Mark Sinclair Vincent St. Agnes von Lichtenschtein

Lefty and The Precious wanted to call him Vin Diesel.
I said no.
It just seemed wrong to title a fluffy, lazy, helpless, fat little furball after a celebrity studmuffin.  I wouldn't even name him Jeremy Renner.
We compromised.  Vin Diesel's real name is Mark Sinclair Vincent, and, being a little more low-key, seemed an appropriate enough way to dub the cat.
The cat, however, is convinced that he is a god, and as such is entitled to choose his own autonym which he required to be multitudinous in syllables.
Thus the house cat came to be known as Mark Sinclair Vincent St. Agnes von Lichtenschtein.  Usually we just call him Vinnie.  Hunneypunkin inexplicably refers to him as Chuck, or sometimes Frank.
Vinnie is ten years old now, and just as many pounds.  He still believes he's a god no matter how many ways we assert our own dominance.  When I try to blog he walks across the keyboard and takes a nap on my fingers, so a long time ago I gave up and let him write his own blog.  I decided to humor him and pin his blog posts.  Unexpected side effect: if you search "Mark Sinclair Vincent" on Pinterest, you'll see all kinds of photos of Vin Diesel, along with a few of our cat.

Even Worse Than Passwords

I can't get anything done online.  It's not enough to have a different username and unique password for every site on the world wide web, now you have to answer a barrage of security questions to prove you're the individual signing in with your own login information.
"What is your favorite song?"
What mood was I in when I typed in those answers?  David Meece?  Roseanne Cash?  Maroon 5?  Johann Sebastian Bach?  Third Day?  Patsy Cline?  Skillet?  ZZ Top?  MercyMe?  George Strait?  Veggie Tales?  Yanni?  Cher?
"What is your favorite movie?"
My favorite movie changes every time the trailers play at the beginning of a Blu-Ray.  (Ooh, pop that disc out and put in the video they just showed the preview for!  What do you mean we don't own that movie?  Is it on Netflix?  Oh yeah, we dropped Netflix.  Do they have it on Amazon Prime?  Never mind, I can't remember the password.)
"What is your youngest child's middle name?"
I have a lot of children.  I call them all Cuddleysnuggleybuggins.  They think it's a term of endearment but it's really because I can't remember their names.
Gonna make it easy on myself and use the same answer on all my security questions whether it makes sense or not.
"What year did you graduate high school?"
"Jeremy Renner."

Much Ado About Nothing

Don't you hate it when people just drone on and on without having an actual point?  Some people can drag a conversation out forever for no reason.  I can't stand listening to somebody prattle incessantly when they really don't have anything to say.
I've never been a person who appreciates small talk.  I'm definitely not one of those people who chatters aimlessly.  You can bet that if I'm going to spend my energy to express myself, I will absolutely have something important to tell you.  And everyone listens to me, because I never waste other people's time endlessly rattling on about nothing.
There simply is no cause to draw out a meaningless debate or a fruitless discussion, and far be it from me to engage in unproductive yammering.  If I were going to burn some time, I'd rather browse Jeremy Renner's Instagram, because ineffectual arguments and recitals of inconsequential facts are aimless.
So is this blog post.
Ight.  Imma head out.

A Right From Two Wrongs

Because I want holiday treats that look fancy but aren't difficult, I do simple things like cutting Rice Krispies treats into squares and tying Twizzlers around them so they look like little presents.  Failure number one: didn't realize how stale my marshmallows were (having been bought for making s'mores at summer bonfires) or that stale 'shmallows make shattery Krispie treats.  Frown emoji!  I shoved my pan of crumbly Krispies into a corner of the kitchen and moved on to mixing up rum balls.
Traditionally rum balls are made with Nilla wafers, but those contain eggs to which The Precious is allergic.  I substituted graham crackers, which did not contain eggs (also having been bought for making s'mores at summer bonfires).  Failure number two: graham crackers apparently have a much higher moisture content than Nilla wafers, and I ended up with rum ball batter instead of rum ball dough.  Frustration emoji!
Everybody knows that if your Christmas goodies don't turn out perfectly, the baby Jesus can't be born, and all mankind will be doomed to eternal damnation, so there was kind of a lot riding on this.
Traditionally, rum balls are made with Nilla wafers, but I remembered that historically, rum balls were made with bakers' crumbs and leftovers...or from their failures!  So I pulled out my old Hamilton Beach, crumbled up my shattery Krispie treats, food processored them into a powder, and mixed them into the rum ball batter like I was Jeremy Renner and Martha Stewart all in one.  Voila: I successfully made rum balls!
Christmas miracle?  Not exactly.  The real Christmas miracle was having a large family packed into a small house where we all enjoyed each other's company and made pleasant holiday memories.  I hope all my critics and both my fans have equally happy Christmas memories, and I wish all of you a fabulous 2020!