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And a happy new year to you all! *waves* Dude, was it just me, or was Dick Clark's Rockin' Eve almost painful to watch this year? Between Dick Clark (oh, let the poor guy retire, for crying out loud), Ryan Seacrest (the complaint is obvious), and that blond chick (did some fourteen-year-old win a Hilary Duff lookalike contest or something?), I gave up and went back to eating clams and drinking.

By the way, I barely restrained myself from throttling my great-grandfather at the family party tonight. Yes, I have tattoos. In fact, I've had the four of them for about three years now, so it's pretty much a waste of breath to tell me they're permanent (Tattoos are permanent?! Surely you jest!) and that I'm not "preserving my body." Dude, if I wanted to preserve my body the same way God made it, I've never do anything, include having those great-great-grandchildren you're so gung-ho for. And also, pointing out the Pussycat Dolls as they perform and saying, "They don't have tattoos," would be great and all if it weren't for the fact that you don't know that and no matter how skimpy their outfits were, they still might have tats. A girl getting a tattoo is not a social pariah anymore, but nice try. Oh, and while I'm at it, just because Sean Paul has marks on his hands does not make him a "coke fiend." Sheesh.

In other news, every year my New Year's resolution is always either to get published or get laid, and it never turns out that way. Well, screw it. If that's the inversely-proportionate way we're going to do things, what I *don't* want for this upcoming year is to get published, fuck Jake Gyllenhaal, win the lottery, develop superpowers, fight zombies, and survive an apocalypse. Take THAT, Fate.

And apparently I returned just in time for the author names to go up on the yuletide stories. For the record, I wrote Shadows Taller Than Our Souls, the Frequency story, which received some great comments, got recced a couple of times, and was liked by the recipient, so yay. (Oh, and if you've never seen the movie, go rent it! Like, right now! The physics are a joke, but the father/son relationship is so damn cool. Plus, Jim Caviezel and Dennis Quaid, who are both just yummy. MMMM. *g*) I should also offer up thanks again to the author of An Unwritten Future, thepouncer. Dude, I know exactly how confusing that freakin' screwed-up timeline can be, and I salute you. :)

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If there's anything my family members can be counted on to do at family gatherings, it is that at least three of them will piss me off by being blatantly rude to me to the point where I have to leave the room, the majority of them will engage in an activity I loathe yet have to put up with (this year, it was watching football, which ... meh), one of my younger cousins will remind me why it's a good thing I don't have kids, someone will ask me something about my love life in such a way as to make me feel lonely and depressed, and by the end of the night I'll mostly just want to go hide in my room and write. Apparently, the only difference between now and my teenage years is that instead of my room, I go back to a huge two-bedroom apartment and an antisocial chinchilla.

For the record, the hopeful looks my mom and dad get when I start playing with my two-year-old cousin should come complete with a soundtrack of the seagulls from Finding Nemo saying, "Grandkids?" over and over again.

Also, my cousin would like to inform you that her breasts feel like water balloons. Not that she told me to say that specifically, but considering she told everybody but the mailman that this weekend, I'm sure she wouldn't mind if I told it to nine hundred and eighty strangers on the Internet.