Nomenclature
I was going to do a 12 Days of Fishmas, and post a fun picture of one of the cats or my friends or me every day until Christmas, but like the giant tosky floop I am, I forgot about it yesterday in the midst of assorted other chaos. So I offer you the first picture today.
It's Friday anyway. Time for cat pictures.
I've been wrapping a lot of presents, but they look worse this year than ever before. Seriously crappy, folks. Why should that be the case? Because this year I have help.
Here she is.
If I sit on the floor to wrap presents, she immediately has to come and interpose herself, just like the little pain in the butt she is, because obviously there's no reason in the world I'd be sitting on the floor except to pay attention to her.
She's the fat, grey center of the universe.
This is me telling her "Bad. Bad Fishie." Note she is not so much listening as sniffing to see if I am edible.
In other news, I would like to share with you a piece of advice. On the holidays after any given year in which you have lost three relatives and had several other friends and relatives break up or move away, delegate addressing envelopes. Seriously. At least delegate the task of gathering and updating information. I got kicked in the gut SO hard last night when I started flipping through my address book. Seeing the old addresses there in black and white was worse than . . . I don't know. It was just worse than. And then it hit again when I had to address the one to my dad. Just Dad. I know that address by heart because I lived there for 18 years. And writing it just Dad looks so, so wrong.
Ow.
The lighter side of this is the neverending card debate I have with myself each year. When sending a letter to a couple, as a couple, and none of the four of you has the same last name, whose name comes first? Even if I'm only using first names, I'm pretty sure grammar tells me to put the man's name first, married or not, same last name or not, but that's just bullshit. Yet when I don't do it, I feel like I'm giving slight by saying "I'm thinking of you first, and that other stupid buttwipe second," which isn't the case at all.
I've settled on "random" as my method of choice, but it still bothers me.
And when you add in people you know mostly online, and the other names you know them under, it gets really confusing. If someone knows me best as Amanda, but knows Sargon as Sargon and not Paul, then it seems odd to say from Amanda and Paul. But . . . Amanda and Sargon? Sounds even weirder.
And then there's the whole nasty pickle I'm sure many of you have bitten into: I didn't change my name when I got hitched, and there are extendeds on both sides who still haven't twigged to this. I don't mind being referred to as Mr. and Ms. the Terrible, since that's a nickname that I gave him, and I'm pretty terrible myself, but Sargon's real last name . . . I love it, I adore him, I cherish his family, but I am through and through a Gannon, and that ain't going to change. I don't like having that part of me casually pushed into the back of a drawer by anyone. Names are magical, significant, and my last name is a very big part of me.
I don't know. It probably shouldn't bother me, since I know they mean it in love and good faith. But it does bother me. Not so much the fact of it as what it implies about the thought processes behind it.
Then again, I've wondered from time to time if I didn't give offense to his side of the family by not changing my name, so that door swings both ways. These are changing times, and I think a lot of people are still trying to figure out how to deal with the name thing. There really isn't a consensus. Most people don't bat an eye over it, but certain individuals still think it's horrible and snotty if a woman won't take her husband's last name. Heck, even when I got married the folks at City Hall seemed surprised I wasn't going to be a Mrs. anything. Of course, they also seemed surprised that I didn't want the box of newlywed freebies, which included diapers and formula. I supposed they must have talked to the distant relations of mine who thought I was only getting married because I was knocked up.
But, fussing over names aside, the cards are getting done. They are pretty, but didn't print out as well as I had hoped. Still, they're what I've got, and at least they're done by me. Drawn, composed, inscribed, and addressed, all by hand. A friend of the family, my honorary "uncle," does an original card every year, and I treasure all of them. Mine aren't nearly that high-quality but I aspire to it, and led by his example, I've vowed to never buy cards.
And in the Christmas spirit, here, have a bonus picture to make up for the one I didn't put up yesterday. This one was in the running for the holiday card this year, but though I may be turning into a sentimental, maudlin old fartbag, I'm not one to inflict my illness on others, so the idea got nixed.
I think this shot is very Hallmark. I took it at the Philbrook's Festival of Trees early this month. I have a ton of neat pictures from there that I'll be sharing in bits and pieces over the next few days. I figure as long as I cuss some and throw in some pictures of cats and me giving the finger, y'all can deal.
It's Friday anyway. Time for cat pictures.
I've been wrapping a lot of presents, but they look worse this year than ever before. Seriously crappy, folks. Why should that be the case? Because this year I have help.
Here she is.
If I sit on the floor to wrap presents, she immediately has to come and interpose herself, just like the little pain in the butt she is, because obviously there's no reason in the world I'd be sitting on the floor except to pay attention to her.
She's the fat, grey center of the universe.
This is me telling her "Bad. Bad Fishie." Note she is not so much listening as sniffing to see if I am edible.
In other news, I would like to share with you a piece of advice. On the holidays after any given year in which you have lost three relatives and had several other friends and relatives break up or move away, delegate addressing envelopes. Seriously. At least delegate the task of gathering and updating information. I got kicked in the gut SO hard last night when I started flipping through my address book. Seeing the old addresses there in black and white was worse than . . . I don't know. It was just worse than. And then it hit again when I had to address the one to my dad. Just Dad. I know that address by heart because I lived there for 18 years. And writing it just Dad looks so, so wrong.
Ow.
The lighter side of this is the neverending card debate I have with myself each year. When sending a letter to a couple, as a couple, and none of the four of you has the same last name, whose name comes first? Even if I'm only using first names, I'm pretty sure grammar tells me to put the man's name first, married or not, same last name or not, but that's just bullshit. Yet when I don't do it, I feel like I'm giving slight by saying "I'm thinking of you first, and that other stupid buttwipe second," which isn't the case at all.
I've settled on "random" as my method of choice, but it still bothers me.
And when you add in people you know mostly online, and the other names you know them under, it gets really confusing. If someone knows me best as Amanda, but knows Sargon as Sargon and not Paul, then it seems odd to say from Amanda and Paul. But . . . Amanda and Sargon? Sounds even weirder.
And then there's the whole nasty pickle I'm sure many of you have bitten into: I didn't change my name when I got hitched, and there are extendeds on both sides who still haven't twigged to this. I don't mind being referred to as Mr. and Ms. the Terrible, since that's a nickname that I gave him, and I'm pretty terrible myself, but Sargon's real last name . . . I love it, I adore him, I cherish his family, but I am through and through a Gannon, and that ain't going to change. I don't like having that part of me casually pushed into the back of a drawer by anyone. Names are magical, significant, and my last name is a very big part of me.
I don't know. It probably shouldn't bother me, since I know they mean it in love and good faith. But it does bother me. Not so much the fact of it as what it implies about the thought processes behind it.
Then again, I've wondered from time to time if I didn't give offense to his side of the family by not changing my name, so that door swings both ways. These are changing times, and I think a lot of people are still trying to figure out how to deal with the name thing. There really isn't a consensus. Most people don't bat an eye over it, but certain individuals still think it's horrible and snotty if a woman won't take her husband's last name. Heck, even when I got married the folks at City Hall seemed surprised I wasn't going to be a Mrs. anything. Of course, they also seemed surprised that I didn't want the box of newlywed freebies, which included diapers and formula. I supposed they must have talked to the distant relations of mine who thought I was only getting married because I was knocked up.
But, fussing over names aside, the cards are getting done. They are pretty, but didn't print out as well as I had hoped. Still, they're what I've got, and at least they're done by me. Drawn, composed, inscribed, and addressed, all by hand. A friend of the family, my honorary "uncle," does an original card every year, and I treasure all of them. Mine aren't nearly that high-quality but I aspire to it, and led by his example, I've vowed to never buy cards.
And in the Christmas spirit, here, have a bonus picture to make up for the one I didn't put up yesterday. This one was in the running for the holiday card this year, but though I may be turning into a sentimental, maudlin old fartbag, I'm not one to inflict my illness on others, so the idea got nixed.
I think this shot is very Hallmark. I took it at the Philbrook's Festival of Trees early this month. I have a ton of neat pictures from there that I'll be sharing in bits and pieces over the next few days. I figure as long as I cuss some and throw in some pictures of cats and me giving the finger, y'all can deal.