It's beginning to look a lot like Quiche-mas

Ahhh yes, it's that time of year again. As I count down the scant few days before I go home to the Rust  Belt for a week, it's time to talk about the best holiday of the year: Quiche-mas.

Quiche-mas? What is this Quiche-mas "holiday" you speak of? It just happens to be the best nondenominational holiday ever. Started many years ago in honor of a friend for whom Christmas is not a jolly, holly or other things ending in "olly" holiday. So while it might be traditionally held on the 25th of December, it can be held on any day that quiche is served in mass quantities. And why is quiche so special, I hear you cry. Simple, my mother only makes quiche one a year, on Christmas day. I am sure the connection has become clear by now.

And while Quiche-mas comes but once a year, it comes early due to my scheduled trip home. As it's much cheaper and easier to fly home in between the major holidays, I will be home before the normally appointed day. To celebrate my first trip home during the holidays (sort of) in almost 3 years, my family is holding Quiche-mas just for me. I am feeling pretty special. Ask not for whom the quiche bakes, it bakes for thee. . .

All of this is just a prologue for something I wrote for my friend who has inspired it all. For the first time ever, for posterity, here is the full rendition of:

          THE TWELVE DAYS OF QUICHE-MAS
(sung to the tune of The Twelve Days of Christmas. In list form, cause I'm lazy)

On the first day of Quiche-mas my true love gave to me,
A Joy of Cooking quiche recipe.
On the second day of Quiche-mas my true love gave to me,
Two dozen eggs.
On the third day of Quiche-mas my true love gave to me,
Three pints of cream.
On the fourth day of Quiche-mas my true love gave to me,
Four pounds of cheese.
On the fifth day of Quiche-mas my true love gave to me,
 FIVE GOOOOOLD CRUSTS!
On the sixth day of Quiche-mas my true love gave to me,
Six slabs of bacon.
On the seventh day of Quiche-mas my true love gave to me,
Seven whisks a-whisking.
On the eighth day of Quiche-mas my true love gave to me,
Eight knives a chopping.
On the ninth day of Quiche-mas my true love gave to me,
Nine toasters toasting.
On the tenth day of Quiche-mas my true love gave to me,
Ten diners circling.
On the eleventh day of Quiche-mas my true love gave to me,
Eleven ovens baking.
On the twelfth day of Quiche-mas my true love gave to me,
Twelve timers timing.

So there you have it. Happy Quiche-mas to all, and to all a good bite.

Ladies and Gentlemen, The NyQuil Hangovers!

If I had a punk band, I would call them the NyQuil Hangovers. That's because NyQuil hangovers kick my ass. I have an inner punk rocker. Purple hair, plaid skirt, Doc Martens, studded belt, safety pins in the nose, the whole 9 yards. That is why I sing way to loud to the Sex Pistols and the Pixies on occasion. But I digress...

To rewind a bit: Yes it's been way too long since I have last posted. There have been a many reasons, but the most simple reason is I have not been feeling up to it. Lame, I know. There has been "stuff" that I have been dealing with, and sometimes I just do not have the emotional energy at the end of a day to sit down and type out a bit of none sense even for my own delight. Ah well. But after some none too subtle prodding from my sibling (she does it cause she cares) I have a bit of randomness to post.

The other reason that posts have been thin on the ground since before Thanksgiving is because I have been sick. Blah. Last Wednesday it was snowing here in the Bay State, then the next day it was 65. My sinuses are just not up to that type of mistreatment. I started feeling the sinus headache trolls giving their pick axes a swing late the next day and it went down hill from there. Monday was such a slice of hell on toast that I did something that I normally don't do. I took NyQuil. I came straight home from work, dosed myself with the green devil's liquid and went to bed. The next morning I had felt disconnected from my body and stupid. That is what I call the NyQuil Hangover. Painful like a real hangover, but there was no fun previously had to have earned such punishment. But I survived the day and that is what counts.

So that's it really. Nothing Earth shattering, but at least it's a post. Onward and upward.

Limerick love

My dad told me my first limerick when I was about 6, and to this day I still remember it. And it was:

There was a young lady of Madras

who had a marvelous ass.

Twasn't pretty and pink as you were to think,

But was gray, had long ears and ate grass.

Since then I have a love of bawdy lines. As today was a bit of a drag, I have composed one. Please note, that this is neither autobiographical or biographical....

There was a young lady of Boston

with proclivities both lewd and wanton.

Nights on the town in which she downed

liquor, wine and ales

And most of the Navy before they sailed.

Creature of the Night

I am a night person - I will freely admit that. In college I did my best writing at one in the morning after hockey practice. There is something about typing late into the night that I find invigorating. But alas, now that I am a day slave to the cubicle mines of Corporate America, my late night writing binges have pretty much come to an end.

For me, midnight usually means that I should start thinking about going to bed. I know that I need more sleep but I just can't seem to settle down to the heavy work of it. At times when my stress levels are higher than what is good for me I suffer from what I call psudo-insomnia. It takes me a long time to fall asleep, but once there I can manage quiet well.

Morpheus and I have a rocky relationship at times, but once wrapped in his warm and deep embrace I am loath to leave. I am a sucker for a good cuddle, but there are times when we are barely able be in the same room. Just call it par for the course, my histories of relationships has not been stellar. Ah well. Does Hallmark make a card for wooing back the tender mercies of an anthropomorphized figure of biological necessity? If not, they are missing out on a who new genre of the greeting card industry. A Holliday can not be far behind.

Unlike most of my family I cannot nap. If I do it means I'm sick. I never mastered the cat nap, or even the power nap. When I go down, it's for a couple of hours and I wake up feeling worse for it. My mom is an Olympian napper, and there are times I envy her. But she is also a night person, don't ask me how that one came about.

But what does all this have to do with my attempt at exercising my creativity? Just this: Not that long ago when I was still new to MA and living with a college chum, I would stay up and write (a confession of a dirty little secret here) fan fic. I did this to amuse my roommate and it kept me sane. I'm not sure when I lost that creative drive, but that is what I am attempting to do here - recapture that fire that made me have to sit up and hammer away at the keyboard on an almost nightly basis.

So there it is. I'm a self confessed 'Night Person', and writer or fan fic, a sluggard of the Earth if ever there was one. But as it's currently nearing midnight, I must away to my bed in hopes of being rested enough for another day in Corporate America. But having written this I do feel slightly better. Maybe tonight Morpheus and I will be on speaking terms, or at least have a nodding acquaintance and be cooly polite. Maybe I should send flowers?

My first blog type thing ever

In an attempt to keep the stream of my creative thoughts trickling, I had an idea to compose a short verse, hiku, a witty ditty or just a random scribbling daily and send it through the medium of my new smart phone (a story for another time). But one of the friends I texted suggested that I set up a blog. So here it is. This will not set the internet alight, but what the hell, I need to do something to flex the writing muscle. Not all of it will be good, most will be crap, but one has to try.

So after procrastinating my evening away by going to target and running amuck in the toy isle, here it is:

Ode to the Office Parking Lot*

Resting, the rusting herd of horse power.
Packed flank to flank, they await the end of the day
and the stop and go ride upstream towards home.

*Author's Note: I cheated and this was from yesterday. But I actually built the blog and posted it, so I am telling myself that it counts.