What's New, Pussycat?

Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!

That freaking song is rattling around my skull like a pneumatic drill. With all the TV I've taken in lately, I've been besieged by a Special K commercial with a Tom Jones soundtrack.

And it hurts.

I went to the post office this morning to send off a few thank-you notes for Christmas presents before people talk behind my back. Then I came home and flopped back on the couch. I'm good for a couple of hours, but then I need a nap. What a flu!

I did manage to revise 20 more pages of the novel, although the goal for the day is 50. Maybe I should get back to it before the offspring arrive home and all hell breaks loose.

It's snowing madly out there. I'm praying school doesn't call a snow day tomorrow. The girls will be off on Monday for Martin Luther King Day, and that's enough.

While the media try to make sense of the Jennifer and Brad breakup, people are dying in mudslides in California. Disingenuously, Us editor Janice Min explained her purchase of candid photos of the couple prior to the separation announcement: "Well, photographers are always around, so we were able to get pictures."

No, Janice. The photographers are always around because you buy pictures. Don't blame the hooker. Blame the john.