage-like and not flesh-like appearance of my skin]
My boss had the Communications Department film a meant-for-facebook video of him walking around the office making jokes for prospective students. It is meant to be a part of SMU’s new social media campaign (oh, and did I mention, I get to be ON the social media committee?!). I landed a small, but vital role.
You see, as my boss walks backwards into my office, he pauses after saying something like “Benedictine, faith-based community” and holds out his hand. THEN (and this is my BIG moment…wait for it…wait for it…) I hand him a pink file folder, smile slightly at the camera, and then return to typing as he continues speaking while I pretend as though my boss talking into a camera happens every day at work.
My own star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame? Not that far away…
On the topic of poorly written Chick Lit:
Breaking Dawn Part One will be out in theatres soon, and I will be watching it.
Judge not lest ye be judged.
(In other words, make fun of me, fine. But I’ll make fun of you for something else. With that straight face that I am great at. And you are going to feel sooooo dumb.)
And, coincidentally, I almost killed myself taking photos out of the car on my way to work on my birthday because the breaking dawn outside was so beautiful.
I am so angry at the HP Universe for the creation of the Harry Potter Vault.
I’ve always been morally opposed to the Disney Vault, and now Harry Potter is taking the same malicious, money-making route.
Needless to say I’ve ordered the three films I don’t yet own, and as soon as HP7.2 comes out I will be purchasing it as well.
So…maybe their plan worked.
But I am still irate.
P.S. As long as I am handing the most judgmental of you fodder to attempt to humiliate me for years to come (although I am pretty unflappable): my brother bought me WoW for my birthday so that we could play together, and I love it. I am TERRIBLE at it. I cannot navigate without getting stuck under stairs and up mountains and almost drowning in ponds and I just got murdered by some dumb wild wolfies, but it is so much fun. And I am getting better at navigating.
“Aaron, ramps are hard!”
“Emilie….where are you going? Turn around! No, the other way! No, you are facing the wrong direction! Emilie! *laughs* Do you even look at the screen when you’re moving?”
“I’M tryyyyyyyyying. It’s so hard!”
“So….what happens if I die?”