Last month my main goal was to get down a first draft of a personal essay that I want to submit to a contest. This month my main goal is to see if I can work that first draft into something I want to spend 25 dollars on in order to submit it to a contest. I believe the early bird deadline is May 1st. So, this will be fun. No pressure as I reserve the right not to submit an essay I don’t think is good enough to go since it will cost me 25 bucks to submit and right now money ain’t growing on trees.
Other April projects include revising “Gone Missing”, the not so short story. The first draft ended up being just about fifty pages, a little over 10,000 words. I need to figure out what I’m going to do with it. It’s hard enough for me to sell a story period. Trying to sell a longer story like this one ups the level of difficulty. I’m looking into the possibility of self-publishing it, say on Smashwords so it would be available strictly for e-readers, but my self-publishing success hasn’t been the greatest. But then, my publishing success in general is questionable, so really, I think I can hack it and break even either way.
I’ve also got a novel idea that has taken hold of my brain and won’t let go. I’ve got the basic plot, a subplot, the main characters (all except the bad guy…he doesn’t have a face or a name yet, but that will come, oh yes), and an idea of what I’m doing. I’ve already started working on an outline and jotted down a few scenes so I don’t forget them. Writing this a little a day will be a nice break from revising.
My quest to get 50 rejections this year continues. To check in, as of then end of March I have 3 rejections, 1 acceptance, 9 stories still out, and 2 ready to go. Obviously, more submitting will be done.
Let’s hope the next time I check in at the end of June, there’ll be more rejections (and acceptances!) counting towards my goal.
It’s not secret that I love music. I listen to it a lot. I use it as a buffer between me and the outside world, usually when I’m writing. I listen to it when I make dinner and when I go out with my cats, showing no shame as I sing (and sometimes dance) along with my iPod. I’ve gotten into the habit of watching music videos on YouTube before I go to sleep at night.
So it should be no surprise that I get songs stuck in my head on a regular basis.
Most of the time it makes perfect sense. For example, I’ve been on an Ok Go kick lately, so it’s no surprise that their songs are playing on a kind of loop in my head, though it’s fun to go to sleep with “End Love” playing in my brain and wake up with “A Million Ways” there instead.
Even though I love their music (obviously, or I wouldn’t be listening to so much of it), sometimes having one song stuck in my brain gets tedious. I love “Needing/Getting”, but it turns into an itch that can’t be satisfied when it’s playing on loop in my brain for six days.
That’s the thing with my brain. It’s got a mean streak.
I find most of Lady Gaga’s music, particularly from her first album, to be pretty good. However, I don’t like to listen to most of her songs because they’re earworms. They get into my brain and proceed to melt important neurons and synapses. Now, if my brain can take a song that I like and wash, rinse, repeat it for six days, imagine how tiring it is to have every song I listen to clashing against “Bad Romance” for a week and a half. Yeah, that really happened.
And do you think my brain spares me from songs I don’t like? No, don’t be silly. It’s unfortunate, but not unheard of for “We Found Love” by Rhianna or “Moves Like Jagger” to randomly pop in my head off and on for two weeks like some kind of cruel torture technique (for the record, I don’t think these songs are bad as I’m not qualified to make such judgments; I just don’t care for them).
I try to influence the songs that get stuck in the crevices of my mind, but sometimes they come to me randomly. I’ve had songs that I haven’t heard in literally years just appear in my mind. Of course, when that happens, I’m compelled to seek them out to listen to them in their entirety. “Weapon of Choice”, which I posted last Friday, is a good example of that. That just happened. I was having a bad day and suddenly, Fatboy Slim was there. Who knew?
My brain did, that’s who. Sometimes, it comes through with an appropriate musical reaction.
But usually I’m singing snippets of songs for days on end.
I have tasked myself with writing another personal essay for a contest. On top of learning to write a personal essay, there’s an added degree of difficulty involved with this one in that I will be putting more of my emotions on paper. I’ll be the first to admit that the first essay I wrote and entered into a contest was a bit restrained on the emotional side.
I’m not an emotional person. I don’t like to get emotional. I don’t share my emotions freely (aside from happy) with people. And though it’s easier for me to explain myself by putting words on paper, I find that I still have an emotional block.
This is a problem. The essay that I’m working on, the one that I would like to submit, needs emotion in order for it to work. It’s about an emotion. Without putting real feeling into it, it’s going to come off as sterile as a research paper. And what good is that? I’ve written my share of research papers. Not the same as a personal essay.
And I struggled mightily with this during the first draft. I wrote it in bits and pieces, out of order, which isn’t the way I normally work. When it comes to writing, I seem to do better going straight from A to B when working on a first draft. I then assembled the bits and pieces I wrote into a coherent form and found that when put together…the draft was definitely less than the sum of its parts.
It was pretty frustrating.
The individual bits, I felt, contained the emotion the piece needed, but when the bits were put together, it lacked the emotion I wanted and instead came off like a soppy mess. It wasn’t saying what I wanted it to say and it wasn’t evoking the emotion I wanted it to evoke.
It was, to put it nicely, garbage.
So, I put it aside and decided that maybe this wasn’t the essay I should write and maybe I shouldn’t be writing personal essays at all. Fiction is my forte and there’s nothing wrong with that.
I let that crappy first draft sit and in the back of my mind wondered if there was anything I could do to salvage it because I hate to say that I’m going to do something and then, for whatever reason, I don’t do it. I don’t like giving it up. And I wasn’t quite ready to give up on this piece. I knew what I wanted to say, but I didn’t say it in the first draft because I was holding back, no matter how pretty those bits and pieces were.
The idea for the fix came to me when I was scribbling away in my journal. There I can go on and on about my emotions without fear of exposure and judgement. That’s what I needed to do for this essay to have a chance at working. I need that feeling of safety and freedom.
So I wrote a new first draft in my journal. This draft came out a whole lot easier and a whole lot better. I’m still not sure I can make it into something worth submitting. That’s a different battle.
But to get that first draft out, the draft I knew I could write and the one I wanted to write, was quite a relief.
In my early 20’s I ran around with a group of mostly guys that worked the pro wrestling indy scene in Chicago. One of the guys had a fun nickname for me. He called me Stupidhead. It was a childish thing, not meant to be insulting. It was great fun, particularly when he shouted it across crowded establishments. The odd silence that followed it was always good for a laugh.
Now, I know I’m not stupid, but I have to admit that I live up to that nickname a little more often and a little bit better than I’d like.
Mistakes happen. I don’t like to make them, but I do. However, it’s the stupid mistakes that really get to me, the ones that make me go, “Why did I do THAT?”
And sometimes it feels like I make more than my fair share.
I am my own worst enemy. Even if there are other factors at play, the blame lays on my own shoulders for not doing everything I could, everything I SHOULD, to prevent these mistakes from happening. It comes down to not following up or reading the fine print. I KNOW better.
I made two such mistakes in the same week. Talk about banging my head against a wall. Both mistakes were my fault. One was not following up and paying attention. I should have read the fine print. It was one of those things that I let go because I figured it’d be okay and that attitude got me snake bit. The other mistake was a product of not thinking. Period. I forgot to consider a big piece of important information when making a decision and as such, it could cost me in the long run.
Of the two mistakes, the first one was the most immediately costly and the one I’m working to rectify right now. The other one might actually not pan out to mean much in the end. There are other variables out of my control that will contribute to the outcome of that decision. The point is that neither are mistakes that I should have made had I been thinking and paying my due diligence.
Why am I being vague about these two mistakes? Because I’m embarrassed to have made them. Talking about them in general terms is as detailed as the burn of shame will allow.
I wonder why I do these things. I’m supposedly intelligent person, but I’ve made some dumb decisions in my life. Blatantly dumb. Now, I don’t count anything before the age of twenty-five because I’ve got the great biological defense of my brain not being fully formed yet. However, that defense doesn’t hold up now that I’m past thirty and I’ve got the advantage of not only a fully formed brain, but also experience on my side.
Part of my problem I know is laziness. I don’t want to deal with it. I don’t want to follow up or read that fine print or dig a little deeper. So I just let it ride and hope it turns out okay, which is unbelievably dumb of me as my life is a perfect example of what happens when I give the Universe a choice for things to go okay or to not okay. Unless my life is on the line, the Universe tends to prefer things go pear-shaped for me than not.
Part of my problem is forgetfulness. I used to have a great memory. Now it’s suspect at best. I forget to follow up on things. I forget key pieces of information when making decisions even if they are in some way a key reason why I’m making the decision in the first place. It’s like I get focused on an angle of a picture and it’s only until I look away and look back that I see the huge barn that’s supposed to be the focal point.
It’s a frustrating thing to be dumb in this particular way. Bad decisions made with all available information I can live with. I paid my money, I takes my chances.
Sloppy thinking that leads to glaring mistakes are a little harder for me to swallow.
In the weeks since Davy Jones passed away I’ve been listening to my Monkees albums and reading articles about him. What struck me was the music was typically discussed more than the show. Not to downplay the show at all (it did when an Emmy for Outstanding Comedy Series and truly is pretty outstanding), but considering how critically derided the band was for being created and not playing the instruments on their first two albums that’s quite an accomplishment.
In listening to the albums I have from start to finish several times, I realized just how much good music The Monkees made, a credit not only to the studio musicians and songwriters they worked with, but also to The Monkees themselves. Remember, after the second album, they took over creative control of their music.
I’m also reminded how much of their music ISN’T played today. My local oldies station did a Monkees music weekend in honor of Davy Jones and they played so many songs that never get airtime. Good songs. It occurred to me that when people think of The Monkees, they think of “Last Train to Clarksville”, “Daydream Believer”, and “I’m a Believer” first. Then maybe they remember “Pleasant Valley Sunday”, “(I’m Not Your) Stepping Stone”, “Mary, Mary”, and “Valleri”. Maybe.
Not wanting to let good music go to waste, here are the songs (a few from each album) that I don’t think you should miss:
From The Monkees: “This Just Doesn’t Seem to Be My Day”, “Take a Giant Step”, “Papa Gene’s Blues”
From More of The Monkees: “Auntie Grizelda”, “Look Out” (Here Comes Tomorrow)”, “Sometime In the Morning”
From Headquarters: “You Told Me”, “Sunny Girlfriend”, “Randy Scouse Git”
From Pieces, Aquarius, Capricorn, Jones LTD: “Daily Nightly”, “Love Is Only Sleeping”, “Star Collector”
From The Birds, The Bees, and The Monkees: “Auntie’s Municipal Court”, “PO Box 9847”, “Tapioca Tundra”
From Head Soundtrack: “Circle Sky”, “Long Title: Do I Have to Do This All Over Again”, “As We Go Along”
From Instant Replay: “Teardrop City”, “Someday Man”, “I Won’t Be the Same Without Her”
From The Monkees Present: “Bye Bye Baby Bye Bye”, “French Song”, “Listen to the Band”
From Changes: “Oh My My”, “Ticket on a Ferry Ride”, “99 Pounds”
From Pool It: “Heart and Soul”, “She’s Movin’ in with Rico”, “Gettin’ In”
From Justus: “You and I”, “I Believe You”, “Unlucky Stars”
Bonus Tracks: The Rhino re-issue CDs feature some really good bonus tracks. Two of my favorites are the live version of “Circle Sky” on Head and an alternate take (with different lyrics) of “Mommy and Daddy” on The Monkees Present.
My further unsolicited advice: All of their albums deserve a listen (including Live ’67, which has my favorite version of “(I’m Not Your) Steppin’ Stone” ever, and Then and Now…Best of the Monkees, which features three new tracks, “That Was Then, This Is Now”, “Anytime, Anyplace, Anywhere”, and “Kicks”), but if you’re looking to start somewhere other than the beginning, start with Headquarters and then listen to Pieces, Aquarius,… as those two, I think, are two of their best.
I started writing a story at the beginning of the month tentatively titled “Gone Missing”. I’d had the idea for a long time for a story that centered around a town where missing people end up, but didn’t really have anything more than that. A few weeks ago the missing piece crashed down from idea-space, smacked in the brain, and I quickly jotted down the whole plot idea before I forgot it. I decided to start writing it as quickly as possible thinking it might be a good project to work on while struggling with my personal essay (that’s another post for another day).
Little did I know what my brain had wrought.
When I get an idea for a short story, it’s typically just that. Short. In fact, it’s been known to happen that what I think will be a decent sized short story turns out to be a piece of flash fiction. I have a tendency toward being short-winded (which sometimes causes me problems making word count during NaNoWriMo, but I digress). It’s been known that I’ve had to go back and add to my short story word count to make the minimum word count for a submission (“Land of the Voting Dead” is a published example of this).
So, I didn’t think anything of it when I started writing “Gone Missing”. I thought it might be on the longer side, like the first few drafts of “At 3:36” that hit between 14 and 20 pages. It was when I passed the 20 page point and realized that I wasn’t even half-way done yet that I knew I had something other than a short story on my hands.
Once it hit forty pages without hitting the climax, I figured that I had something close to a novella on my hands. It sure as heck wasn’t a short story anymore.
I’ve never written a novella before and really never had the urge to, so it seems fitting that I’d blunder into it on accident. When I begin the revisions of this short story gone long, I’m going to revise it with novella in mind. Just to see what a little intention can do for this long tale.
As it stands, I’m enjoying this pleasant surprise.
I love it when an idea that I think is good (and I think most of mine are) develops into something so much better.
I like quotes. Real people, fictional people, doesn’t matter. I like a good, strong quote. I like a quote you can apply to your life. I’ve got my share of those. Here are a few of my favorite ones.
“Simple respect. I expect nothing more and I’ll accept nothing less.” -Margaret Houlihan, M*A*S*H
It’s the baseline for my life. I’m big on respect. I give basic level respect and I expect to get at least that in return. As I get to know you, the respect increases, but sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes I keep in on that basic “You and I are both humans and I was raised with manners” level. And sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I decide you don’t deserve my respect, and I’m not going to give it to you. Period. End of story. I won’t treat you badly or disrespect you (unless I’m forced into that position); I just won’t deal with you at all. If you’re not worth my respect, then you’re not worth my time.
Likewise, I expect basic respect and I won’t take anything less. I won’t let you disrespect me. I won’t settle for it. I won’t stand for it. I got that sort of treatment more often than I should have when I worked in retail and I tell you what, I didn’t get paid enough to pretend it wasn’t a big deal. Customers were corrected, as nicely as possible at first, of course. Because I’m working a job that YOU think is lowly doesn’t mean you get to treat me that way. You will treat me with common courtesy and basic respect. Period. It’s up to me to earn anything more.
“My guts are not here for you to love.” -Margaret Houlihan, M*A*S*H
Another line that I apply to my general existence. You don’t have to like me. I wasn’t born for you to like me. I’m here for my own purpose and I act on my own reasons and I make my own decisions and you don’t have to like any of that. I’m not here to make you happy. I’m here to live my life and do my time and make the most out of what I’ve got and do it in my own way and if that doesn’t satisfy you, Scooter, then I don’t know what to tell you. Get used to disappointment, I suppose.
“I cannot sit here waiting for you to have an epiphany. I am losing the will to live.” –Radek Zelenka, Stargate: Atlantis
I use this as a reminder because I have a tendency to do a lot of sitting and thinking and don’t always follow through on the action part. Problems are typically solved through action and granted, it’s good to attempt a solution after thinking one up, but there comes a point when you can only do so much thinking and then the doing has to start. I can’t sit around and wait for a better idea or a better option. I’ve got to run with what I’ve got and risk failure.
If there was every a quote for writing, this is it. If there was ever a quote for LIFE, this is it. It does me no good to go through life afraid of failing and as a perfectionist, that’s sometimes difficult for me to grasp. This quote reminds me that failure is part of life and can be the best teacher.
“The power is inside you. Nobody can give it to you. Nobody can take it away. Now go play the harp.” Michael Nesmith, The Monkees
The ultimate self-esteem boost. I don’t need anyone’s permission to be great. I don’t need anyone’s approval to be great. I can be great if I want to be and no one can stop me. In the end, I’m the only one that rules over myself. No one else.
“They can’t yank a novelist like they can a pitcher. A novelist has to go the full nine even if it kills him.” -Ernest Hemingway
A writing reminder that can also be applied to life with a little revision. I’m in it to win it, baby. I’ve to be ready to throw a complete game every time I step on the mound. (And sometimes after a particularly rough writing jag, I feel like I just threw nine innings, too.)
“Hope for the best. Expect the worst. Life’s a play. We’re all unrehearsed.” -Mel Brooks
In the end, we’re all just muddling through the best we can. Might as well make the best of it.
At the beginning of February I was all fired up to take on my short stories and get them all revised and polished up and sent out. About ten days in, the whole thing blew up in my face.
I didn’t want to look these stories anymore. I felt like even though I was spending a whole afternoon one one story, nothing was changing. The stories weren’t getting better and worse, they weren’t getting done. It was some weird limbo state in which I banged my head against the words and the words kept winning.
So I took a weekend off and didn’t look at the stories. When I came back to them on that Monday, I came back with a different approach. Instead of trying to sprint through the stories and rush to get them done, which did little in the way of progress, I slowed myself down. I only allowed myself to revise two pages of the story a day and worked on two or three stories at a time. The result? Progress.
By working on just those two pages of the story, I was able to focus my efforts. I blotted out the big picture and focused on just the details of those two pages. It worked. Oh, I still didn’t get as much done last month as I wanted to, but I did get things done, something that wouldn’t have happened if I had kept up with my frantic, flailing pace.
This is something I struggle with. I get in a hurry because I want to be done. Writing isn’t a sprint, but I sometimes treat it like one. I think I SHOULD be done by a certain time and then rush to make it happen. This sort of approach might work for NaNoWriMo or the first draft of a short story, when the brain just needs to dump the words on paper. But when it comes to revisions, that’s not something I should rush myself through. That’s when I need to take the time to focus and do it write. That’s when speed is my enemy, not my friend.
Right now I’m so desperate to get things going that trying to push myself along is really holding me back. I feel like I’m so far behind everyone else and can’t catch up, but I have to remember that this isn’t a race. This is just me. And I need to do my best.
Slowing down (and more importantly focusing) will help me do that.
I dream about tornadoes a lot. I suppose that stands to reason since I live in a cornfield located in the eastern portion of tornado alley and have been ducking and covering all of my life.
Okay, that’s not entirely true. I fully admit that I’ve only ever taken cover during a tornado warning at school and at Walmart, the only job I’ve had that made me. The only other time I was at work during a warning was when I worked at Taco Bell and then we were slammed and I couldn’t take cover if I wanted to. A lot of people wanted their last meal to be a gordita, I suppose.
I haven’t taken cover in my own house since I was a kid (and I was the only one that did). My parents, hell everyone on my block, would go to the window or go outside whenever the sirens sounded. We still do. Twenty-five years ago, when the warning system wasn’t the greatest, false alarms were the norm and a seeing-is-believing attitude was adopted. It’s become so normal to me that if the warning siren goes off and I’m told to take cover, I get anxious because I can’t SEE what’s going on.
I’ve been on the computer playing Word Whomp while a tornado touched down a mile from my house. I’ve grilled during tornado warnings. I drove through one on the way to a bar (in my defense, I didn’t know there was a tornado; I just thought it was a really bad storm and didn’t learn differently until I got to the bar). The only precaution I take it putting on my shoes because I’m convinced a tornado won’t hit my house unless I have to climb out of the rubble barefoot.
Despite all of this, I’ve never actually seen a tornado (like I said, I drove through one without actually seeing it). But I dream about seeing them all the time. In the dreams, I’m almost never concerned about being hurt. In most of them, if I haven’t taken cover, I usually have an easy time of doing it. And then as I’m watching the twister do its thing, I tell myself that this time it’s not a dream. This time it’s real. I’m really seeing this tornado.
Inevitably, I wake up and spoil it for myself.
According to dreammoods.com, dreaming about tornadoes could symbolize extreme emotional outbursts and temper tantrums. It could symbolize volatile situations or relationships. It could symbolize feeling overwhelmed and out of control. I suppose it could, for a normal person.
But, the wonder and awe I feel during these dreams kind of cancels those interpretations out, huh? To me, tornadoes are beautiful, amazing things, yet I don’t discount their ability to destroy anything that gets in their path. However, I feel like (particularly in my dreams) that they won’t hurt me.
It’s like swimming with sharks. They’re beautiful, but potentially lethal creatures and you have to have some confidence that you’ll emerge from the water unscathed if you’re going to get into the water in the first place.
Did I mention that I dream about sharks a lot, too?
Everyone watched Little House on the Prairie during the 70’s/early 80’s. Well, except me. I was handicapped by the fact that I wasn’t born until 1980 and when the show went off the air, I was just figuring out that commercials weren’t TV shows and Scooby Doo was the best thing in my world.
However, this show has been re-running in my area since it ended it’s first run, so it’s not like I’ve been deprived of it. In fact, I’ve probably seen the first ten minutes of every episode. Why? Because that’s exactly how much of the show we could watch before we had to leave for school. And as far as I was concerned, that was ten minutes more than I wanted.
You read that right. I didn’t like the show.
This caused me displeasure.
In fact, I so didn’t like this show as a kid, that I went out of my way to avoid it as I aged (we can’t say “matured” without risking my pants suddenly igniting) into an adult.
Until my local rerun supplier changed it’s line-up. Instead of Hawaii Five-O at 2, I ended up with Little House on the Prairie and there was nothing else on at the time (because 16 episodes of Bonanza a day is excessive and that’s all I had to choose from when this all started). So I left it on, but I didn’t like it.
And like a point-of-view monster waiting to spring on an innocent, young girl, this show clubbed me over the head and now I’m knee deep in the reruns and loving them for all the wrong reasons.
Everyone knows this show, but let me recap for those like me who have gone out of their way to avoid it. The show is based off the books of the real Laura Ingalls Wilder (I managed to avoid reading those as a kid, too; really didn’t like this show when I was young). It features Charles Ingalls (Michael Landon) aka Pa, Caroline Ingalls (Karen Grassel) aka Ma, Laura “Half-Pint” Ingalls, later to be Wilder (Melissa Gilbert), Mary Ingalls, later to be Kendall (Melissa Sue Anderson), and Carrie Ingalls (Lindsay and Sidney Greenbush). Later the family added Grace (Brenda and Wendi Turnbaugh) and adopted children Albert (Matthew Laborteaux), Cassandra (Missy Francis), and James (Jason Bateman) because the Ingalls collected children like I collect baseball cards.
The town included Isaiah Edwards (Victor French) and his family; Jonathan Garvey (Merlin Olsen) and his family; Doc Baker (Kevin Hagen); Reverend Alden (Dabs Greer); Laura’s husband Almanzo (Dean Butler) and his sister Eliza Jane (Lucy Lee Flippin); Mary’s husband Adam (Linwood Boomer, creator of Malcom in the Middle); Hester Sue Terhune (Ketty Lester), blind school helper and waitress; and the Olesons, Nels (Richard Bull), gossip Harriett (Katherine MacGregor), always-in-the-corner Willie (Jonathan Gilbert), and Nellie (Alison Arngrim), who set the standard for bad girls everywhere.
Such a lovely, conniving face.
Of course, I’m over-simplifying the town because it changed a bit over the years, people coming and going and whatnot. But those are probably the most familiar of the faces.
Well, the ones I could pick out of a line-up, anyway.
The Prairie was a popular place for guest stars, too. Louis Gossett, Jr., Billy Barty, Ray Bolger, James B. Sikking, Ernest Borgnine, Ernie Hudson, Burl Ives, Madeline Stowe, Red Buttons, Johnny Cash and June Carter Cash, James Cromwell, Gil Gerard, David Faustino, Anne Archer, Todd Bridges, and Anne Ramsey all did time on the show.
It was most definitely a family show, preaching love, faith, kindness, tolerance, compassion, generosity, and helping your fellow man. But it wasn’t afraid to kill anybody, either. Alice Garvey (Hersha Parady), Mary’s baby, Laura’s baby, Charles and Caroline’s only baby boy, James and Cassandra’s parents, and Mr. Edwards’s son John were among the casualties over the years. Not to mention to all of the tertiary prairie characters (thanks, Television Without Pity!) that bit it, too, including a disturbing two-part episode that involved the stalking and rape of a young girl that’s conclusion looked like the last act of Hamlet (that whole episode was just a ball of WTF, really).
In fact, lots of bad things seemed to go down on the Prairie. Caroline cut her leg and got a life-threatening infection; Mary went blind (and lost her baby); Laura’s house blew away in a tornado (and she lost her baby); Mr. Edwards was crippled in a logging accident; Carrie fell down a mine shaft; the Garvey’s barn was always on fire and Andrew (Patrick Laborteaux) got roughed up a couple of times more than anyone else; James was shot in the gut and in a coma; Albert…what didn’t happen to Albert? He was a travesty magnet.
Nellie also underwent a complete personality 180 when she met her husband Percival (Steve Tracy), which was a weird thing to be sure, but they were so cute together and Percival always took it to Harriett which was fun, so I really can’t complain.
I haven’t seen all of the episodes yet, though I’ve been watching it now on two channels. I have yet to fully enjoy the Jenny (Shannen Doherty) episodes. I’ve still got a bit of catching up to do, for sure.
And as disgusted as my younger self might be at the notion of me watching the show at all, I really don’t mind.
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