Wow, I can actually sum this one up in two words: John Hughes. Done, see you next week!

Okay, okay, so maybe I could write a little more. Like how Mr. Hughes captured all the angst, excitement, fear and fun of high school and being a teen—meshed the outlandish with the real. But since I’m feeling lazy, I think I’ll just throw some of my favorite quotes at you instead.

Sixteen Candles:

Oh Sexy American Girlfriend!

No more yankee my wankee—the Donger need FOOD!

Grandma: Fred, she’s gotten her boobies! Oh, and they’re so perky!

I mean, would high school have been the same without Long Duk Dong? I think not. (Amusing fact: every single one of my friends was convinced Jake Ryan was a double for this swimmer at our school, Mark Vahradian, who now works in the film industry. Mark, if you’re out there–hi!)

The Breakfast Club:

Beeennnnddderrrrr.....!!!!!!

Vernon: What if your family…what if your home…what if your dope was on fire?
Bender: Impossible, sir. It’s in Johnson’s underwear.

Bender: Come on, Sporto, level with me. Did you slip her the hot beef injection?

Bender: Screws just fall out all the time—the world is an imperfect place.

Bender: Why does Andrew get to get up? If he gets up, we’ll all get up! It will be ANARCHY!

(Yeah, so I totally had a thing for Bender/Judd Nelson when I was a teen. I think it was the glove.)

Pretty in Pink:

Look, you can wear a heinous prom dress and still get all the guys!

Duckie: May I admire you again today?

Duckie: What’s this? We don’t have a candy machine in the boys’ room!

Stefan: That girl was, is, and always will be, nada.

(It must be noted that Pretty in Pink had one of the best soundtracks EVAH! Love New Order…especially Shellshock, and then Elegia playing before the big locker confrontation scene–awesome!. Also, I had a teensy little infatuation with James Spader. Does Less Than Zero count as a teen movie? ‘Cuz I loved that one, too–Spader made a perfect douchebag. I bet here’s a movie he starred in during the 80’s that you never watched, though:

Wow, this is a bad title....

Plus, apparently I wasn’t the only one with a Spader obsession:

Although it’s not a John Hughes film, and a little past my teen years, I have to give a shout-out to Ten Thing I Hate About You, anyway. It’s one of my most fave teen movies ever (RIP, Heath Ledger)

I miss her table dancing...

Patrick: It’s not every day you find a girl who’ll flash someone to get you out of detention.

Kat: I still maintain that he kicked himself in the balls.

Teacher: Now. I know Shakespeare’s a dead white guy, but he knows his shit, so we can overlook that.

Mr. Stratford: And I’ll get to sleep at night. The deep slumber of a father whose daughters aren’t out being impregnated.

Mr. Stratford: This morning I delivered a set of twins to a 15 year old girl. You know what she said to me?
Bianca: I’m a crack whore who should have made her sleazy boyfriend wear a condom?
Mr. Stratford: No. She said “I should have listened to my father.”
Bianca: She did not.
Mr. Stratford: No, but she would have if she wasn’t so doped up.

Again, not a John Hughes flick, but probably one of my favorite all-time lines (and if you know me, you’ve heard me quote this and perform some random stunt to go with it, way, way too many times) is from Real Genius:

Val Kilmer: You may be smarter than me, but can you do this?

There’s so many more: Dirty Dancing (No one puts Baby in the corner!), The Lost Boys (back when vampires were still SCARY!), Top Gun (I feel the need, the need for speed!), Ferris Bueller’s Day Off (my swimmer friends and I actually serenaded the employees at Disneyland with our stunning rendition of Twist and Shout), Clueless (Do you prefer fashion victim or ensembly challenged?), 9 and 1/2 Weeks (wait–you’re saying that WASN’T a teen movie?), too many to name. In fact, I think I feel the need for a teen movie marathon coming on…..

And for my next deep blog post, I’ll ponder the differences between Whatchamacallits and Krunch bars. It’s a serious life I lead, folks.

And we’re off!

1. I’m thankful this is my blog and nobody can give me smack for not doing this meme on time. My blog, my timeline. Yay!

2. I’m thankful for the awesome 10 inch laptop hubs bought me for X-Mas last year. It’s super light, which is a must, since I cart around about a billion pounds of paper in the same bag, and oh-so-cute. Although, its cuteness factor actually gets in the way of writing sometimes—people often interrupt me mid-thought to ask me ridiculous questions. Like, “Does that really work?” (um, no—this is just my new mime routine) or “Wow—can you SEE that screen?” (of course not—computers with actual visuals are passé). Maybe I need to knit a disguise for it—like, a little computer sweater. That way, they’ll think I’m nuts and leave me alone.

3. I’m thankful my house hasn’t burned down, flooded, or otherwise imploded while hubs has been on kid duty lately. If you’re familiar with my family life, you’ll understand.

4. I’m thankful for my amazing writing peeps on AW—both my Purgies and my OPWFTers. There’s no way I could undergo this crazy writing process without you—at least, not and preserve my sanity. No, the latter part of my statement is not up for debate. Oh, and I’m especially thankful for freaky Krampus Kringle making an appearance in the forums last night—because it means somebody’s sense of humor is more warped than mine.

5. I’m thankful for my wonderful family—the kidlets, the hubs, and yes, even the doggage–although there are times I think the small demented Rottie might look good mounted over my fireplace. In fact, there are times when I think hubs and the kids might look good there, too. But that’s only like 5% of the time—okay, 6%. Which means I don’t think about how peaceful the house would be if they were stuffed and mounted like, 94% of the time—and I consider that a major victory. And no–my sanity, still not up for discussion.

6. I’m thankful for Boudin, the place where I go to write and terrorize the staff. Their caffeinated iced-tea has saved me from permanently imprinting my keyboard on my forehead on many occasions. I’m especially thankful for the baker there, who gives me free chocolate chip cookies.

7. I’m thankful for chocolate, without which the baker could not give me free cookies. We wouldn’t want to put a damper on her altruism. Or my expanding tushy.

8. I’m thankful for my laser printer, cranky and decrepit as it is. Even if the blasted thing does decide to take unscheduled breaks halfway through printing my manuscript—only to start over from the beginning.

9. I’m thankful for my AWESOME husband, who is more supportive of my writing than I could ever hope for. Also, I’m convinced there’s no other father alive who spends this much time with his kids and enjoys it so much. No, you may not have him—go find your own.

10. I’m thankful for all of the wonderful YA writers, agents, editors—everyone in the industry who makes those YA books come to life. Without you, there’d be no wonderful stories to read—and no dreams of publishing my own one day.

Evil Swimming Coach–Boy, when they started handing out school spirit, you never even got in line, did you?

Buffy–No, I was in line for ’shred of sanity’.

In non-Buffy related news, I’m making pretty good progress on the manuscript.  Well, all except for the part where, in her frantic attempt to purge the two minuscule raindrops from her coat (because she might have melted otherwise), Skye proceeded to burrow the comforter right into the back of my laptop.  Which would have been fine, had I not been peering closely at the screen at that exact moment, looking for a file.  The end result?  Said laptop crashed down and nearly severed my nose from my head.   There was blood and everything.  I’m okay today, but my nose seriously is still a little crooked.  And painful.  And I have to laugh at the irony.  Skye is, like, the only halfway well-mannered Ridgeback I own.  If she ends up being the one to have broken my nose, which survived countless alteration attempts from Seger, Sunni, Fergie, et al., it’s going to be pretty darn funny.  All except the part where I look like I went two rounds with Mike Tyson, that is.  I guess on the plus side, my ears are intact.

So far my story is about as random as they come.  Which I’m sure is very hard to imagine if you’ve ever read my blog before (cough.) 

So, don’t worry–it’s not that Fergie has morphed into the epitome of good doggy behavior lately, or that my husband has suddenly developed obsessive compulsive tendencies towards cleanliness. Nor did our house explode during the extraction of the fifty foot tall Christmas tree (although it seemed that way at the time).  It’s just I’ve been busy.  I promise to get some new photos of the doggage and kiddage up soon.

Of course, soon is a relative term.

See how well I can rationalize my Twilight fanaticism?  It gets easier with practice, trust me.  The trick is trying to look at your addiction obsession harmless little interest in bronze-headed vampires from a positive perspective.  Like, say, me believing that the purchase of my third ticket to the movie isn’t really a waste of time and money, but rather, food for my inner muse.  Delicious, romance-infused food of the Edward and Bella variety.  Unfortunately, my inner muse seems to have a never-ending appetite for this particular story.  Well, that and movie popcorn, at any rate.

Besides, I’m not that far gone.  I mean, it’s not like I’ve entertained notions of kidnapping Stephenie Meyer and holding her hostage until she finishes that partial manuscript she started from Edward’s perspective.  Well, not for any extended periods of time.  And anyway, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind being a prisoner honored guest in our home for awhile.  Um, she does like large brown couch-hogging hound dogs, doesn’t she?

But you’ll be happy to know I’m practicing due diligence on my synopsis for the time being.  At least until my inner muse starts grumbling again.

   But actually, I’m writing this post to save me (and my plot synopsis) from myself.  You see, like millions of other females around the world, I’m an addict of everything Edward and Bella-related, and right now I’m desperately fending off the urge to go and see the Twilight movie for the third time in less than two weeks.  Which would be absolutely fulfilling on an I-need-my-daily-dose-of-tragic-vampire-romance level, but not so much from an I-really-need-to-get-my-synopsis-finished-because-it’s-not-going-write-itself point of view.  But the urge is almost too deep to resist.  It’s like a crack addict knowing their next fix is just around the corner–or a vampire knowing the tastiest scent of his existence is free for the taking.  Plus, hello–there’s my own personal brand of heroin involved here–movie popcorn.  In fact, when I put it that way, I wonder if resistance is futile.  Seriously, it’s a good thing that a scenario didn’t arise where I could only obtain the rest of the Twilight saga in exchange for my firstborn, because to be honest, there’s a reasonably good chance my soul would be up for grabs right about now.  Had the scenario involved me throwing in a growling Rottie and a hound dog with a toilet paper eating fetish, well, you can come to your own conclusions. 

  I know some fans of the book hated the movie, but I don’t care.  I mean, do I think the movie is the best ever?  No.  Am I stunned by the astonishing array of special effects?  Hardly.  Do I fail to notice that the screen Bella must have an issue with dust floating into her eyes, since she blinks more than a turn signal at the world’s longest stop light?  Nope.  But honestly, it just doesn’t matter, because whatever the reason, I can’t get enough.  And now that I’ve devoured the books, in record time and on more than one occasion, the only thing left for me to do is soak up the film clips, flaws and all.  Although, to be honest, there are a lot of things to recommend the movie, at least from my perspective.  The chemistry, the score, the scenery, and the emotional intensity?  They’re all there.  So, while there are definitely a few parts I would change, the movie delivers enough of what made the book so compelling to lure this fang-free girl into the darkened theater time and time again.

    Why am I so into Twilight?  Gee–I’m not really sure.  I mean, just because my favorite series of all time, bar none, is Buffy the Vampire Slayer (as evidenced by the fact that I own every single season on DVD and know most of the lines by heart) doesn’t mean much.  And I’m sure it’s not relevant that the common thread of my other favorite TV series (Veronica Mars) along with some of my favorite movies—Dangerous Liaisons, Legends of the Fall, Meet Joe Black (okay, maybe some of the latter two had to do with Brad Pitt, but still)—is tragic romance.   I guess I’m a glutton for punishment–well, at least other people’s.  As Cordelia would say in the Buffyverse–morbid much?

  So, I think the coast is clear for the time being.  My clock now reads 12:48, and since the movie starts at 12:50, I think I’ve sucessfully fended off another attack of Edward and Bella-mania.  I’m going to have to make due with playing my old Buffy episodes in the background while I finish the darned synopsis.  Besides, there’s always youtube handy to catch a glimpse of my favorite scenes, if the bloodsucker lust becomes too strong (although  I can’t say the clip I found on Jasper and Edward being emo kids really slaked my thirst). 

  And, of course, there’s always the 3:00 showing.

At any rate, consider yourself forewarned, and on with my story, which happens to be about how I am so disorganized that I managed to use species-inappropriate womanly cycle devices. 

You see, recently, I just started having my womanly cycles again (somehow, I’m finding it unbelievably amusing to use that phrase as much as possible in this post–chalk it up to my uber-maturity).  Now, one would think with my vast experience in the womanly cycle arena, I would be beyond making mistakes of this variety.  In fact, one would think my five-year old son would be beyond making mistakes of this variety.  Okay, granted, between pregnancy and nursing, I hadn’t had a womanly cycle (how many times is that now?  four?  five?) in over two years, but really, when you think about the fact that I have over twenty years previous experience in the womanly cycle department, I should be familiar with the equipment that goes along with it.  I mean, how hard can it possibly be? 

And yet, there I was, reaching for another, um, piece of womanly cycle paraphernalia (yes, I’m still snickering like a seventh grade boy) when I make a little discovery. Mind you, I’ve been using the items in said box for the last few days and didn’t notice anything unusual.  Possibly because my bathroom cabinets are in such a state of a disarray that I don’t know if I’m grabbing my hairbrush or a stray porcupine half the time.  But I don’t know–maybe it’s not that big of deal.  I mean, I don’t think Fergie or Skye would really care that I accidentally borrowed from their stash:

 Um, yeah.  So maybe it is a little out of the ordinary to erroneously be sticking your dog’s womanly cycle products in your undies for days without noticing.  But in my defense, notice they don’t actually put the word “dog” or “canine” on the box.  Granted, it would be a little odd to buy a box of human womanly cycle items with a picture of a Yorkie on the front, but really, that’s just a minor detail.  Besides, advertisers are getting crazier every day–who’s to say the next Tampax commercial won’t be sporting a Labradoodle in a white dress, waxing poetic about the joys of riding the white cotton pony while playing tennis and sipping a cosmo?  Okay, now I’ve really gone and done it–my apologies to any males who are feeling completely violated right about now–I may as well piss off the feminists while I’m at it and blame it all on hormones. 

And actually folks, I’ve got a little secret to share—those dog products really aren’t half bad. 

Of course, who knows?  That could just be me growing fond of that ‘fresh from the groomers’ scent.