Because CBS does, in fact, own my soul.

In the Thanksgiving episode of How I Met Your Mother last year, Marshall asks an upset Lily if she wants to say anything before their meal, and she responds. "Nope. This sucks; eat up and and leave."

That pretty much sums up how I'm feeling about 2008.

You did suck, almost completely unequivocally (I did get a couple of rather cool DVD sets, but, um...no.), and I would like you to leave. Now, please. (No, really, now. It's 9:58 and I am tired.) 2009 isn't looking much better, I've got to say, but here's hoping.

I did manage to write every day but one, and since it was a leap year, I'm totally counting it. Okay. A lot of those posts were funny cat pictures or Colbert Report clips. They totally counted, and so help me God, you do not want to argue with me.

I will talk to you tomorrow. When I will have a lot of time on my hands, because apparently at 12:01 my Comedy Central and VH1 will be disappearing because Time Warner doesn't think I can come up with an extra quarter a month.

As though Pushing Daisies wasn't bad enough...

...Time Warner pulls various networks, including COMEDY CENTRAL, from their lineup starting January 1.

As in, I WILL NEVER SEE ANOTHER EPISODE OF THE COLBERT REPORT ON TV AGAIN.

(Or until both sides calm the frick down and settle this.)

I AM NOT AMUSED.

I love Colbert. So. So much.

Bill Paxton is trying very hard to be a serious actor.

In what is presumably an effort to make major nautical disasters more interactive, my local museum now hands out a card to everyone who goes through the Titanic exhibit. This card contains details of a person (helpfully separated by sex), such as name, age, class, and a short backstory. You go through the exhibit, get suitably depressed by the strains of "Never an Absolution" (Oh yes, they use the movie music at the beginning. I'm guessing My Heart Will Go On was too expensive.), and then at the end you get to find your person on a list and discover whether you lived or died.

Good times for the whole family!

I was a 22-year-old woman in first class, so I immediately cast myself as Kate Winslet. I was on a two-year honeymoon that was concluding with this voyage, and then my presumably wealthier-than-God husband and I would go back to being wealthy and not talking to each other. Ah, the kind of marriage I aspire to.

And I lived! I mean, I kind of suspected that as a young woman in first class, because my husband Carlos or whatever his name was (it was long and Spanish- whatever) would have, no doubt, forced me into a lifeboat because he loved me so much that he could not rest until he knew I was safe and told me not to worry, he would be along soon- we'll meet again by morning.

And...then he probably died of hypothermia in the North Atlantic.

But then I get to be a tragic widow who doesn't actually have to have any human contact but no one looks down upon for being alone. Like Not-So-Poor Madeline Astor, the actual 18-year-old who got knocked up by John Jacob and then got out of the whole thing with a baby and no husband. And THE ASTOR MONEY. Gah. Hate.

Anyway, fantastic exhibit. And a very good IMAX, which involved Bill Paxton trying desperately to make us forget about the Spy Kids movies. Oh, it was a good time.

Perhaps my brazen exhibitionism is wearing thin?

I don't think I have anything to talk about tonight. I could do my traditional year-end wrap up of my favorite movies, but a quick glance at my yearly collection of ticket stubs yields exactly ten tickets. Two of which were for the same movie (Mamma Mia- I must have misplaced the third, sing-along ticket), and another four of which are to movies that I really didn't enjoy that much (well, there's one that I threw away, because no way in hell am I admitting that I saw it). And frankly, there has been enough fangirl spewage about the Dark Knight all over the internet. So instead I'm just going to tell you to see Doubt- again. It's not just about sex abuse- I swear! It's about awesome wrapped in an atmospheric tale about the nature of certainty wrapped in more awesome topped with Amy Adams and her adorable little upturned nose.

Or I could do the most played songs on my iPod, but it's a rather disturbing mix of Rihanna and Fleetwood Mac. And I have taken enough mocking at the hands of my little sister today.

Work was even boring today. I mean, I got to do a Manga endcap and a romance endcap (Why do the women in all these books want to have sex with vampires/devils/Scottish men/random scary guys? Why??? And Manga. Unless I'm reading Hebrew- which I can't, so it's unlikely, I want my books facing left to right, got it?) and then order books for an entire Obama table, during which I had to gag several times based on the sheer "Yes we can!" of it all. Ugh. But it wasn't terribly interesting.

Oh well. Tomorrow I'm going to the Titanic exhibit- maybe something fun will happen there!

I put aside my deeply antisocial tendencies...

...and actually left the house tonight to see Doubt with Colleen and Eileen. And loved it so much that I would be totally okay with going back with Mary on Wednesday. I'm not going to spoil anything, but I officially heart Meryl Streep and Philip Seymour Hoffman, and they both deserve Oscars for their roles. Especially the last scene in the office- riveting.

And funny. You wouldn't think it would be funny, but it totally was.

The walking around, touch-feely homily part bugged me though. Not in 1964, stupid people. I wasn't around and I know that. Gah.

Team Jen

Oh, yes, I called it. When Colleen and I were ruminating on what Ms. Aniston would do for Christmas (because John Mayer doesn't seem to be a real Christmasy kind of guy), I decided that perhaps she would spend some time with the Cox-Arquettes. Colleen suggested that indeed, little Coco might love to spend the holiday with her godmother.

Because even though she's back to not wanting her mom to die a horribly untimely death, I'm not sure they're at that holiday place yet.

Hmm. I wonder what Brad and Angie are doing? Probably chilling in Africa someplace, watching qualified people do good works and then returning to the United States and looking down condescendingly at the rest of us poor fools who are lacking in unbelievably pouty lips and borderline creepy addiction to adopting underprivileged children from various continents (I think they're missing one from Antarctica. Collect them all!!!) because we have no idea how good we have it or how little we are actually doing to alleviate world hunger/poverty/AIDS/disease du jour.

I don't like them very much. Their preachiness annoys me to no end.

But then again, so does John Mayer. I face a moral quandary, readers.

It was, all things considered, a good Christmas.

I mean, yeah, it's been five months and I almost started to cry going to Communion today when I saw that his pew was empty (not a new revelation- but still).

But I did get a NAME, a book about the 1981 Belfast hunger strikes, and some steak knives. Oh, and, you know, the Son of Man and possibility of eternal life. So, you know, it all evens out.

My father is such a girl.

Merry Christmas!

A very productive day of procrastination.

First, can I just say that Godspell is on TV right now? And I am still loving the acid-trip gospel story aspect of it all, but I am still rather uncomfortable with SpyDaddy being Jesus in technicolor pants and a Superman t-shirt.

Second, Cousin Amy on 17 18 Kids and Counting is my favorite person in the entire world. I want to be friends with Cousin Amy. "Fearfully and wonderfully made"? I almost died.

Third, Colleen just announced that her dream was to be a preacher's wife like Victoria Osteen (now on Larry King). "It's too bad priests can't marry, because I would marry a priest and we'd get us a big church and I'd dress like that every day! Sittin' in the front row, hands raised, smiling like I'm listening...I could write a book! Oh, I could write a book." Mother would be so proud.

Okay. Christmas is in like two days, and we're having people over. So today I polished the silver, cleaned all the glass in the house, washed the Waterford glasses (Waterford tends to freak me out, because I'm a klutz when I'm not drinking), and moved everything in the kitchen and scrubbed underneath it.

Sadly, all of this cleaning left very little time for the GRE practice test that I was supposed to do today. This was clearly inadvertent, and will undoubtedly be rectified...sometime in the next few weeks.

But hey. I may not ever be accepted to graduate school and therefore have no job, but I will have an unnatural amount of Waterford crystal.

Leave my cervix the hell alone, please.

So, TLC is doing the birth of the Duggar child (or, as Colleen, puts it, blurred-out Fundamentalist naughty bits). And, oh! So much wisdom. Apparently, having huge unnatural amounts of sex at the end of pregnancy leads to cervical softening. And a soft cervix makes it much easier to give birth than a (AND I AM NOT EVEN MAKING THIS UP THE WOMAN SAID EXACTLY THIS) cervix that hasn't been "loved on."

Um. Eww. Gross. I do not want to know about your creepy condoned-by-God sexual habits to make childbirth easier. And also, I'm pretty sure that your cervix softens naturally even if you do not find the idea of sex after nine months as a "sacred" vessel just, like, the best thing ever.

Also, Jim Bob thinks that it is the part of the husband to be supportive because that will totally make things easier (My mom: "Oh! It does not make it easier. Stupid."), and he should encourage her to eat healthily and be in shape.

Oh. Oh. If anyone ever suggests to me that I should perhaps eat a more healthy diet or get in shape in order to be supportive? Yeah. He'll never be getting near my cervix, softened or otherwise again. IT'S NOT YOURS ANYMORE, BASTARD.

At six a snow day is amazing.

At twenty-one, and the second one in three days? There are claw marks on the walls. I mean, God knows I love doing absolutely nothing. But when you actually had things like work and Starbucks to do and you are really quite sick of this actually having to change your life because of the freaking weather, it is simply unacceptable.

I dislike living in the country. Tomorrow, I will leave the house. If I have to take the freaking horse.

Meanwhile, did you know you can watch movies on Hulu.com? Because you totally can and I have now seen "In Her Shoes" for free. (Which is, frankly, the right price because that movie kind of sucks.) Next up- The Madness of King George. Porphyria ahoy!

Very Post-Vatican II

So apparently Fr. Newbie (who isn't so new anymore, but whatever) is fond of the YouTube, as we now have a video Christmas card.

I am all in favor of this, and seriously squeed because frankly I think YouTube is about as awesome an invention as could have been made. I mean, really, there is nowhere else where you can find amazing videos of David Tennant in drag. Or some guy playing Tony Blair talking about Gerry Adams and Ian Paisley and then regenerating into David Tennant? I mean, really. This is quality stuff here, perfect for completely squandering your afternoons or maybe your 4.0. Lots of things.

ANYWAY, once I stalked David Tennant gave a cursory view to the actual video (children's pictures, Luke's gospel, blah blah- cute), I started clicking on the other videos because there is nothing I like more than watching self-important videos put together by parishes when they're trying to get people to give money to them. Oh, I love them. When we did ours last year I almost fell out of the pew I was laughing so hard. Fantastic school...*chokes* "St. *Enter Name Here* has changed my life! I used to be a crack whore! But now I'm entering a convent and saying my final vows in six months! Give thousands- your children will thank you!" Well, since this parish was located in Whitefish Bay, notsomuch with the crack whore part, but still.

Except for one thing- the background music was "Have a Little Faith In Me". Don't get me wrong- love the song. Consistently one of the most played songs on my iPod. But I'm guessing no one on the staff has ever seen Benny and Joon, because yeah, I'm not sure that taking advantage of the borderline-mentally-disabled (even if you look like Johnny Depp) is really the image they want to conjure up. Just a thought.

I'm not a big musical girl.

I generally don't appreciate it when people randomly burst into song or break out in a brilliantly choreographed dance when you've JUST MET YOUR DANCE PARTNER. Call me a cynic. Whatever. I do love White Christmas, though.

Like whoa. I've watched it every year since I was little. I used to make my Playmobile characters act it out. And it's on Liftime RIGHT NOW.

Imagine my glee. Until I realized that they cut out like everything that makes it White Christmas. Such as the musical numbers, a large number of the punny jokes, and most of the plot.

Gah. Hatehatehate.

Also, apparently I showered with my sister once when we were like five. And then she talked about it at the parish picnic. And I do not remember this at all. Probably a good thing

The perils of watching TMJ4 when you want *actual* news.

I tend to not watch or believe the weather reports. This is due to a myriad of factors such as stay awake until 10:17, are you crazy? I've been asleep for like an hour by then!, the news makes me feel like an old person, and this whole thing. I've developed this kind of, meh, whatever attitude towards winter driving, too. Just go slowly and leave a ton of extra time and you'll be fine. Seriously. Chill out.

But apparently things are supposed to be bad tomorrow morning, when I was supposed to be driving to Grandpa's. So I'm thinking that maybe, as I don't have anything terribly important like final to get to, tomorrow will be a celebratory winter-break-is-here snow day and I'll sleep in and bake Christmas cookies instead. That sounds like a much safer plan. Unless, of course, I wake up and it's clear and then FINE, God clearly wants me to go paint the damn woodwork and the chocolate cheesecake cookies will have to be dealt with some other day.

A few things-

I only have three semesters left of undergrad! I'm equal parts insanely happy, insanely sad, and insanely freaked out because skills! I have none! Please to have job skills!?!? Mostly the sad right now though. I get very nostalgic at the end of the semester, even when the professors do the rote, "You guys have been great and I've really had a good time teaching this class," I always want to go, "Awww! I love you too!!!"

Big sexy whooping crane. Ahaha.

Bill Pullman circa whatever-year-Independence-Day-was-released is kind of hot. I've always loved Bill Pullman, ever since I saw While You Were Sleeping and wondered why it took Sandra Bullock so long to hook up with the brother who not only had complete control of all of his faculties but was also significantly more attractive than Peter Gallagher and his eyebrows that could take over the world.

But I digress.

I'd vote for him for President.

My rope. Let me show you the end of it.

It's the first Christmas since Grandpa died, the single most stressful exam week I have ever been through, but yes! Let's throw a biopsy on top of it. Absolutely, no problem. Thanks so much, universe! Maybe if I scrap hard enough at this paint on my forearms, I can open a vein.

I swear to God. I don't know that the freaking hell the ABM Treaty says or what the frick an SSBN is and I DO NOT CARE ANYMORE DO YOU HEAR ME.

However, and this is a big however because it eases my mind considerably, I got a fantastic grade on one of my term papers. A term paper that is long enough and in the right format that I can submit it as my writing sample on graduate school applications. And as my thesis will only be half-finished by the time I'm applying, this is a veritable Christmas miracle.

But one more. Only one. At 12:00 tomorrow I'll be finished. For five weeks. You will be lucky if I get home before I start drinking. I may stop at Granpa's and have a tearful, painty cocktail.

Reasons Why I am a Monotheist

Yes, true, there is that whole one holy, catholic, and apostolic church thing. A major, valid point, but not the one I'm talking about.

No, rather, another reason I am a monotheist is that I decidedly could not cut it as a polytheist. I have now taken a semester of African art. Obviously, this is not a huge amount, and I am not an expert. But this is an upper level class, I've done all the reading, got a 100 on the midterm, A's on papers, etc. I know what I'm talking about, at least a little.

And, wow, I do not get it. I've studied, I really have. But the Ogun/Gu/St. James and Shango/Chango/St. Barbara and Ellegua/Leba/Elegba/Legba/St. Peter? FOLLOW JESUS IT IS MUCH EASIER, TRUST ME, FON AND YORUBA PEOPLES.

*ahem*

Also, I was not turned on once this semester. I was told at the beginning of the class that he hoped we would find this exciting an maybe even be turned on by it. This class was misrepresented. *sigh*

So before I go and collapse, do you want to hear a crazy person story? It involves me waking up at 3 a.m., terrified and sweating because I was convinced that I got an A- in a class. It was a dream, obviously. No less terrifying. I seriously need to chill the frick out.

I lead a contradictory, boring life.

I've done laundry, cleaned bathrooms, unloaded the dishwasher, and even wiped my freaking floor in an effort to avoid the Reagan/Gorbachev era outlines that are screaming to me about my worthlessness from my bedroom. Unless I want to move into polishing silver, it was this or nothing.

IF YOUR LIFE WAS A MOVIE, WHAT WOULD THE SOUNDTRACK BE?
So, here's how it works:
1. Open your library (iTunes, Winamp, Media Player, iPod, etc)
2. Put it on shuffle
3. Press play
4. For every question, type the song that's playing
5. When you go to a new question, press the next button
6. Don't lie and try to pretend you're cool...
7. When you're finished tag some other people to do it!

Opening Credits: I Say a Little Prayer For You, The Cast of My Best Friend's Wedding (I would indeed like my opening credits to be led by a gay guy.)

Waking Up: Shut Up and Drive, Rihanna (I don't normally wake up to a thinly veiled sexual-reference song, but hey.)

First Day Of School: Holland, 1945, Neutral Milk Hotel (Anne Frank and indie folk rock? This school year would suck.)

Falling In Love: Canon in D, Pachebel (Am I a mail-order bride who jumped right to the wedding?)

Fight Song: Declaration, David Cook (Hell yeah! I'll fight you. To the tune of an American Idol winner...)

Breaking Up: Whenever, Wherever, Shakira (Que???)

Prom: Shattered, O.A.R. (Worse prom ever.)

Life: Crazy in Love, Beyonce (So I begin school with the Nazis, get shattered at prom, and still am crazy in love?)

Mental Breakdown: El Tango de Roxanne, Moulin Rouge Soundtrack (I have often thought that I would like sad violins and Ewan McGregor to be there when I finally crack about being a whore.)

Driving: It's All Been Done, Barenaked Ladies (This is a good driving song.)

Flashback: Mi Morena, Josh Groban (Except for the fact that I've used Morena as my internet name for like ever, I fail to see how this would work.)

Getting Back Together: Goodbye to You, Michelle Branch (I think they got this and the breaking up song confused.)

Wedding: This Ain't a Scene, Fall Out Boy (Two things: I dislike the fact that my wedding will be a goddamn arms race, and I do not want Fall Out Boy to be there.)

Birth Of Child: Thornton's Walk, North and South Soundtrack (Those are some damn slow contractions.)

Final Battle: Change, Taylor Swift

Death Scene: It's All Coming Back to Me Now, Celine Dion (But I'm dying...)

Funeral Song: Every Breath You Take (A very stalkery funeral.)

End Credits: Superman, Five for Fighting (I give up.)

Well. This was fun. And not nearly as embarrassing as the last one. Barry Manilow didn't show up once.

Do you know what the Husayn-McMahon Correspondence says?

Yeah. Me neither. Something about Palestine maybe? Boy, that's going to be an interesting exam in a few days.

I've hit my end-of-the-semester wall. The wall where all my class-related crazy disappears and frankly even showing up for the exams is just, like, way too much work. D is for diploma, baby. I've been sitting with my imperialism notes on my lap for like two hours and haven't actually opened the folder yet. Damned if I can tell you about the partition of India, but I have made a new high score in Facebook Tetris. That's almost as good. Millions of Hindus and Muslims died during the partition, very few due to Facebook Tetris.

And also, there are clearly more pressing matters that require my attention. Obviously, that Tetris game. My bedroom clearly needed to be dusted. It was imperative that I make a new iPod playlist. And did you know that Ewan McGregor is going to be in Angels and Demons? So not only do I have Tom Hanks and his hair of fabulous crazy but also Ty-You-Bastard as an evil priest? I prefer not to stop and analyze my reaction to that because it worries me with it's inappropriateness, but I will say that May 15th. I. Am. So there.

Sure as hell is more interesting than the Iraqi Petroleum Company. Booooring. I'm going back to Google to find more Ewan pictures.

Existential Breakdown

No, not the one where I freaked out and started sobbing in front of the heating guy, the counter guy, a plumber, I think?, and my cousin's roommate because OH MY GOD THE PIANO IS GONE AND I LOVE MY MOMMY AND OH YEAH FINALS I AM THIS CLOSE TO A 4.0 WANT TO DIE ZOMG.

Please. That was yesterday.

No, today I was working and two UWM professors came in. I was listening to them talking about the apparently weekly "doom-and-gloom" meetings in each department. Words like "hiring freeze" were tossed around.

Awesome. I clearly picked a fantastic time to attempt to find a job without any actual practical skills, except for liking to wear jeans an drinking in the afternoon.

I felt like asking either of them if they were looking for an opinionated assistant. I wouldn't have to do anything terribly historical even- I'd go get their drycleaning. Hell, I'd do their drycleaning. Just please tell me I didn't make a stupid decision and will end up teaching remedial English to crack addicts for $25k a year while I can't afford a Swiffer to dust off my freaking historical theology Ph.D.

Yeah. Hypothetical Gay Couple had better be looking for a long-term living arrangement.

Meanwhile, my mom just got a UWM catalog and found a two-week summer program at Trinity College in Dublin that she thinks would be just so much fun for me to do!

You know what would be not so much fun.? Having to become a prostitute for the next nine months to afford to do so. That's what.

I just washed my hair and there are *still* paint flecks in it.

Because I am much too tired to contribute anything to the sucking black hole of the internets...and, you know, the hair thing isn't going to fix itself.

In which I totter around in size 10 heels, cyber-scream at my professor, and expound my views on capital punishment-AGAIN.

*ahem*

I am genetically predisposed to the crazy. But instead of measuring icicles or sitting in the back of church I go crazy about school. Imagine my dismay when my term paper was not returned today as promised and I still have no idea about 40% of my grade.

Then imagine my dismay when I realized that it was ten-thirty on a Thursday night and I still hadn't done the stuff I made myself do today. This happens every Thursday. I make a list of stuff that absolutely has to be finished, and then ignore it until late at night. Grrr. But now I have a finished Cold War essay and flashcards for three different glasses. Including two separate ones for Nasser for two different classes. So should you need to know Nasser's significance from either a British Imperialistic standpoint or that of the Cold War relations in the Middle East, I'm your girl.

Anyway, the reason I didn't do the flashcards or essay earlier was that I rented Infamous from the library. You know, the other Capote movie. The one that everyone involved whined about how it got shafted because it came out a year after Capote and that's why nobody watched it.

Um. No. No one watched it because Capote was much better and this one kind of sucked. It has Sandra Bullock. I like her. But other than that, sucked.

I rented it because Lee Pace played Dick Hickcock, and yeah, Lee should never ever cut his hair like that again. So totally not a good idea. In fact, he should just dress and talk like Ned for the rest of his life. And move to Milwaukee and live in a comfortably sexless marriage with me and maybe one day he'll decide he's straight.

*sigh* Although I'm not sure the Pushing Daisies money is enough to pay off my student loans. It got cancelled awfully fast.

Oh. Capital punishment. Right. Obviously, the movie was about the writing of In Cold Blood, and it ends with the hanging of the two killers. Which upsets me greatly. I had to fast forward. My political position aside (which has kind of devolved into a disgusted "Really? REALLY!?!?!"), the actual act of capital punishment freaks me out. I can watch CSI all day long. Hell, I read In Cold Blood and loved it (well, okay. I was convinced they were coming for me for like a month, but I digress). But every time I see or read about or think about putting someone to death I literally feel sick to my stomach. In high school I had to research Timothy McVeigh's execution for some project and I've blocked it out of my mind so much that I don't even remember what school I was at.

So it should be outlawed just so it can stop making me ill.

Finally- heels! I went to Target this afternoon, as I am wont to do, oh, every day. Imladris was with me and doing a little Christmas shopping and I was killing time in the shoe department. And what did I find but fantastic five-inch peep-toe pumps with an adorable little strap on clearance? For $7.49??? Except they only had a 6 and a 10. A 6 was clearly not going to go on. I tried dammit, but it didn't work. So we went with the 10. I'm an 8.

Thank God it has a strap and my feet are permanently swollen from the treachery of UWM and their refusal to buy road salt (I'm writing "For Salt" on the memo line of my next tuition check), and it's probably a good thing that my toes don't really reach the end, as it is winter. So if you'd like a really amusing sight, come over and watch me stumble around in five-inch heels that are two sizes to big for me but OH SO ADORABLE.

I'm off to watch a History Channel docudrama about the Holy Family. It should be laughably inaccurate. I'm looking forward to it.

Maybe I need to move out...

Chez Morena, 6:50 AM

Morena: Mom? Are you awake?

Rockford: Yes. Why?

Morena: Okay. These boots. Do they make me look a like a fat extra who tried out for Indiana Jones?

Rockford: Yes. That's exactly what I was going to say. No, they're fine.

Morena: Thank you. I think too much. I'm going downstairs now.

Rockford: Yes. Yes you do. Turn off the light, please.

I'm going with the white guy.

I realize it's simply the fact that I have had entirely too much imperialism this semester, and am currently trying to keep the Anglo-Irish Accords, the Downing Street Declaration, the Twin-Track Strategy, and the Good Friday Agreement straight, but I found this absolutely hilarious.

The Daily Show With Jon StewartM - Th 11p / 10c

Provinces in Peril

Barack Obama Interview
John McCain Interview

Sarah Palin Video
Funny Election Video

I should be ordained.

No, I'm not making a political statement for women priests, because frankly the idea squicks me out something fierce. Rather just that I totally read a book this weekend that had exactly the same argument that the priest was making during the homily, and as I was reading it I was thinking, "Hmm. This would make sense for the Immaculate Conception."

(Except the Eva/Ave thing. It's two different languages. Separated by thousands of years, and Luke was written in Greek originally, not Latin. It's kind of cute, but meh. Don't buy it.)

It was basically the whole Eve/Mary parallel about free will and disobeying or submitting to God's will. Mine was in a history book, and it had rather a misogynistic twist because the early Church fathers preached it as the disobedience of the virgin bringing sin into the world and then God using an obedient virgin to bring salvation.

Yeah. I didn't really have a point for this story, except that it contributed to this weird out-of-body experience during Mass like, "Wait? Are we talking about Pelikan's Mary Through the Centuries?"

Back Home Again

Well, my mom's camera arrived before we left. So there are now hundreds of unflattering pictures saved securely on our harddrive. Oh, the joy. My own pictures will be staying in my camera until further notice, because I am a teensy bit exhausted and going to bed now.

I am, however, totally skipping art history tomorrow. Two weeks ago, I had a reason. Holy day! Of obligation! So clearly I should go to Mass! And not a boring lecture! But Mass is later, and even if it's Newbie, who I'm pretty sure leaves out major parts in his effort to finish quickly, still wouldn't be enough time to get to art history.

Except now I've decided that I don't really want to go to Mass in the morning all alone, so I'm going at night with the fam. As in, ten hours after art history. But I was so gung ho on skipping that I'm going to anyway and just sit at Starbucks. Which is almost a religous experience. Close.

More narcissistic drivel.

When you take your socks off, do you always use your hands to do it, or do you ever your feet?

With my hands. Sadly, I do not possess the dexterity to take them off with my feet. Either that or my toes are just too short.



Do you tie and untie your tennis shoes when you take them on and off? Or do you tie them once, leave them tied, then slip them on and off?

When they're on, like a normal person. I fail to realize how they can actually stay on if you tie them loose enough to slip over your foot in the first place. Would someone please explain this complete denial of the laws of physics to me?



Do you answer the phone if you don’t recognize the number on the caller ID? Do you have a land line phone?

Actually, I'm less likely to pick up if it's a number I do know. If it's someone I know, and I'm doing something, I can either figure out what they're calling about and respond accordingly, or figure they'll leave a message. I usually pick up if it's a number I don't recognize because who knows? I could end up telling John from National Right to Life my views on Sarah Palin again. And I think we can all agree that is a good time.



Does your profession have a clothing stereotype?Student/retail?

Yeah. We barely get dressed. This is why whenever I wear a skirt all of my (straight) friends go, "Where are you going? Why are you so dressed up? WHAT IS GOING ON!?!?!"



Do you take any vitamins or supplements? Which do you take? Do you notice any difference in your overall health from taking them?

Eh. I try. Occasionally. My mom takes like a box of things in the morning, and sometimes I steal them. The only difference I noticed was from one supplement and it was quite surprising, and then my mom was all, "Oh, yeah, I probably should have told you that happened," and I was all, "Um, yeah, you should have. I thought I was dying."



Do you follow the wash instructions on your clothing?

Pssh. No. I mean, I kind of check to see if it's dry clean only, but other than that I wash everything on cold and hang all my shirts up to dry anyway, so it's not a huge deal.



Are you a creature of habit, food wise? Do you eat the same thing everyday? Are there any foods/drinks, you feel like you have to consume on a daily basis? Or… do you like some variety?

I'm definitely a creature of habit, but I don't necessarily eat the same thing everyday. I probably eat yogurt for lunch almost every day, and definitely water and coffee. But dinner is pretty much whatever is in the fridge.



Which magazines, if any, do you subscribe to at home? Do you have time to read them? Do you throw them away when you are done reading them?

I get People and Entertainment Weekly. I do have time to read them, and I do throw them away when I'm finished. In the past few months I've realized that I've really outgrown them, though. Matthew McConaughy running on the beach is no longer that inartistic to my personal identity and continuation of a happy life. I think it's a sign of emotional growth.



What is the greatest distance you have ever driven in a single day? What do you do to keep yourself entertained while in the car, whether you’re the driver/passenger, alone/with someone?

Hmm. I think I drove almost from DC one day, but I didn't drive. I usually am on a family vacation if I'm driving far, and then I'm not driving. I do love car trips though, and driving. So yes, I can keep myself entertained. I read or study until I get sick, and then listen to music. I'm easily amused.



Which celebrity would you pick to be our next president?

Well, now that South Carolina cruelly dashed my Colbert '08 hopes... Hmm. I'd like to say Johnny Depp so that the State of the Union's ratings would go up from dorks who sit and watch and squee over the Supreme Court (No, I've never done that. Why do you ask?), but I think that maybe he's a tad mellow for the job. I'm conservative, which instantly limits my choices to Jon Voight or Gary Sinise. As I have never had an inappropriate thought during a Jon Voight movie, I'm gonna have to go with Lt. Dan.



What is your relationship like with your family? Do you live in the same town? How often do you see them/communicate with them?

We live in the same house. In fact, same room until a few months ago. We get along. Usually. Unless I'm being snarky or someone else is. Thanksgiving was an aberration.



Do you love or loathe having house guests?

I have a complicated relationship with guests, so it's probably a good thing I never have any. At first it seems like of exciting, like, "ooh! There are other people here!" but then it kind of just gets boring and you can never swear as much as you really want to.



What is something you really enjoy doing that is a chore or a bore for many people?

LAUNDRY. I freaking love to do laundry. I don't know if it's my latent genetic OCD tendencies or what, but I enjoy sorting and cleaning and having big piles of clean things. So yeah, laundry would be a good chore for me.



If you could own one original work of art, what would you choose?

I have to pick one? I should say van Gogh, because he's my favorite artist really. But prints pretty much can cover it for him. Or Fragonard's Young Girl Reading, because that has hung in my room since I was a little girl. But I think I might really prefer the original Madonna of the Meadow (Raphael), or some really cool old icon.



OOH! I know what I want! An icon from before the iconoclasm! Like Christ Pantocrator from Sinai! Yes. That's it. Christmas wish list!!!

Galena!

I'm leaving! In like half an hour! Or more likely closer to an hour because we never ever leave on time! Yay!

*ahem*

I do have my computer with me, but I set up posts for the weekend just in case. I know, you're thrilled.

Bye!

Yet another update on my unbelievably lacking organization skills.

I know. It's getting boring. I'm bored with me. F'reals. But seriously, y'all, I DO NOT PLAN WELL.

Obviously. I'm leaving for the weekend tomorrow morning, and it's now 12:17 AM. I am still printing off study guides, I have about fifty African art objects to flashcard (oh yes, my friends, it is a verb), and can someone please explain to me why the damn unionists camped outside Drumcree for like ten years? Because it is not helping the situation. Well, it didn't help their's, either. (Yet another unbelievably frustrating tableau from the files of OH MY LORD WHY DO YOU NOT JUST CHILL THE FRICK OUT ALREADY ALL Y'ALL Northern Ireland.)

Haven't packed. Haven't really thought about what to pack. Clothes, I'm guessing. Meh. That will probably come later, after I finish writing about the Ibeigi figures, which is clearly much more important because what if I give birth to twins tonight and I don't know what to do with their souls? Then what will happen, huh?

Ookay. Going to need to dial back the crazy a little bit. Forgive me. You must understand that I'm usually in bed like three hours ago.

So while I try to remember socks, some random thoughts/tales from the last few days.

- In Hebrew studies we're watching this video that's narrated by Liev Schrieber, which is seriously making the end of the semester much, much better. Oh, yeah. Talk some more about the Merneptah Stele, baby.

-This morning in Cold War we watched a clip of a video discussing the Angola conflict and the role of mercenaries. The bad guy (shut up, I know I'm an imperialist) was talking about this one mercenary in particular and was calling him a fantastic soldier. In fact, the had never seen a better soldier. Then it cuts to the CIA director for Africa who literally rolled his eyes and went, "Psychopath. Complete psychopath. And all of his friends were psychopaths too." My lip was bleeding I was biting it so hard to stop from laughing.

- As you may have gathered from earlier, we're up to 1998 and the whole peace process thing in Northern Ireland. It's lovely, the nationalists and the unionists are hugging and whatnot, flowers blooming, Jesus is coming back, blah blah blah. Anyway. Bill Clinton had a lot to do with this. I won't deny that. Clinton was brilliant, in fact, so brilliant that I often wondered exactly what he was smoking (not inhaling) that made him say, "No, you're totally okay under there. Nobody's gonna know," and he did have a charisma that allowed him to work with people. Bully for him.

He is not, however, akin to the second coming. And I am getting a teensy weensy little bit sick of the 75-minute Clinton orgasm I have to endure every Tuesday and Thursday morning. Gah. Not the bestest President ever omg. Really. Really not.

And that's all I've got. Good night.

Okay. Fine. I guess that whole essay-a-day thing worked.

Wrote three papers in about three hours this afternoon. Including an eight-page analysis of contemporary non-biblical sources as support for the presence of the ancient Israelites in Canaan during the 13th pre-Christian century.

Oh, the joy of being able to use your own presentation as a source. I freaking love that class.

Woefully inept.

Hah. So. I went to a friend's piano recital tonight, and listened to an hour of fantastically talented people play fantastically well.

And suddenly the fact that I crapped out and can only play one song after like eight years of lessons (on and off, but still)? Is horribly pitiful.

I have no talents. My great skill is having opinions about everything. So I chose to be a historian. There is no swelling music or glorious finishes in history. Unless it's National Treasure. But I don't think I'll ever use my conflict resolution/Biblical scholarship training to discover a treasure with Nicolas Cage. Unfortunately.

Gah. Hate the world.

It's December.

Although you wouldn't know that from looking at any of my notebooks from today, which are all helpfully labeled November December 1, 2008. I am officially not at my brightest after a long weekend.

Today was...trying. I could use different words, but I do not want to offend my mother, and I'm trying not to be snarky. So. Trying.

First, it snowed. Which means my feet got wet and it was just very uncomfortable and inconvenient. And I was stuck behind this guy going twenty miles an hour down the road and yeah, I get that it's wet and you want to be careful, but when you can see blacktop and it's so wet it's spraying (not iced), you can go 3o. I promise.

My partner showed up for our presentation neglecting to realize that it was, in fact, the day of our presentation. Loser. Hatehatehatehatehate.

I painted the bathroom and the front hall after school. Bathroom went well, fell in love with the color all over again, but the front hall was...trying. I slipped on the dropcloth and threw paint all over the carpet, which is fine because the carpet is leaving as soon as Loser Contractor shows up and NotLoser Roommate can rip it up. But I was slightly worried about it dripping through to the wood floors. Hmmm. Oh well. Not really anything I can do about it.

After all this, I decide to stop at Kohl's to use my lovely Kohl's cash from this weekend, and am helped by the dumbest and most suspicious of all the Kohl's employees EVER. I used my mom's charge to pay for it, because I had a coupon. I'm listed on the card as a user, but they wouldn't send us a new one. Whatever. I do this every time I go in there, it's never a problem. But this idiot insists on carding EVERYONE. So I give her my ID, and explain the situation. She looks at my ID. The credit card. Fails to realize that maybe if the last names and the addresses match, not so much of a problem. Looks at me as though I may have stolen some children too, because MY GOD if you are going to fraudulently charge $18 on someone else's credit card, WHERE WILL IT END.

Anyway. A manager is consulted. By this point it's been like five minutes and there is a line. I kindly offer several other methods of payment. She glares at me. Apparently, there is no way to cancel a transaction and rering it once it has been started.

Um. I beg to differ. I work in retail. You can make those damn machines do anything you want, especially something as elementary as cancelling a transaction. But alas, I do not get to impart my register wisdom on her, as when she is trying to cancel the transaction she pushes it through and it gives me a receipt. Which I then take and walk out of the store because IT IS MY CREDIT CARD DAMMIT.

The ennui? I has it.

The Long Weekend.

It was a good weekend. I mean, yeah, there was screaming and crying and fighting and then some furniture-moving, but there was also stuffing. Which makes up for, like, a lot. I even got to sleep in on Wednesday, a pretty damn awesome occurrence in the middle of the semester. And I got sent home from work early today because, shockingly, no one wanted to brave the supposedly apocalyptic storms (Although looking outside I see mostly rain? Is it getting worse? Or am I just stupid?) to buy the new book about Andrew Jackson. Although several people did call to say that they were camping out for the Joyce Meyer event tomorrow night.

Um. Okay. It's winter. And snowing. But hey, whatever blows your self-help skirt up.

But it's over now and I have to brave the supposedly apocalyptic residue to prove that the Bible isn't a fraud in Hebrew Studies. And then actually show up again on Wednesday. *woe*

Three more weeks. And counting.

I am rather tired.

I worked, like, all freaking day. And then decorated the house. In our new if-you-don't-actually-eat-it-it's-so-totally-not-worth-it style. It's significantly more minimalist. And that's okay.

Nothing fun happened at work. The guy I was working with told me that his niece started wearing a training bra, which really made me just want to begin drinking heavily. Oh. Some guy had me take his picture with his cell phone and send it to his wife because he just got new glasses and she would apparently find them hilarious. Whatever, dude. Leave me the hell alone. So I guess that was pretty funny.

Not worth going through eight hours of it, though.

It's the most wonderful time of the year.

Not only did I get the most wonderful wool coat in the world for $120 off this morning (and in a medium size no less...), there is a new Psych Christmas episode on RIGHT NOW.

All is right with the world.

I am not losing at the end of November.

This is officially a post.

And I am officially going to bed.

Hopefully tomorrow I will find a pretty coat that will be cheap.

Reason #548 That I Would Not Make a Fantastic Housewife.

Although I do come with a house now. A house that I totally mine and I will love forever despite the fact that I've been told sixteen different times today, "OMG what if you meet someone and move away and then we need solid-surface counters? WHAT THEN???" Except for the laughable idea that I would ever let anyone tell me where to live. The amount of work I've done? Johnny Depp could show up and be like all "I want to marry you and have lots of sex and babies!" and I'd have to reply, "As long as we can do it in my beautiful kitchen with the integral sink and extra hole for that squirty water hose thingy."

So now I have solid-surface counter tops. And a sink that my mother helpfully pointed out was big enough to wash a baby in.

Or, you know, drunkenly start a small fire fueled by dissertation papers. I'm guessing that's more likely.

ANYWAY.

Pies.

That's why I won't make a good housewife. I always make the pumpkin pies for Thanksgiving. Well, that's not true. My mom obviously used to make them, and then we made them together, but the last couple years I've done them. And I love it. It makes me feel downright domestic.

I just ignore things like how long they're supposed to cook or the fact that they have to cool. I kind of forgot about them being in the oven because Criminal Minds was on. And then I kind of didn't realize that you need to leave them out for like FRICK THIRTY minutes. My dad offered to set his alarm and I'm all, "What? Why?" and he's all, "Your pies. They are hot. And need to cool. Idiot."

He didn't call me an idiot. I added that. But I'm guessing that's what he was thinking.

Stephen Colbert is *apparently* intrinsic to my faith identity.

We all know that last summer I read My Life with the Saints because of an interview segment. Lately, I've been looking for a new saint. Or rather, I was on a website that was totally not a fan blog and totally not reading comments when the woman who runs the site mentioned that she lost her St. Benedict medal and wanted a new one for Christmas. I immediately thought 1.) oh, that's kind of adorable, and 2.) I WANT ONE.

Except not St. Benedict. Because I am not a spelunker, a monk, or suffering from a gallstone issue.

*Please note: I do not want everyone who reads this go out and buy me a medal like that year when I mentioned A History of Violence was kind of a cool movie and I ended up with more copies than Viggo's mom. I asked my mom for it, I'm thinking she'll take care of it. :)*

Anyway. I needed a saint to put on the medal that I want. I don't have a saint. I already have a crucifix and a Miraculous Medal, so I'm out of luck with those. I kind of got screwed at birth when my parents didn't give me a saint's name. My confirmation name is Elizabeth, but that's mostly because I didn't want to end up with a FOURTH Christian name.

So I am forced to search for patronage. Which is fine, I am almost positive that in the two thousand years of Church history, surely someone has gotten a useless doctorate. Right? Or art history. I mean, during the Renaissance, the Church was the only reason there was any art.

I'm positive that at least one cardinal was in it for the glorification of Christ and not just something nice to show his mistress when he walks her through the hallways. ("What's the stench, honey?" "Oh, just our souls. But look! Bernini!")

Obviously not.

Because there is no patron saint of historians or theological historians (which I'm halfway convinced is just something Marquette dreamed up to bilk me out of another 30k a year), at least not officially. Apparently, Bede is the front runner, but all the pages are blogs and I found as many saying that he wasn't. Also, he is famous for mistranslating some primary sources, and I do not need any more help in the mistranslating department, Bede. Thanks but no thanks.

Art history apparently doesn't exist at all as a profession (In the real world either! Ha! I'll be here all week!), and the closest you can come is archivist or archaeologist. *sigh* I am not an archivist or an archaeologist. I am interested in High Renaissance and later. The didn't bury a whole lot of Caravaggio's.

The closest two were Catherine of Alexandria (by far the best Catherine) or Jerome, both of whom are apparently more helpful than God when it comes to intercessions. If I were a travelling knife maker in Piceno, Italy who moonlighted as a wheelwright? I'd go to Catherine. A monk who is also a librarian, and struggling with anger issues? Jerome.

St. Jerome seemed like a good choice, as he is apparently the patron of all things dorky and scholarly, and hello! If you were a girl we'd be finished by now!, but not history per se. And since I haven't exactly written that thesis on the synoptic vs. Johannine traditions yet, so I feel like a fraud going to the Biblical scholarship guy. (Although maybe he could help me with financial aid?)
Also, I kind of want a girl.

So we're left with Catherine! Who is like perfect, except if we're going for specifics. (Which, apparently, I'm not as my chosen profession doesn't require intercession. I beg to differ, Vatican. Y'all are priests. You have the cushiest gig EVER. Did you ever have to write a dissertation while your eggs were falling out of you at approximately one every twenty-five pages? No? NO.)

I'm sorry. I'm a little bitter.

She's the patron of female students, which I am. And she's supposedly wicked helpful, and I need that if I am ever going to be gainfully employed. In a rather ironic note, she supposedly appeared to Joan of Arc, which only makes sense if you know me, but if you do, then it totally does! And she's had a bunch of pretty paintings done of her. So we're almost at art history. Certainly closer than "archivist".

And Catherine is as close to Kathleen as you can find.

There you go. Saint found.

It's her feast day, so that's why you got this ridiculously long post tonight.

Various and Sundry Items:

Because I am entirely too exhausted for punctuation or, like, sentences or something crazy like that.

-I'm very exhausted.

-I would like to advertise for anyone who wants to drive my brother to school on Wednesday. It is my first day off in like ALL SEMESTER LONG (That's not true. But it's been awhile.) and I really want to sleep in and yeah, I don't care if you're a pedophile, Criminal-Minds-type-unsub, or wielding a hatchet. Just have him there by 8:20 and we'll be good.

-OMG THANKSGIVING COMING SO HAPPY OMG

-Apparently, I know someone who commits insurance fraud. Huh.

-PBS is currently showing the documentary "The Rape of Europa", based on a book that I got for Christmas last year and love quite possibly more than my parents. Nazis? Paintings? Nazis and paintings? I am there.

-My page-a-day calendar is a painting of St. Catherine of Alexandria. I think it was a misprint, because her feast day is tomorrow, and that seems too close to be just like, oh, we're going to put this painting here...Tomorrow, you'll get a post about St. Catherine of Alexandria and my long quest for a patron saint and WHY IS THERE NO PATRON SAINT OF HISTORIANS I AM NOT AN ARCHAEOLOGIST. *ahem* That is forthcoming.

-I am going to bed. Good night.

Happy Birthday John!!!

Unlike last year, I am not too wasted to give him a birthday shout-out, especially on this, a rather unpleasant birthday.

(I am, however, not even going attempt to link to last year. Way too much work.)

Despite the fact that you were clearly the favored male child in our little abode, the last sixteen years have been quite fun, and know that we all know what you're going through, and no, that doesn't make it any easier. But still. Support! And all that!

Yeah. Art history is coming freaking early, y'all, after my Manhattan-on-an-empty-stomach. So good night!

Congressman, no one watches C-SPAN.

Ahaha. It's no Sarah Palin, but SNL was funny tonight.

Today was massively exciting. I restrained myself from killing several customers who annoyed me to extreme extents (A few hints: If the person you are buying a gift for is already in law school, an LSAT prep guide is not appropriate. Also. If the person you are buying a gift for is already pregnant but not far enough along to not worry about miscarriage, don't buy her a pregnancy book. We do not sell Gosh, I Hope That Amniotic Sac is Really Securely Attached to Your Endometrium Gift Sets.). I washed my hair. And my sheets.

Yeah. It was pretty exciting.

Come on Get Higher- The Most Embarrassing Shuffle Ever

1. Put you music player on shuffle.
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
3. YOU MUST WRITE THAT SONG NAME DOWN NO MATTER HOW SILLY IT SOUNDS!
4. Tag 10 friends who might enjoy doing the memo as well as the person you got the memo from.

Ahaha. This was fun. A disclaimer: I am, quite possibly, the biggest dork on the planet. I could go to ComicCon and no one would want to hang out with me. So please, be nice. :)

(Oh, I did skip Christmas songs, because they're not usually on my iPod.)

IF SOMEONE SAYS "IS THIS OKAY" YOU SAY?
King of Pride Rock, Lion King. (Perhaps I just roar at them.)

WHAT WOULD BEST DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONALITY?
Go Your Own Way, Fleetwood Mac. (Um, this actually kind of makes sense.)

WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL?
The Tudors Main Theme, Trevor Morris (I like them to be royal. And crazy. Crazy royals.)

HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY:
Domine Jesu (Requiem Mass), Mozart. (Spooky. If you asked me "how are you today?" I would probably answer "Lord Jesus..." Less praise and more, OH MY GOD WANT TO DIE.)

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE'S PURPOSE?
Benedictus (Requiem Mass), Mozart. (I don't think so...)

WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO?
Let Me Fall, Josh Groban. (That's kind of cool, I guess.)

WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
Livin' on a Prayer, Bon Jovi. (My friends think I am a down-on-my-luck couple from New Jersey?)

WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?
California Dreaming, The Mamas and the Papas. (Definitely not. I have no desire to ever go to California. I do daydream a lot, though.)

WHAT IS 2+2?
Here Without You, 3 Doors Down. (???)

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?
Somebody Told Me, The Killers. (I don't know. I don't think that my best friend has a boyfriend that looks like a girlfriend that I had in February of last year. At least not that I know about.)

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
One Last Shot, Klaus Badelt. (Um. No. Hope not.)

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?
Beethoven, Symphony #9 in D Minor. (I am long and classical and there is a hefty German woman screeching in the middle somewhere.)

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?
Collide, Howie Day.

WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
You'll Never Walk Alone, Barbara Streisand. (Okay...)

WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?
Mandy, Barry Manilow. (My parents think I am a lost love? I guess?)

WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?
At Wit's End, Hans Zimmer (No, I will not be dancing to an eight minute song from the third POTC movie.)

WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
I Did it For You, David Cook. (Yes, it was all for you. AND NOW I'M DEAD AND YOU SHOULD HAVE APPRECIATED ME MORE.)

WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?
Bad Day, Daniel Powter (Wow. Flashback. Remember when this was big for like five minutes? Anyway, I do have a lot of them. But I don't think it qualifies as a hobby.)

WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?
My Immortal, Evanescence. (Not even close. Or even a song that reminds me of my biggest secret(s).)

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?
Eyes on Me, Celine Dion (No comment.)

WHAT'S THE WORST THING THAT COULD HAPPEN?
I'm Yours, Jason Mraz (I suppose being so hot that other people melted would be troublesome.)

HOW WILL YOU DIE?
The Star of the County Down, The Irish Rovers (Well, I suppose writing about County Down may kill me. And this song- with different words- was actually played at my grandfather's funeral. So that's kind of weird.)

WHAT IS THE ONE THING YOU REGRET?
The Scientist, Coldplay (Actually, one of the things I regret is not taking the CLEP chem exam and getting some lab credits.)

WHAT MAKES YOU LAUGH?
Honey, Honey, Mamma Mia Soundtrack (Well, the weird little giggle after Amanda Seyfried says "thing" kind of makes me laugh.)

WHAT MAKES YOU CRY?
Up is Down, Hans Zimmer (I did cry at the end of the movie.)

WILL YOU EVER GET MARRIED?
To Where You Are, Josh Groban (I'm going to be a widow?)

WHAT SCARES YOU THE MOST?
I Say a Little Prayer For You, The cast of My Best Friend's Wedding (Love the movie, but people breaking into song in the middle of lunch is rather terrifying.)

DOES ANYONE LIKE YOU?
Follow You Down, Gin Blossoms (I have a stalker?)

IF YOU COULD GO BACK IN TIME, WHAT WOULD YOU CHANGE?
Bad Boy, Cascada (Maybe I would change my fascination with Europop.)

WHAT HURTS RIGHT NOW?
Only Time, Enya (I guess "Everything" was asking too much.)

WHAT WILL YOU POST THIS AS?
Come on Get Higher, Matt Nathanson. (I have a higher level of self awareness.)

Tales From the Hardware Store

Scene: Home Depot. A young woman stands in the painting supplie aisle.

Flunky: Can I help you, miss?

Author's Note: Do you think it was the heels that made him eralize that perhaps I needed help? Or the belted trenchcoat? The fact that I vomitted a little upon entering the establishment?

Morena: Do you have a gun? A knife? A month's supply of valium? Um. Yeah. Do you have plastic drop cloths?

Flunky: Uh...I think so. We have rolls of plastic that you can cut. How big does it have to be?

Morena: I don't know. Big. Ish. It's a bathroom. And there needs to be enough left over for me to smother myself because the noose idea is out, I just ripped down the shower rod Not huge.

Flunky: Okay. Here you go.

***

Oh! Major life skill alert! I SPACKLED today, y'all. I was in a rush and I didn't have time to fully appreciate it, but I do so love anything that reminds me of frosting a cake.

Yeah. I don't know either. It's been a long day. I've watched two videos about paramilitaries (Baby Irish terrorists! So cute!) and tried for like an hour to figure out how the story about the professor's toddler scribbling on the walls and hardwood floors (Sad note about my life: I involuntarily flinched when he said that, because no! What if they had to repaint! *horror*) related in the least to the Anglo-Iraqi war and partition of Iraq.

I have yet to figure it out.

I officially watch too much CSI.

Tonight I was cleaning up after dinner and I dropped a container of spaghetti sauce. It kind of exploded all over the brewery.

And my first thought was, "Oh, that looks just like medium velocity spatter all over my walls."

Yes. I do suck.

Meanwhile, can we talk about Jason Alexander's crazytastic hair on Criminal Minds?

I had a story, I really did.

I remember sitting in some class this morning thinking, "Hmm. I should write this down." But I didn't, and obviously now I don't remember what it is.

I have end of the semseter brain. It's kind of like pregnancy brain, but without the screaming child at the end. You just get another 18 credits on your trasncript. Less adorable, but also easier to take care of. Multiple papers and projects and presentations and yeah, I'm burned out.

And also freezing. Really. Really. Freezing.

So I'm going to go watch Bones (Season 3 on DVD! WHEE!!!) and go to bed. Good night.

I know I'm inordinately shy, but...

...okay, so you know how at Mass sometimes (especially during the week) some churches do this thing after the petitions where people can say their own special petitions? And they're usually just for kids and parents and abortion and such, but sometimes they're hilarious because you'll get a totally random save those in Russia one? (Yes, there is a whole story that goes with that. It involves a priest yelling. It's interesting.)

Yeah. Those.

Well, this morning I was sitting in church- not my church, and these people are vocal. I mean- LOUD. Screaming, usually. And really, really conservative. The day before the election there were so many for exactly the same stuff that finally the priest was like, "Okay, moving on." Anyway. We got the usual shouting about abortion and then one that kind of made me smile about how the Democrats are going to ruin the country and honey, if we could survive the moral decay that was the Clinton administration, we can survive anything.

But then this one guy prays for more healthy sex within marriage, and the end of sick sex within marriage.

...

Yeah. It got really quiet. Really fast.

I mean, I get where he's coming from and all but...wow. Awkward.

Anyway. That's my story for today.

New career goal.

So I just read this amazing book, The Reincarnationist. About a guy who is having flashbacks to the year 391, when Christianity was taking off in Rome mostly due to, you know, Theodosius killing everyone who refused to convert.

(This is the precise moment when my father will throw up his hands and bemoan my "indoctrinated" state somehow ignoring the fact that I am a damn good Catholic and even go to morning Mass occasionally and yes, I think you can do that and also find some moral quandaries in the Crusades, but NO! I am just a brainwashed product of the public education system. Even though I spent precisely six months in public education and the rest of the time at the freaking dining room table so if it's anyone's fault it's your wife's, Dad.)

Anyhoodles, he thinks he's been reincarnated, and has to save his 391-girlfriend from dying (she was a vestal virgin, which they apparently take seriously and buried her when discovered that she was more vestal than virgin- oh snap) or a bunch of people in the current period will be killed. Or something. It's very complicated. There are stones, and art pieces, and a guy named Malachai.

Disclaimer: I don't believe in reincarnation. At all. Totally not. So Mom, calm down, I'm not going to hell. Even though I think the Crusades may have been a slight overreaction to Muslims capturing territory in Anatolia.

ANYWAY. The main girl character is a ridiculously young archaeologist (excuse me, did you start your dissertation in high school?) who discovers this tomb that redefines history and the time/space continuum and yeah, that's what I want to do now.

What? It's slightly more plausible than Queen of England.

My people are an inside people.

I'm fairly certain that the reason my family ended up in the United States was less a hope for a better life and more a the famine cottages? Got a little drafty.

So imagine my amusement at having a twig snap back and end up in my mouth while I teetered through the woods in heeled boots. Or rather, imagine Colleen's amusement, as she was doubled over laughing.

It was fun and there were pictures, which will be up tomorrow probably because I actually have a day off!

Which I am thrilled about if only so that I can begin my paramilitary editing and footnoting and get that out of the way before I have to devote this week to my presentation on where the ancient Israelites came from (Beats me with a stick. Canaan? Maybe? I don't know. Ask me something New Testament.), because Yahweh knows it won't get done Thanksgiving week.

Yes. That is my terribly exciting, glamorous life. IRA and Biblical studies. Woot.

Johns Hopkins should do a study on me.

Fridays are deeply unhealthy days for me. Physically, emotionally, psychologically. Everything. I usually spend the day at a place that it kept at a temperature where we could hang meat in the living room, usually balancing on a ladder that should not be a ladder anymore, not eating, having several mental breakdowns, and then by the time I get home I'm so mad/sad/hurt that I drink. A lot.

Yep. It is a damn good thing I got my paper finished this morning, because my analysis of the Anglo-Irish War right now? OH MY GOD SHUT THE FRICK UP AND DEAL, IRELAND.

Did Britain ever die and leave you with wallpaper that needed to be peeled, but only after you stop crying about the note you found behind the security system because you seriously miss Britain like a lot? No. Did Britain ever send a loser handyman to your house an hour late only to tell you that he can't do what you waited around for hours and hours but hey, this door is totes okay? No. Did Britain ever give you weird infections from Christ knows what is behind that wallpaper that just got shoved up your nail bed? Nooo.

Ethnic cleansing? Violated civil rights? Internment? Please. Ireland, call me when you have real problems.

It was a good day.

I aced a test and stole like seven spoons from the union so I didn't have to go to Target. Score.

Oh! I read Celine Dion's 291-page French Canadian wet dream autobiography! Holy awkwardness Batman, she never really left that whole teenager thing behind, did she?

Learn to handle your inappropriate crushes, is all I'm saying. We all have them. Part of being a big girl is dealing with them in an appropriate way. I usually just go "Haha, this is kind of funny. Moving on..." I do not usually convince myself that he is in love with me because he is talking to me/isn't talking to me/is screwing his wife/isn't screwing his wife/is French Canadian (I'm sorry. It's funny.), and then attempt to jump him with my newly found "mature woman" smile.

No, I'm not kidding.

This, children, is a fantastic book and one that everyone should totally really like, right now.

And I forgot to send out my cards.

Okay, it was Roe v. Wade day in constitutional history. It happens in every constitutional law class- you devote an entire day to an issue that is not a constitutional issue and should never have gone before the court in the first place and when it did was decided based on a case that was also poorly chosen and ruled upon.

(No, I have no opinions. Why do you ask?)

Which meant that I had to sit through a fantastically awkward debate that I never actually participated in because hey, I don't talk in class about normal things. You can bet that I'm not opening my mouth to talk about anything that requires me to say "uterus".

Hell no.

Anyway, not the funny part. The professor was talking about how there is a pill available to induce an abortion up to fifty five days after conception, and this guy behind me pipes up, "Oh! But it's not 100% reliable. Believe me, I know!"

And the entire class just turned around and looked at him and then burst into laughter just like, "Excuse me?"

It was scary and amusing at the same time.

I need a break.

I have a tension headache and that causes me to clench my jaw and then that hurts even more. Gah. Hate. Oh, and I burned popcorn earlier, so the house sort of reeks of burnt stuff. And Oust. because the smell was bugging me so much I walked in a circle with the can held above my head.

It's been an interesting day.

All the writing about paramilitary groups- it's getting to me. My professor said that in Germany they made a "Terrorist on Board" maternity t-shirt, because they're so reminiscent for the days of paramilitary groups. Which made me think, 1.) I want one. Just to see what would happen. I really, really want one, and b.) how much does Germany suck now that extreme left-wing student groups are a good time requiring maternity wear?

I seriously need to get out. Or have a drink. One of the two.

Dear Village of Whitefish Bay:

Um. Yeah. We've had a complicated relationship, I know. I mean, you have drivers that are crazy. But on the other hand, you have Bayshore. Which I love. Or rather, loved. When I wasn't poor and considering prostitution as a viable way to pay for my graduate degree(s).

Recently, we've been okay. But this morning, we had a problem. See, it's Monday. I have a lovely Monday routine. It involves your Starbucks. Frankly, I would maybe have to drive into Lake Michigan on the way to school on Mondays if I didn't have an overpriced cup of milk to look forward to. (I didn't say it was healthy, I just said it was lovely.)

Except this morning. This morning, dear village, you decided to have road construction. Now, I'm not too pleased with the fact that you decided to tear up Silver Spring when clearly you should have realized that I use it quite often because Capitol Drive is scary, man, and I like laughing at the crazy people doing yoga on the bluff. But okay, I can forgive you. Mostly I'm mad at myself for always forgetting until I end up on Silver Spring and then have to turn and take weird tiny little roads past schools I didn't even know existed to pick up Colleen on Fridays, but whatever. My Starbucks was always okay.

Until this morning. When they were closed because they had no electricity because there was construction right in front of it.

Not okay, Whitefish Bay. NOT OKAY. I don't care that it's mildly inconvenient to drive around, but YOU DO NOT SCREW WITH MY STARBUCKS, MMKAY??? I have a very long week ahead of me, and dammit, I need a venti skinny caramel latte in a Christmas cup.

Let's hope this is cleared up by next Monday, or I may have to take my business elsewhere. To the Starbucks up the road. Yeah. That'll show you.

Love,
Morena

It's Sunday night...

...and that clearly means I have nothing to say.

Except to Imladris: I do not appreciate the lovely little add-ons that you put on my shopping list. Perhaps if you spent less time reading stuff on my nightstand it wouldn't be so hilarious to you that yes, I buy deodorant (scandal!). I don't just go upstairs and borrow someone else's. And oh, my post last night was not riddled with grammatical errors. In fact, there were no grammatical errors and only two misspellings, which I think we can all agree is very good for me, who still has a problem spelling "definitely". (What? The spelling. It was never my thing. God bless her, my mother tried. It didn't work.)

Anything else? No? I'm writing a paper about the IRA. Very interesting. Absolutely crazy, batshit group. I freaking love it. I love that all the Irish-Americans totally loved them because hey! They're Irish! And they hate the British! So do we! Give us back our potatoes! even more.

When my mom was in Ireland in 1981 (or, looking back, Yeah, Probably a Good Thing You Didn't Go To the Beleek Factory Period) she was convinced that some distant relative they visited was a member of the IRA because they were weird and shady and perhaps showed up in a ski mask one day.

(I made that last part up, I don't know if he was wearing ski mask. But I doubt my grandmother would have noticed, what with all the Waterford there was to be purchased.)

I find that fascinating. I don't support them, but I really, really want a member of my family in a paramilitary organization.

You know, for street cred.

I'm not sure what street an IRA member gives you cred on, but hell, I want it.

Now, if only he'd open a credit card in my name...

HELL TO THE YEAH I GOT AN A IN COLD WAR. On both the paper and midterm.

This makes me deliriously happy and also confirms my suspicions that professors are drunk most of the time, because that? Was not an A paper.

This also confirms my suspicions that I would make an excellent professor. Especially since I spent this evening drinking sangria and writing a con law paper and frankly I think a little vino makes my constitutional analysis much, my better.

I'm going to kick ass at this whole professor thing.

Oh, and we figured out that I could add a fireplace for like five grade. Score. Now, I just need some guy who has five grand and wants to buy me a fireplace. You can contact me through this blog!!!

Taking Count

At the end of Friday...

-I still have no grade in cold war.

-I got no painting done, but did clean everything up in the house.

-I raked the front yard and not the backyard because oh, my, Lord SO MANY LEAVES WHY GOD WHY???

-I was called a "woman bartender" like six times.

-I was hit on like six times.

-I was asked if I was single, because (and I quote), "I'm not going home alone." Oh, au contraire, sir.

-I was paid off like a whore.

-All in all, a good day.

Grade Update

So you know that grade I talked about earlier this week? That I didn't have yet? And could be an A or a D?

Yeah. That one.

I still don't have it. THREE WEEKS AFTER THE DAMN STUFF AND I STILL DO NOT HAVE IT.

He misplaced the tests. So he'll try to e-mail us tomorrow morning with our grades, otherwise Tuesday.

Oh. My. Lord. I hate him. I hate him so much.

CBS owns my soul.

Criminal Minds? Reid's dad? My inner fangirl is going crazy.

And I have had a very long day of writing about the the book of Joshua and avoiding studying for my imperialism test tomorrow (I'm good with everything except the Sudan. Mohammed Ahmed did something? To somone? At some point in the 1800s? And then Charles Gordon came and killed a bunch of people? I don't know. Whatever.), so I needed a little bit of fangirl.

So I'm going to bed. Au revoir.

The historian in me is thrilled, the citizen not so much.

But I'm trying not to be bitter. It's over, I'm trying to not to be bitter, and I just really, really hope that this doesn't go the way I think it might.

And also, I have been told by Colleen certain members of my family that my bitterness is bringing the party down. And I'd just like to ask Colleen certain members what the hell she thought we were going to do, we stuck an elephant head on you and put you on the corner of Port Rd and Hwy C?

ColleenCertain members are now on the phone with significantly more enthused friends.

I, meanwhile, have consumed significantly more alcohol than is probably healthy and yeah, I'm staying home tomorrow. Yeah.

But I am going to go watch his speech, because I am a historian, and I do realize that this is a milestone.

It doesn't make me any happier about it.

Just so you know.

Disjointed.

Um. Wow. I'm tired. I had, like, tons of stuff to do today, and I accomplished like, maybe 25% of it. But it was the important 25%!!! I got my major/minor out, figured out when I can take the GRE, and finally (?) decided that wasting hours studying and an entire Saturday and the $100 fee to take the LSAT for absolutely no reason would be pretty damn stupid. Oh, and I ironed the jacket I'm going to wear tomorrow.

The Biblical civ paper about the conquest vs. peaceful infiltration or peasant revolt models? Not so much with the "finished".

But it's not my fault! I had a whole little plan and then Colleen came home and the Spring schedule was released and then I had to drive all the way back to frickin' UWM which is, like, far man, and I dislike starting papers when it's already dark outside. (Shut up. I will too do well in graduate school.)

So yeah. Totes not my fault.

Tomorrow is a watershed moment, y'all. No, I don't mean because of the election. Because frankly I may be lazy and incapable of writing after dark, but I'm not stupid and I can see the writing on the wall. It does not say "McCain/Palin 2008".

No, tomorrow is the day I get my cold war paper and midterm back. Which totals like 60% of my grade. And I have absolutely no idea how I did on either of them. I knew what I was talking about, so it could go A. Or it could have been completely not what he was looking for and go D.

Thanks entirely to my Grandfather, I don't know, taking the tests for me from the beyond, I have managed to hold a sold A in every other one of my classes right now, despite the fact that major neural pathways have been damaged from paint fumes and I cringe like a PTSD victim everytime I see a catalogue advertising anything that you would put on an occasional table.

Yeah, I don't know how either.

Anyway, this is my last one and I'm freaking out.

I'm going to bed now. Good night.

My thoughts! Let me show you them!

So TLC is doing a show called "Purity Balls", which, as near as I can tell, is about how dads in the south dress up their daughters in low-cut dresses and then dance with them while forcing them to sign a pledge saying they won't have sex with anyone else.

(I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. But this show? Is creepy and judgemental and not nearly as fun as the preview looked.)

And wow, I have so many comments, but they can be boiled down to my basic philosophy that major decisions should not have to be marked by a ring/pledge/ball, and even the idea of marking it with a ring/pledge/ball infantilizes the person making the decision.

But that's just me. If you want to wear a chastity ring? Whatever doesn't blow your skirt up.

I'm going to go back to watching the crazy people destroy relationships with their daughters because she made a mistake.

Adventures in Retail

It's the holiday season, at least in retail. And that means that there is a ton of crap that you have to put up that sparkles and spins and is "gifty" (which, for me, means "anything I could find on the shelf").

This year, it appears we are featuring a DVD of a fireplace. Which it touted as being realistic. And now with a loop function! Because you know nothing kills the mood like the FBI criminal notice when the DVD starts over! But fear not, because now "this fire is eternal". And also, the package touts that the romance will never be interrupted by the fire alarm.

Excuse me?

What the hell kind of fires are you starting that your fire alarm goes off? In the middle of the living room? Because I'm pretty sure that's not recommended.

As though this wasn't enough hilarity, then we all got a recall notice for some cookbook because they explained how to cook a turkey incorrectly. The book was called (I kid you not), "How to Have the Best Holiday Ever".

Salmonella!!!

So now I don't know how to have the best holiday ever. And damn it, this year was going to be so fun anyway.

Sure, the one thing he doesn't have...

I mean, I know there hasn't been anybody menstruating in that house since well, my mom left in 1983, but honestly, I didn't think that meant anything. But I guess it's okay to keep expense reports from 1968 but can we hold on to one box of Tampax? Nooo. I guess not.

So I finished the kitchen this morning, which I am now calling my kitchen because I may just decide to stay in there it's so pretty. Like seriously. They'll have to rent it with a redhead sitting on the floor in the corner. It's all eggshell and clean and I cannot wait until the doors are back on the cabinets and it will be so pretty!!!

And now I've realized a teensy weensy little baby problem with this whole fixing-it-to-rent-thing.

Um, I don't want to do the rent part.

In my head I'm fixing it for me. And then I realize that some other losers are going to be eating breakfast and *gasp* showing in my shower for like five years while I write about how maybe a well-timed nuke could have saved the world a hell of a lot of trouble by just wiping Northern Ireland off the map.

(No, for reals. The nationalists hated the unionists. The unionists hated the nationalists. The nationalists wanted to be Irish. The Irish didn't want anything to do with the nationalists. The unionists wanted to be British. The British wanted nothing to do with the unionists. And then Tommy Makem wrote a song and confused the whole damn matter and wow, Ireland really didn't want Northern Ireland back. OH MY GOD JUST BE NORTHERN IRISH ALREADY HOW DID IT TAKE YOU UNTIL 1999 TO FIGURE THIS OUT. GAH.)

(Yes. Yes, I did just pick the single most frustrating twenty-five years in western history for my focus. I enjoy pain.)

Anyway, there will be other people in my kitchen. And my bathroom. And my pretty white bedroom. DO NOT WANT.

This is like buying a fixer-upper and then letting somebody else sleep in your pretty new fixer-upped bedroom. I have never been very good at sharing. I'm not any better now.

But the kitchen! Pretty!!!

(I'm taking the linen closet, btw.)

(No way are Hypothetical Gay Couple kicking their gross little Hypothetical Gay Toes into my linen closet.)

I tire of this.

I have a pretty high pain threshold. Don't get me wrong, I still whine. A lot. Like, all the time. About everything. But not usually about being sick or in pain or anything. I mean, I literally haven't not had a sinus headache a single day since July, I have a pinched nerve in my back that must be a thoracic nerve because it hurts every time I breathe in (thank you, Dr. Moyer and your physiological psych class of doom, but at least I know where my pain originates from now), and I swear to God I have endometriosis. None of this really bothers me.

But oh, my, God, the head cold. I want to die. DIE.

So there was supposed to be studying and imperialism flashcards and maybe some rambling about how Belgium totally took over the Congo and omg, not cool, Leopold II, what the hell, man? But there wasn't. Instead there was some cuddling with a quilt. And some sneezing. And some Office-watching. It was funny. Really funny. The sneezing? Not so much.

Le anyhoodles, my colds usually go through phases, and I really hope that today marks the end of the runny nose thing, becuase I will be spending tomorrow in a drafty house doing manual labor, and I really, really do not relish doing that with a swollen nose.

Really. Really not.

A severe lack of television.

Morena is not amused. As I do not feel like watching a half hour Obama orgasm, my viewing choices are limited to ABC and...um...Discovery Health? Maybe?

(Although if you do want to watch a half hour Obama orgasm, knock yourself out. My main problem with it is less that it's not the guy I want to win and more OH MY LORD A WHOLE HALF HOUR??? SERIOUSLY??? You've been campaigning since like 1995 already, what more could there possibly be to say??? *ahem*)

And I seriously laughed when I read this article, because, um, my reaction today- at 21- would be exactly the same as that little Obama girl if my father were running for President and bought air time during primetime.

Oh, hell no, Daddy. I don't care if you think you can save the nation, you will not preempt Pushing Daisies.

Thankfully, Pushing Daisies is going to be on. Even though it's a stupid ratings decision because it's dead already and putting it up against the most popular candidate ever omg, not smart, ABC, not smart. But I don't care, because I need something to watch.

Courtesy of Everyone On the Bus

Dear Annoying Couple,

Hi there. I'm the girl sitting in the seat across from you, scowling. Yes, that's right. I'm scowling at you. Not at the bleak sky, or the fact that I'm sick of school and just really want to go home, or even at the twelve people who are scowling at me because I do not think that Barack Obama is Jesus returned to us in a more region-appropriate skin color and choose to tell UWM the world about this through a button on my bag. No, I'm scowling at you.

Because the bus? Is not cuddle time.

It is not the appropriate place to nuzzle each other. It is not the appropriate place to lightly kiss, grinning widely. It is not the appropriate place to mumble incoherently into each other's (ungroomed) hair. It is not the appropriate place to grin smugly and condescendingly out at the rest of us poor losers without someone slobbering on our jackets (And yeah, we're all staring. And not with envy.) It is emphatically not the appropriate place to lie down on his lap and then just...cuddle.

All of these things are nauseatingly okay to do in the comfort of your own apartment/back of the car/underneath a bleacher when your roommate/mom/parole officer is out of vomiting distance.

But definitely not okay on a bus. Some of us are already nauseated and our rapidly plunging electrolytes might not be able to handle one more Eskimo kiss.

Also rather inconsiderate. The bus is crowded. There is a guy standing. If you are going to sit on each other's laps, would you please just do so and allow that poor guy to sit down, instead of having to slide underneath your butt as you lean in for another nuzzle? (He didn't, I'm just saying that's what would have had to have happened.)

So please, Annoying Couple. Please save the making out until you exit the rear of the vehicle. The student population thanks you.

Love,
Morena

Capitalism took a hit today.

I'm sitting in Hebrew Studies, pretending to study my Hebrew like a good little shiksa, and all of a sudden the professor begins whining about capitalism. And how this whole American experiment has totes failed and we seriously need to switch to socialism, which, in it's pure form is totally awesome and yeah, communism didn't work so well, but this! This will save us!!!

There are three Republicans in that class, and we all kind of huddle in the corner. And we all just looked at each other like, "what the...???"

Let's ignore for a moment the fact that socialism will never be practically implemented for the simple reason that if it is practically implemented, it will never ever work. NEVER. Let's instead focus on the fact that this is a Jewish civ class. And yeah, it may be a stereotype, but I'm fairly certain that the Jews? THEY LIKE CAPITALISM. A LOT.

Oh, and he was ostensibly talking about the transition from the period of the judges to the period of the kings, and how they threw off this whole broken system thing. Except the analogy totally breaks down because they were transitioning from a totally broken system to a not-much-better-and-oh-yeah-quite-possibly-completely-mythical system and the United States is...um...not.

Then I get home and Germ is keening in the corner because he has to talk about how Thoreau Emerson feels about 21st century capitalism in slightly more eloquent words than *headdesk*.

And wow, I almost hauled myself over to my local Democratic Party of Wisconsin headquarters and signed up to volunteer because MY GOD I will become socialist if it will make that assignment go away so I can turn the sound on for Chuck.

Yeah. The invisible hand? Was missing today.

Okay, 17 Kids and Counting is my new favorite show.

I freaking love to hate the crazy fundamentalists. My mom wondered how I knew they were fundamentalist. I replied that um, they were just reading Scripture in the car. I'm betting they think the Exodus was real too. (And let me tell you, after eight years of homeschooling, I have seen my fair share of women in long skirts who were fairly certain I was going to hell because I think breastfeeding is gross.)

Apparently, kissing before marriage is wrong. WRONG. SIN. OH MY GOD YOU WHORE OF BABYLON WRONG. (Again, I actually had a "health" book tell me that boys should save their kisses for the girl they were going to marry.)

So instead the newly engaged couple (who are both younger than me *barf*) just walk around holding hands. Sometimes both hands. Constantly. ALL THE TIME. Seriously. In the car, looking at the (disgusting) house, while buying a car, hanging out on the couch, ALL THE FREAKING TIME.

And wow, please just throw down and make out already because the hand-holding SO ANNOYING. Gah.

See? SEE? This is why you need a real religion! Without two millenia of doctrine set down by people (who at times- I'm looking at you, Middle Ages- were totally gung-ho on the whole sex issue) you come up with crap like this.

And then I am forced to watch your crack-like TLC show.

Again, not good.

Oh, Sarah. Why are you making this so difficult?

Helpful Tidbits of Information from "The New Information Please! Almanac, 1949 Edition".

I ran out of paint and had no choice but to go through books. From when there were only 48 states. I also have a sheaf of pictures of the atomic bomb destruction that references the Manhattan Project on the cover with my grandfather's name. And I am really trying hard to remember that that's what we had to do, but wow, that's a hospital that was just destroyed.

Anyway:

There are no Muslims or Islamic people in North America. There are, however, 1,400 Mohammedan people. Also, 50,000 Primates. I don't know what that means.

The English Civil War began in 1946. Huh. Because I could have sworn that it began in 1642.

There were no individual Olympic medals awarding in women's gymnastics, but six in mens. Boooring.

There was something called "Lawn Tennis", which requires six pages and apparently is regular tennis but way gayer.

The term "cold war" was still placed in quotes and not a proper noun yet.

The Berlin Airlift was going on, and therefore the only part mentioned was the part where Stalin locks down Berlin.

"The Security Council took stern action under Chapter VII of the Charter to stop the fighting in Palestine between Jews and Arabs." Good work boys.

Ulster is apparently only the six counties in Northern Ireland.

Great Britain controlled the Gold Coast, Uganda, Kenya, and Nigeria.

All history prior to 4000 BC is "nebulous", and the Egyptian civilization had it's start during this period. We think.

In 1300 BC Moses led the Jews out of Egypt. For shizz.

Wisconsin had exactly 23 Japanese.

3,437 single children and 13 sets of twins were born to mothers between the ages of 10 and 14. NO I AM NOT KIDDING.

Senility kills approximately 10,027 a year. Who knew?

There are no legal grounds for divorce in South Carolina.

In Louisiana, a man can get remarried a year after his divorce, but a woman must wait 22 months.

In Utah, a shooting range is a legal method of execution.

I am a riddle wrapped in an enigma.

Okay. For the past three months, I have been imploring you, my friends, indeed even random people on the street to never ever buy anything you will not use in the next month. Like that laundry detergent that advertises sixty loads? Unless you do two loads a day, BUY A SMALLER SIZE. Seriously.

But not today. Today I would like to put forth the idea that it is helpful if you stockpile batteries, aluminum foil, dishwasher detergent, and light bulbs. I know, right? Unlike me. I'm going somewhere, though, I promise. Stay with me.

Because my grandfather apparently enjoyed buying these things in large numbers and then stashing them in a scary little hole in the basement. Which I always avoided like the plague because um, scary little hole.

But today I was all geared up to be responsible and get the kitchen ready to paint, but when I went to plug in my iPod, I discovered that I had left the speakers on yesterday and they were all out of batteries. *woe* I was not painting without my tunes. Trashy Euro technopop is the only thing that keeps me from stopping to think long enough to actually feel anything in that house. "Self," I thought, "I'll bet Grandpa has some batteries. Perhaps in that little hole in the basement." And lo! There were batteries! Lots of batteries! When we run out of batteries at home, we usually live in darkness or without speakers or walk across the room to change the channel for like two weeks because we never ever have any batteries and Target is like all the way at the end of the road. So I brought those batteries home.

Then I realized that I could completely avoid my trip to Target that I had to make! Because I needed aluminum foil and Cascade! And I found both of those things in the little hole! It was awesome!

So thank you Grandpa for buying more crap than you could use in your 91 years of life. Because your kitchen looks awesome now that I was able to paint with my iPod on.

(The rule still holds for anything that looks like a bronze basket, a marble egg, or a coin. Those things- NEVER EVER BUY.)