I was born thirty years too late.

I really love television. Like, a lot. I was arguably more upset during the Writer's Strike than I have been at many funerals. I am pretty sure I'm the only person left who watched CSI:NY every week, but dammit, I love television.

And I do love old television. There was a time when I had every episode of My Three Sons on tape. My friend and I do the Jeannie blink almost as a greeting (it's significantly less alluring when we do it, as we're usually fully clothed and not wearing a bikini top and kept in a bottle only to service our astronaut masters- gosh, I wonder if a guy came up with that idea???). I could give you a rundown of every Bewitched episode EVER. Moving into the eighties, do not get me started on Who's The Boss or ALF. *love*

Tonight we're watching The Love Boat on DVD, which is pretty embarrassing even to write. But, oh, my God, the hilarity. Captain Stuebbing? Being all captainy and "I need to command respect!" AHAHAHAHAHA. Doc, of course, is in touch with his esteemed colleagues who are doing wonderful things with brain surgery/cancer care/osteoarthritis. Gopher is currently astounding me with his ability to be both an idiot and a representative to Congress, and Colleen is yelling cocaine jokes at the screen regarding Lauren Tewes'...um...issue.

Oh, it's a good time. Even better, this is a Charo episode. In a stunningly sensitive portrayal of our Mexican brethren, our favorite Coochie Coochie Girl has stowed away in both the ship...and Doc's heart.

I should have been born in 1960.

Happy Birthday, Daddy!

In honor of this most auspicious occasion of your birth, and since I kind of didn't get you a real present, I am willing to concede that some of the Crusades may have been undertaken for altruistic (if misguided) reasons. Some. Like, not the fourth. Or the Albigensian. I mean, I know they were heretics and all, but still, slaughtering your own people? Not cool. And I still have issues with the whole idea of a "holy" war. And I stand by my assertion that Innocent III was mostly concerned with growing the secular and imperial power of the Church and less so with the spiritual edification of the people, although he did call the Fourth Lateran Council. However, you could argue that this, too, was a grab for power, especially because he put the kibosh on religious orders...

But I digress. I give you the Crusades.

If I'm still poor and lazy next year, maybe I'll change my mind about McCarthy for you.

***

Now that we've got that out of the way, do you want to know how I managed to get paint on my hip bone and bra while wearing jeans and a t-shirt? Yeah, I would too. No idea. But it's there, and it is annoying me.

Also annoying me is the fact that I don't think the hallway looks very good, because the wall color and the ceiling color are kind of different and it bugs me, but like hell I'm painting the ceiling.

But hey, I only had to sit down and cry once today. Thankfully, I was alone and various workmen didn't have to witness my personal breakdown. It was much nicer that way.

I know it sounds stupid, but I think the only thing that gets me through these days at his house is going to Mass before- I feel closer to him there than anywhere else, and it gives me the strength to realize that this isn't it. It can't be it.

Oookay. This just got really heavy, really fast. I'm going to go have a glass of wine now.

I'm sure my mom is glad she quit her law practice to homeschool me.

About a week ago I had a minor breakdown and freaked out royally about graduate school because oh my God, I'm a junior already, and I should know what I'm going to do, and HOW THE FREAKING HELL AM I GOING TO PAY FOR THIS???

Shocking. I know. I'm normally so rational.

But that's not really part of the story. I requested information from a bunch of different places, and they've started arriving. A few days ago, Marquette sent me a packet about the theology program, and as I was opening it I managed to give myself four different cuts on my hand.

Yes. It's a special kind of stupid when one can mangle one's hand using an envelope. An envelope containing post-graduate opportunities. Winner.

Sooooo over this.

I have been back in school for approximately seventy-two hours and yeah, I could be a janitor. Totally. A second-shift janitor. A janitor who doesn't have to write pointless annotated primary source bibliographies at eight o'clock in the morning. That sounds AWESOME.

I. Cannot wait. For the weekend. I actually have a weekend this week, too- usually it's just two solid days of working. But this weekend I'm off for some reason- thank you poor economy. I really need a nap.

Oh, and this means I can celebrate all of the Cousin's birthday party/football torture. I think I shall take pictures and post them with sardonic comments on Facebook. Par-tay. Oh, I kid 'cuz I love.

Right now, however, I need to type up five topics from 20th century US history that interest me and I could have a shot in hell of finding primary sources on. So far I have...well, does anyone have any suggestions? Because I totally need some. Modern US history is not my thing. Colonial US history or modern European history? I'm there. But Modern US history? No. No. Boring. Icky. Gross. *shivers*

Can I write about an ecumenical council? Please?

It's every little girl's dream.

Finally getting around to watching A Very Duggar Wedding from Sunday, and oh, my Lord, the more I see of this cult family, the more disturbed I become.

(Go here for some of my earlier thoughts on the subject of the Duggar worldview.)

I actually took notes while I was watching, so bear with the little paragraphs.

We open with Anna being unable to go without seeing Satan Bob 2.0 until 7:00 at night OH MY GOD. Maybe she'll have time to wash her hands. Think of the bacteria.

Oh, here we go again with the kissing being impure. But apparently, Josh and Anna have "talked about it,". Yeah, baby. Talk about...kissing...some more? I don't know. This is weird. And here's Cousin Amy to talk abut kissing- that's some Whore of Babylon knowledge right there. Someone throw some holy water on her- stat.

We now come to quite possibly the most fantastic period of awkward creepy television- ever. Satan Bob decides to have a man-to-man talk with Josh. Tell me he brought him porn. Please tell me he brought him porn. He did! Sort of. I don't even know what to say about this, except "definition of normal sexual intercourse". I can't even begin to comment.

Oh, wait, yes I can. It's not like Legos. I don't think. Is it? Is that why Legos are so popular? Oh, Satan Bob 2.0 doesn't think he'll need the help, because he'll have a "working model". I'm sorry. What? Good Lord, she's not a blow-up doll.

Apparently Anna will not always want sex. Also, apparently, this doesn't affect anything at all in their relationship. Which at best makes me think that wow, creepy and at worst, wow, rape.

*Commercial Note: Sponsored in part by Plan B. Is that irony I smell?*

Jinger! Hi Jinger!

Okay, now they're reenacting the engagement. Really, they do have enough people for a theater troupe. Here's my reenactment:

Anna: Hey, aren't you that guy who came by our booth at the homeschooling conference thing once? John? James? Jim?
Josh: Josh. Wanna get married? Your parents said it was totes okay.
Anna: Sure! I'm already 17, losing eggs every month here.

Satan Bob and Michelle are getting nostalgic, "Can you believe twenty years ago..." I think she really means, "Can you believe it's been twenty years and I'm still &%*#(%& pregnant?"

Josh: "Doubt I'll be thinking about the food." Oh! Ha! Of course not. You've got that lovely little blow-up toy. Unfortunately, you can't deflate her and shove her in a closet when you're done.

Jinger just broke into Josh's car to do stupid things with it. Yes. This is a skill that will come in handy five years from now when she has to break into T-Bone's car behind the strip club she works at to steal her child support payments before he gives them to Crystal, her former BFF and coworker.

No dancing, no booze. Par-tay. This is going to be off the hizzy. Oh, the pastor just told us that the whole wedding at Cana story is a mistranslation- Christ turned the water into grape juice? Of course. That makes so much more sense. Now, I realize I'm just a prospective theology student, but even I know how much the Judeans loved their grape juice.

We're moving on to the actual wedding now- Anna's dad is rambling about how God ordained that her authority figure is now Satan Spawn 2.0, and not him. God ordained it? Really. Ordained it? I hate you so much right now.

Are they on a stage? Come to think of it, what makes these weird borderline Christian churches any different from, like, a warehouse? They certainly don't have a tabernacle. Huh. Weird.

OH HELL NO. YOU DO NOT GET TO LEAD ANNA. You are not "her priest and provider". She is in charge of her own soul, dammit. Free will, baby. It's in the Old Testament, the one you guys love so much. It's HER WILL. NOT YOURS. (Much like her cervix.)

"Submitting to his authority as is healthy." Oh hell no. Somebody hold my earrings.

OH MY GOD HE'S SINGING. Before a montage of their courtship in all of it's hand-holding glory. Satan Bob seems to think this is every woman's dream. It most definitely is not. I have a lot of dreams, including not being treated like an anatomically correct Growing Up Skipper doll by my husband, and also being in charge of my own immortal soul and eternal life. Being sung to by a guy who is one sneeze away from following Haley's Comet is nowhere on it.

First kiss---must we pretend that this is "waiting"? Really? TLC, don't you have some editorial discretion here? It's bordering on irresponsible.

So they can't kiss, but they can throw a garter? That makes no sense. "God forbid our noses touch, but here, let me play with your upper thigh."

Michelle Bob is feeling nostalgic- again. "Enjoy each other." Yeah. You enjoy Satan Bob when he goes home and puts you back in your cage.

Oh, wait. We've come to the end. When the lovebirds are inexplicably in their car listening to the CDs that Satan Bob thoughtfully provided. "Love involves close bodily contact and the pleasure of [...] knowing each other in the closest sense possible." OH MY GOD. I think I need to go throw up.

Healthy, Catholic, sexually-repressed throwing up.

I don't think I like this very much.

I'm a morning person. Not the kind that bounds out of bed all brightness and sunshine. Hell, no. The kind that grumbles but would rather get up at 5:00 in order to accomplish everything she needs to in order to have the late afternoon and evening as free as possible for very important things like Jon and Kate Plus 8 reruns on TLC. (Will Maddy throw a fit? Will Hannah scream loudly? The new episodes are like reruns.) Including school. I would much rather solid classes after eight and be home by two. Seriously.

Mondays and Wednesdays I'm not finished until 4:45, which means I won't get home until after 5:30 when you factor in the bus of doom. I do not enjoy this. I thought I'd be okay with it, but now I'm home and it's seven o'clock and my hair is wet and needs to be straightened (shut up, it's a delicate process), and I need ink but I don't want to go buy any because, dude, it's like nighttime out there, and there's still a load of towels in the dryer that I have to fold and How I Met Your Mother is on and I am not in an appropriate How I Met Your Mother-viewing mode, instead snapping at The Artist Formerly Known as the Boy.

(What else is new, you ask? This was an unprovoked snapping.)

Things went okay, though. Cuban history looks as good as a Cuban history class could to someone whose only interest in Cuban history is a fleeting glance at the Moscow-funded Cold War proxy battles. I have a feeling we're going to get a lot of discussion on how Castro is misunderstood, though. Cry me a river.

Methods is the most ridiculous class ever, because it's basically a tutorial on how to use JSTOR. I know how to use JSTOR. I have written major term papers using primary sources. I know what a primary source is. I fail to see how throwing my keys on the table and describing them as a primary source is going to help me at all in the future, even my history-centric future. Ugh.

And Minoan and Mycenaean art was the scene of, quite possibly, the best thing that's ever happened to me. The professor got my name right- on the first try! Seriously! I was shocked. After that, I stopped paying attention, but I think it looks easy.

Tomorrow is US/Israel relations, Ireland, and chemistry. So murder, famine, and then some history classes! HA! HA! See what I did there?

Yeah. I need to go eat something.

Live-Blogging the SAG Awards. Until I get bored.

8:27- In Memoriam Roll Call. I always tend to forget like half the people, and then get really sad when I remember that they're dead. Like Charlton Heston. I loved you in The Agony and the Ecstasy! Why are you dead?

8:28- Cyd Charisse! My grandma liked you. But I guess she's dead too.

8:29- Sydney Pollack is winning the applause-o-meter.

8:31- Paul Newman just took over the lead.

8:32- I just freaked out because they didn't do Heath Ledger and then my brother reminded me that he was dead before this one last year. Humph. Whatever. They should do him again.

8:33- Okay. Commercial recap. Hugh Laurie, Laura Linney, and the cast of Mad Men have already won. I am officially happier with these results than I have been at any other awards show this season. However, Ralph Fiennes still has no hair. I still do not find this attractive.

8:38- Oh, why do they even bother announcing the rest of the Supporting Actor noms? It's clearly going to be Heath Ledger.

8:39- Shocker. Heath Ledger.

8:40- I love how Brad Pitt has managed to convince people he is an actual actor and not just a ridiculously well-groomed teenage girl (basically). I hate what Angie has done to him.

8:42- I really want someone to give a drunken speech. No one has so far.

8:44- Okay, can I just say that awards shows are significantly less fun when you don't get to do weird and wonderful things with vodka? Why am I not drinking? Oh, right. School tomorrow. Poor form.

8:49- Yay Meryl Streep.

8:40:30- OH MY GOODNESS KATE!!! I LOVE YOU KATE! I WANT YOU AND LEO TO GET MARRIED AND HAVE BABIES.

8:50- Meryl Streep wins. I'm okay with that. She will probably not profess her undying love for Leonardo DiCaprio, but I did enjoy Doubt. O..kay. She just kissed Ralph Fiennes like full on the mouth. It's gonna be like that, huh, Meryl?

8:51- Ahahaha. "Awards mean nothing to me anymore." I love you, Meryl Streep. Even if your politics make me want to open a vein.

8:51:30- What's up with the sleeves, babe?

8:53- Indeed, let's thank Amy Adams. And Viola Davis. I heart them. Oh, and the Sisters of Charity. I'm sure they appreciate that, Meryl.

8:54- Tom Cruise was so kind as to unchain Katie Holmes from the basement for the evening. He did not, however, reprogram her speech center, as she is stumbling over words.

8:57- Oh, Sean Penn. I hate you so, so much.

8:59- SPYDADDY! Why are you here? I mean, I love you, but why?

9:00- Finally, best picture. Oh, I'm sorry, "best acting in an ensemble". Whatever.

9:01- Slumdog Millionaire. What is it about that movie? Why is everybody so into it. Meh. Maybe I should actually go see it. Maybe. Probably not. Boring speech. I can't understand you, Pretty Girl in Blue Dress. Speak slowly.

Oh, whatever. This was kind of a disappointment. I should have watched the Dugger Wedding instead.

25 Things

Write 25 random things about yourself, and tag 25 people.

Okay...

1.) I got the "Me and my teddy/getting all ready/getting all ready for school" song from Barney stuck in my head today as I was- appropriately- getting ready to start classes on Monday. Remember that? Kathy sang it? Just me? Okay.

2.) I was a flower girl when I was four, and that was the only wedding I've been in. I was supposed to be maid of honor for a friend but it...well, I'm not sure exactly what happened there.
3.) I really really love doing laundry.

4.) I am the only person in my house who can load the dishwasher correctly. (My sister is going to yell at me for being superior now.)

5.) I was on President Bush's campaign plane when he stopped in Milwaukee a few weeks before the 2000 election. My aunt talked her way on (this was before 9/11) and there are lots of pictures of me in George and Laura's seats.

6.) Speaking of which, my birthday is 9/11. 14 wasn't a whole lot of fun. I served Mass that night, and at the sign of peace Father Ken said, "happy birthday", and I remember thinking "Huh, I've never wanted to cry when somebody said that to me before."

7.) I cried at the end of Les Miserables (the book). I usually only cry at books and movies.

8.) I read War and Peace for fun when I was fourteen.

9.) I am really looking forward to living on my own in my own house- no roommates. I can't wait until I can afford it.

10.) The only language I've ever been able to gain any control over is Latin. Well, and English. But that one doesn't count.

11.) Legally Blonde made me think I could go to law school.

12.) I never did school traditionally. I went to grade school through second grade, then was homeschooled, went to one year of high school, and then left for college for three years before finally starting a new university at the appropriate age.

13.) I started at Concordia when I was fifteen. I spent three years pretending to be older than I was, so now I feel like I've been the same age forever.

14.) I've never had a graduation. I cannot wait for my college graduation.

15.) I also cannot wait until I get a Ph.D. and get hooded! I want that hood something fierce.

16.) I horseback ride and own a horse, and worked on a farm for two years.

17.) I think Tony Blair is adorable. (You said random.)

18.) I don't consider myself a feminist, because I generally get annoyed by people who whine about oppression, but do not try to tell me that I can't doing something, because how do you know that I won't be better at it than you? So I guess I'm post-feminist?

19.) I cried when Benedict XVI was elected Pope. I don't really know why, but that was my first reaction.

20.) I don't think anything has ever affected me like my grandfather's death has.

21.) After he died, I started going to morning Mass because it was the only thing that helped me. Six months later, it is still helping me get through this.

22.) I'm a history major because of one class, but a variety of reasons related to it.

23.) I think, of all the places I've been, I hate Cleveland the most.

24.) I know what I want to do in life, and I know that I will probably be able to do it, but the thought of actually having to do everything that is required absolutely terrifies me.

25.) I found this a disturbingly narcissistic exercise.

Okay. Good night.

God, I wish I lived in the right county.

I have just come across, and I don't want to oversell it, especially because I'm not linking, as I really do not want to harm his chances at *insert office here*, the greatest website ever. It is the campaign website for a gentleman at our church. A gentleman I may have seen absolutely, completely, under-the-table wasted at the dinner dance. I mean, we're talking stupid. Laughing at me laughing at him because he was so drunk. A gentleman who the next morning when he saw me at Mass went, "Wow. That was some night last night, huh?", and I really wanted to reply, "I'm sorry. Do you remember last night? Because I seem to remember you yelling over me, 'Your money's no good here! Ahahaha!' to a priest."

(Can I say again, best. night. ever.???)

Yeah. And now he's running for office.

And I can't tell you how much it pleases me.

I am qualified to help people. And be a racing hot dog.

This afternoon I opened my UWM e-mail account and found several messages, mostly just informing me that the "Rebuild the Party" group has sent me messages on Facebook and whatever, dude, I'm as Republican as the next girl, but stop sending me messages every five seconds. I get all excited when I see the little Inbox thing lit up and then it turns out it isn't even a real person? Letdown. Now, yes, I suppose I could get some real friends and they could send me actual messages and then we'd all be happy, but please, Facebook, I don't need your judgement.

The other two were from the Career Development Center and, I kid you not, possible job opportunities from the Peace Corps and the Brew Crew.

Apparently, my age and current education level qualify me to both contract malaria in some godforsaken swamp in Latin America and be a Klement's sausage. Presumably not at the same time.

Now, the Peace Corps. Fine. Whatever. Good organization. You have my unwavering support. However. I'm less than certain that they would let me bring my flatiron and full compliment of eyeshadow with me. That would be a serious problem.

And while the Brewers would presumably let me wear eye makeup and I could straighten my hair before going in to work, I would have to be "energetic and extremely outgoing". No word on whether I would have to know why they call them runs instead of points like everyone else in the world.

Also, I would have to be available to work at least forty games. Seriously? FORTY? There are that many? Don't they get tired? No wonder they only hit the damn ball 30% of the time. God knows I couldn't be energetic and extremely outgoing for that many games.

Finally, I would probably be required to do more than curl up with my iPod and a book during the games, which, as we all know, is how I prefer to experience baseball games.

So. I think we can safely cross both of those opportunities off of my list of possible careers. Wow. That list is getting really short.

I would like to be kidnapped by gypsies.

Because not only would my bordering on translucent pale complexion and unruly and annoying red hair be considered exotic, the people from Criminal Minds would come and rescue me. And I would very much like to be rescued by the cast of Criminal Minds. Although I would have preferred the original cast, sans Joe Mantegna and JJ 2.0. But I suppose as long as Hotch shows up, that's okay. I guess.

Other than that I could seriously fall asleep RIGHT NOW and hell, pilates sounded like a smart idea at 6:00 this morning but now I'm thinking that perhaps I should have slept an extra half hour, and the fact that most of the medical world doesn't seem to realize that one can become incredibly tolerant of class A narcotics after years of (legal) use, things are going well.

I need a drink.

I do love spending days in the hospital and returning to pay tuition.

There is nothing quite like staring at your little online banking thing wondering exactly where this large amount of money that UWM tells you is "DUE NOW OR WE'LL SUE" is going to come from. Especially when you can hardly think straight because you're a teensy bit FREAKING EXHAUSTED from spending twelve hours at the hospital without eating anything because hospital cafeterias do not run on the same schedule as your hunger. Closed at 1:00? What the hell, St. Mary's???

Okay. I am something of a hospital connoisseur. Not intentionally, I've just spend, oh, a HELL of a lot of time with people in various different ones. I'm pretty sure I could still find my way around St. Luke's, after three months (no, I am emphatically not kidding) of daily attendance. St. Mary's Ozaukee? I'm practically on first name basis with the valet staff (a good thing, too, as one of them is kind of adorable). Cleveland Clinic? Built over a portal to hell, and I probably could tell you where that is too.

So I know that hospitals are never fantastic. They always kind of smell like urine and antiseptic (a disturbing combination), even the new ones are kind of nasty, and the cafeterias are not four star dining. Obviously.

However. St. Mary's Somewhere South of UWM I Don't Know I'm Not Good With Street Names But I Know I Could See Curtin Hall From the Window has taken things to a new low. Oh. Horrible. Awful. I long for the cozy homeyness of St. Luke's. Daddy the Architect has informed us that they're rebuilding. Damn good thing. Probably won't be in time for lunch tomorrow, though. Unfortunate.

That is all. I'm going to go crash now.

My advisor will probably request a sabbatical shortly before I defend my dissertation.

I generally handle serious stress (the kind that doesn't involve classes or bus schedules) quite well. Outwardly, yes. Perfect. I am calm, composed, excellent at lying (Why yes, I was the one that fielded a phone call from Grandpa five minutes after my mom found out the cancer had come back and didn't really feel like telling her 89-year-old father. After I hung up, she looked up from her pile of tissues and said, "Wow. I'm impressed. You wouldn't know anything was wrong!" Um. Yeah. That was the point.), hell, I put frickin' eyeliner on the morning my grandfather died.

That's outwardly. Inwardly (and on the internet)? Oh. Oh ho. Not so much. Let's see. Today I've eaten no actual protein or meals but those brownies in the back of fridge? Gone. My face has erupted into a cavernous wasteland unseen since sophomore year of high school. I clean when I get nervous, and my house has never been cleaner. Seriously. Beds have been stripped, bathroom floors cleaned, that weird little corner cabinet wiped- CLEAN. I'm pretty sure if I bit my nails I wouldn't have any nails left to bite. I've pretty much maxed out the number of Divine Mercy Chaplets you're supposed to say in a day. Oh, and I read four hundred pages. But that's not really a stress thing, more of like a "just Monday" thing.

(Could I have used this burst of industry to study for the GRE? Pssh. Of course not.)

So I should be crashing shortly. But she's fine, everything's fine, and hopefully I won't have another day like this until it's something significantly less scary- like when I have to stand in front of five people who don't like me and convince them that the last ten years of my life have not been a waste.

Oh, that should be a good day. Stay tuned for that.

I would like Tom Hanks to narrate my life.

We're watching more of "From the Earth to the Moon", and my inner geeky fangirl is, well, being an inner geeky fangirl.

I am all about the space program. It's nature and nurture, y'all. Being born in '87 and all, I didn't get to experience Apollo 11, and I have always been insanely jealous of my mom for having seen it. I used to mope around, whining about how I never lived through anything historical that didn't have to do with oral sex.

(Then 9/11 happened. And I stopped whining.)

I have seen Apoll0 13 more times than I can count, though, starting when I was too young to even really understand it. Why, exactly, was Kevin Bacon in the shower with that woman? Surely that is an inefficient use of time in the morning? I freaking love everything about that move. The music, the tension, the fact that I still freak out even though I know things are going to turn out okay, Gary Sinise...all things to love.

But perhaps the most important thing I love about Apollo 13 and From the Earth to the Moon is Tom Hanks. I love Tom Hanks. Not in a love *natch* kind of way, but I absolutely adore him and cannot wait until I marry his son because he and Rita will be the best in-laws ever.

So even when everybody was freaking the hell out about the DaVinci Code I was all, "But...but, it's Tom Hanks! How can you be mad at Forrest Gump!?!?!"

I clearly cannot.

Dude. Rita just showed up playing somebody's wife. I swear, she would not work at all if it weren't for him.

We had takeout for dinner, so I guess that makes it better.

Today I was covering music for someone, which is a task I deeply detest because unless you want a breakdown of Josh Groban's discography, I've got nothing. As I was cowering behind the register, someone came up with two DVDs, and asked me, "Okay, so this three-for-two thing. How does that work?"

Um. Okay. Come in here once, and pay attention. Because I am about to drop to serious knowledge. When you buy two DVDs? You get one free. Thus, three DVDs, and you only pay for two. Do you need me to write it down?

***

I did get to work out my frustration on the hallway walls later, though. I was a painting machine. I did walls, bookshelves, archways, woodwork, doors, and windows. If you were standing still, I probably painted you.

And then I went to Mass with paint in my hair and whatever, I am so beyond caring. Had a seriously hard time following the homily though. He kept talking about Paul's calling. There was no mention of Paul. This was before Christ died, and Paul was after. Obviously. And his calling? This was not the story of Paul's calling/conversion. I'm a art history major, I know from Paul's calling. Then I realized that he really meant Peter. Oh. That became much clearer.

Currently watching "From the Earth to the Moon", only ten years late. It is very good. I'm feeling like my mother's daughter.

He is better off.

Tonight, when Mickey offered to pay me to help her with some home improvement projects, I may have suggested that Johnny Depp could show up and say, "Hey, we can have sex after you strip this wallpaper," and I'd have to reply, "Um. I guess not. Catch you later." And I wasn't even drinking. I don't think my grandfather would have appreciated my biting wit.

(Please suspend disbelief for the perfectly reasonable assumption that Johnny Depp lives in Fox Point and is madly in love with me.)

But! At least I didn't call my sister a baby killer. So...we're getting better at the party thing!

I used to walk ten miles to school in the snow.

Well. No. I didn't. In fact, after I ran screaming from my Catholic school cocoon in third grade (by the way, Mrs. Stahl was distributing Communion yesterday and I believe I saw a hint of "Oh my God, it's you" in her eyes.), I barely walked down the stairs to school. By the time I went back, albeit to a Lutheran cocoon this time- much the same cocoon but lacking any Marian devotion or the Real Presence or-horrors- alcohol, I had a driver's license. But still. I don't recall there ever being a cold day. There was a cold day today. And there will be another one tomorrow.

Don't get me wrong, I love this. I'm still on break, but The Artist Formerly Known as the Boy is in school at some ungodly hour like seven thirty, and I have to drive him. So I am all for random days off.

But cold days? Really? It's Wisconsin. And it's only a little bit below zero. I mean, yeah, it's freaking cold and I could barely feel my nose by the time I got back from the mailbox, but really? I understand that you're trying to protect kids who may be stranded outside, and for a school system such as MPS or even a school in an area where many kids walk that makes sense.

But I am fairly certain that here in Ozaukee County, simultaneously the most affluent and rugged of all the counties in the state, we could figure out how to get our kids to school without frostbite. 90% of them can be dropped off at the door and only have to brave the wind from the heated seat of the Lexus to the front door twelve feet away (it's a very small school), and the other 10% were probably out wrangling some farm animal earlier in the morning and probably think this is nothing.

I mean, honestly.

Things I don't want to hear from members of the clergy.

Oh, yes, there is a list. You do not grow up in the environment I did and not have a list. My mom was a trustee, y'all. I was an alter server and the go-to girl for weddings for nine years. It's a long list.

The list was added to tonight when the mission priest started talking about man boobs. I, of course, immediately began thinking of how to fit this into a blog post. Because he is one the few priests I've met that I'm not friends with on Facebook, so it wouldn't be that weird.

He had a point, and a good one. And despite the fact that I am repressed, I laughed very hard inside. Very, very hard. So half of me wants all those who have been ordained to refrain from discussing any sort of bodily issues (this includes the flaming brassiere from Sunday) at all during liturgy or parish-sponsored events. And then half of me is still laughing.

Again, I was the wedding girl. I've heard EVERYTHING.

So this is chalked up on the list. Slightly lower than some memorable homilies on the Song of Songs, but definitely above that CFC class sophomore year of high school with the crazy awkward discussion of prison sex.

Like I said, it's a very long list.

I am a liberal arts major for a reason.

Scene: Grandpa's house, this morning. I fall down the stairs. Loudly. But with a simple elegance.

Mom: What was that?

Me: Me.

Mom: Are you okay?

Me: Fine. Anyway, we have a problem.

Mom: Oh good.

Me: Contrary to the laws of physics, there are two screws in the door that refuse to actually come out of the door. They spin, and I can unscrew them forever, and they still aren't coming out. It is perplexing.

Mom: Um. That's not good. I don't know...Really? They spin but don't get any further out?

Me: Yes. I just spun them for like five minutes.

Mom: That is perplexing.

Flooring Guy Who Is Not There For Anything Having To Do With Screws: It sounds like the hole is stripped. You'll need to create some sort of pressure on the back of the head and then use a pliers to pull them out. Is is a flat head or recessed?

Me: Um...whatever kind fits this screwdriver? *wields screwdriver*

FGWINTFAHTDWS: Oh, yeah. That's your problem.

Me: Okay. Thank you.

It worked. I should not be allowed around tools. And we clearly need to keep intelligent people in the house at all times.

I suppose, there is one thing I'm looking forward to.

You all know how I feel about President-elect Obama. I mean, I will spout my fiscally conservative viewpoint to anyone who wants to hear about it, and I believe that there are even several illegal pictures of my worthless ballot on Facebook. I do not believe that he is the second coming of Jesus Christ plus Elvis with just a touch of Springsteen thrown in. If you do, that's fine. I do not care. I like you anyways. And he's going to be the President now, and I hope that he does well because I will be just as screwed if he messes up (although significantly more smug) as someone who voted for him.

So I'm kind of excited for the Inauguration, because um, hello, THE SUPREME COURT IS THERE!!! Oh, and the whole new President thing. Which is pretty cool. I guess. Even if I'm not crazy about the guy.

But now. Now, I'm freaking THRILLED. Because Josh is singing!!! Hell, if Josh Groban told me to vote for him I would have.

Well, no, I wouldn't have. But I have driven to Rockford to meet some guy in a parking lot in order to give him hundreds of dollars of cash for supposed tickets to a Josh Groban concert. Which should give you some idea of a.) my devotion to the Republican party, and b.) my tenuous grasp of fiscal responsibility.

Not-So-Live Blogging of the Golden Globes.

But Mary just called me and demanded a post about it, so I guess I must oblige. Currently, Steven Spielberg is getting the Award of Stultifying Boredom Lifetime Achievement Award and is rambling about toy trains and all of his friends. He isn't doing a very good job of "landing" this. (Yes, I was paying attention at church today.) I am reminded of the feeling you get when you're talking to your parents' friends and they're talking about people you don't know and stuff that you don't care about that happened before you were born and you have to look interested. Ugh.

(Colleen just went, "I'm so glad he won.")

Um, it's been pretty predictable so far. Heath Ledger won, John Adams has won for like everything, and I'm pretty sure Robert Downey, Jr. is drunk or high or both. Oh, Robert. Fall off the wagon, did we?

OOOOH EMMA THOMPSON. I LOVE YOU. So, so much. Let's see what she's presenting, shall we?

Best Director. I'm guessing Slumdog Millionaire. I'm pulling for Revolutionary Road, though, because I'm a slut for Titanic 2. Even though I haven't seen it. I haven't seen anything. The only movie this season I've seen is Doubt, and while I adored it (GO SEE IT), it's not winning anything.

Okay. Commercial. I'm going to go now.

If you had been in History 371 you would have laughed too.

Last night on The Daily Show, Jon Stewart made a joke about the partition of Israel. And I almost died laughing. "This is shoddy partition work. Who did this partition? England? Oh..." After three semesters of sixteen different classes about how much England sucks at partition (Ireland, Iraq, Palestine, I could go on...), I was rolling on the floor. So, if you happened to be in one of those sixteen classes with me, enjoy. And if not, all you really need to know is that ENGLAND SUCKS AT PARTITIONING.

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

Burger at 1600

Barack Obama Interview
John McCain Interview

Sarah Palin Video
Funny Election Video

It is inappropriate what I feel for the counter top.

Um. Yeah. There may be questionable substances in the bathroom. The bathroom that I've spent a lot of hours in painting. Alone. With the door closed. Just maybe. I DO NOT NEED HELP IN THE CARCINOGENIC DEPARTMENT, GOD. Perhaps now the lung cancer can get to me before the breast cancer does.

It's Friday. Obviously this means that I am a.) exhausted, b.) paint-splattered, c.) ready to kill someone or in tears and you are a.) getting sick of this and b.) going to hear about it anyways.
But ha! I'm not crying this time! So, there. It was a good day. The dining room is finished and white, we picked out flooring and have it strategically set to be installed around various surgical issues (because that adds a whole new level of fun to the whole endeavour), and the counter and sink have been installed.

Oh, the counter top. The counter top is beautiful. I love it. It makes my love for the cabinet doors (there are pictures on Facebook) seem like a passing fancy. But I think the thing that I love most about the counter top is that putting it in didn't change anything. Since August, we've been systematically erasing my grandparents' imprint on their house. This is incredibly difficult, and the kitchen is the first room that's kind of close to being done, and I was thrilled to realize today that when I stood in there I felt the same as I always have. I mean, yes, the color is better and the light fixtures are pretty and modern, and we all know how I feel about the Corian, but everything still feels the same.

Nothing will ever change the memories I have of spending countless days there growing up. Nothing will makes me forget that this was the kitchen where there was a "I love my grandma and grandpa" on the fridge that "I" gave them at my first Halloween (I was a pumpkin. It was damn cute.) I can still remember sitting there the morning my grandmother died. I remember being really squished because there wasn't a whole lot of room for all ten of us plus I think a priest, I don't know. In May I made Grandpa broth and jello in that kitchen after a doctor's appointment because he was still high from something they had given him. (I didn't make the Jello correctly. Shocking, I know.) In July, I stood there at the fridge and helped him clean it out, because we figured some stuff was going to spoil. But I told him to leave most of it, because he would be back within a week or two. He never got back. On July 24th Steven and I went down around ten o'clock to bring back the radio from the kitchen table- it was tuned to a specific station, and God knows that we could not retune the radio that was already at Mickey's, we needed this one. And on July 25th I stood in there and cried harder than I had all day.

Not all of those memories are good; in fact, most of them are damn depressing. But they're a huge part of my life, and I am so thankful that they haven't been erased.

I wouldn't change it for the world.

This is just awkward.

Okay, the BFCA is honoring Richard Gere with a lifetime achievement award. Everyone can take a bathroom/snack/Bloody Mary break (guess which one I am doing) while he rambles on about Tibet and how the current administration is stifling him and whatever it is that he took in the limo on the way over. Because something is not right there.

Yeah. So before I settled in for a night of vodka and movies (Why is Doubt winning NOTHING. I freaking loved Doubt.), I had an flash of academic brilliance. Not a flash that actually helped me, like remembering what "calumny" means or realizing why knowing what "calumny" means would make me a better graduate student than otherwise, but I digress.

No, I need a thesis topic by the end of the semester. Or rather, before, because I have to find an advisor by the end of the semester. This poses a slight problem as there are very few areas of history that really interest me, and there is only one professor who has anything to do with Ireland and he's not tenured so I can't use him. Whatever, dude. I know you're busy with your kids and all, but would it kill you to publish once in awhile??? I need an advisor here!

Anyway, I figured I had it narrowed down to something about Church history, because that would work well with history and also could look good attached to an application for a theology program. At least, it would look better than a withering critique of the Crusades and why Innocent III maybe was not a fantastic successor to St. Peter. I think. Maybe. And then my father would have to disown me.

But then today I was reading Christopher Bellitto's book about general councils, and after squeeing a little bit because I want to be Christopher Bellitto's friend and travel to Rome with him, I thought - Nicaea! Yes. I think I may write about Nicaea (First really, but second, is pretty cool too. First gave us, well, the Church as we know it, and the second brought back icons, a boon to us art history folk.)

So there we go. Another possible topic. You all clearly needed to know this.

ETA: Okay, can I just say that I love Viola Davis after her acceptance speech for Meryl Streep? And also want to be her friend? And if she wants to come to Rome with Dr. Bellitto and me, she's more than welcome?

Thoughts on the People's Choice Awards.

Ah, awards season. How I love you. There are three things in life that I desperately enjoy- being opinionated, doing weird and wonderful things with Kahlua, and wasting days watching TV and movies. Award shows allow me to combine all three of them, and oh! So much fun.

***

I love how the People's Choice Awards just basically honor the movies you are too embarrassed to admit that you enjoyed. Somehow, telling someone that 27 Dresses was the most fun move you've seen all year is just not cool, but clicking it online totally is.

***

Seal is singing...James Brown? For no reason? And now talking about how the world wouldn't be anything without a woman or a girl? I am so confused and I do not know why he's talking. Oh, he's giving Carrie Underwood an award. Huh. Interesting.

***

You know what I think my major problem with Katy Perry's "I Kissed A Girl" is? The cherry Chapstick line. Who wears cherry Chapstick after like second grade? I mean, when I was eight, cherry Chapstick was where it was at. It was like this close to makeup! And goodness knows that you are all grown up as soon as you can wear makeup!

I'll be honest, I've never kissed a girl. Nor do I have any desire to. But I imagine that if you're drunkenly making out with another girl while maintaining your heterosexuality, you are probably going to smear on some lipgloss. I'm just thinking.

***

I do not approve of Dakota Fanning going through puberty. She is supposedly to be adorably tiny and missing her front teeth. She is not supposed to have breasts. I suggest someone takes care of this before it gets out of hand.

***

I DO NOT LIKE KATHERINE HEIGL'S HAIR.

Blind leading the blind.

I subbed for someone at work today, which isn't a huge deal. Except for the fact that it was the woman who normally does most of the merchandising. And it's Tuesday. Release day for everything. No one who was working, including the general manager, could figure out the directions, and yeah, let's just say that if you wanted a new release today you were pretty much pointed to a cart and told, "Um, I think it's probably on there, maybe, I don't know. Would you rather read something by Oprah? I know where those are!"

At one point things got so bad that we had to fill in a fiction table with the new Ann Coulter, which actually could be construed as fiction at times. I mean, I'm a Republican and I find her a little bit much.

Also, every weird person seemed to be out shopping today. Like the woman who wanted me to tell her if some doll clothes would fit this other doll. I'm sorry. I don't have children. Nor do I care. Please leave me alone. And the woman I barely know who stood at my table and talked to me for my entire break. By noon Aaron came up to me and said, "I am so glad you are here today, because I am so amused watching you have to deal with this people."

I'm glad I can entertain.

License to be creeped out.

Last weekend, I was bored. Like, wicked bored. Frankly, there are only so many hours you can spend on Facebook looking at bumper stickers before growing disgusted that ALL of them are about sparkly vampires but I guess that makes sense because if you are out of your teens you are ostensibly supposed to have more to do than just hang out on Facebook. To which my reply is- bah! Clearly you have never had to avoid studying for the GRE!

ANYWAY.

I went on the library's website (because I am too poor to afford Blockbuster anymore) and scrolled through all 55 pages of recent release DVDs, including several Spanish titles that I couldn't translate, because I am approximately the last person in the United States to have gotten through grade and high school without learning ANY Spanish whatsoever.

(But should you need to know what the hell the ablative tense in Latin is, I'm your girl.)

One of the titles I did recognize was License to Wed, a romantic comedy that I kind of wanted to see when it came out a year and a half ago (wow, I'm old.) I love Robin Williams, I adore and want to marry John Krasinski, if only because I think it would be hugely karmic if I had to hyphenate my current last name with Krasinski, and Mandy Moore generally doesn't makes me want to kill her. When she's a brunette. When she's a blond, I want to strangle her with her own weave. But brunette I'm okay with. Sounded funny, and hey, free.

Except...not. Robin Williams is this weird minister who kind of follows them around making sure they're not having any sex for the three weeks before the wedding. And they break up (because who can go three weeks without sex? Right? This is the major premise of the movie.), and then of course they get together after she goes on their honeymoon alone, and Robin Williams shows up with his weird little fat kid sidekick.

I don't know. But by the end of the 89 minutes I had lost any respect I had left for John Krasinski after he started dating Karen in real life.

I think I know why Robin Williams' wife left him after 18 years. She saw this.

Back to Reality

Things go back to (almost) normal tomorrow, with the holidays really over and The Artist Formerly Known as the Boy going back to school. This mostly means that I will forget to pick him up. What? You cannot change my routine for two weeks and expect me to remember a completely random state-mandated 2:41. (This is another reason I could never teach high school. I would forget to show up.)

I'm kind of jealous. I have three weeks left of break, and I know I should be thankful because I have a feeling that this semester could rival Fall in terms of unbelievably sucking. Because I thought 18 credits, a death in the family, and redoing the house of the death in the family to give it to someone else, and only three more semesters of grades that count were bad. Ha! No! 18 credits, a death in the family that seems to be getting more difficult to deal with, redoing the house of the death in the family, have a parent go through a major medical issue and abdominal surgery, and only two more semesters of grades that count! Much worse!

That's right. God just pwned me.

So I should take all the rest I can get. But I like school, I really do. When I'm not in class I feel weird and floating, like I should be studying for something or working harder or graduating faster but I can't and that annoys me.

It's weird, I'm weird, I know.

You will notice, however, that this fits in perfectly with my brilliant plan to never ever have to get a real job or exist in the world! That's right. I may be impractical, but never let it be said that I was untrue to myself.

Ask me how I tolerate stupid questions.

Today, at work.

Morena (cheerfully): Hello. How can I help you?

Mean Cut-Offy Old Guy: Yeah, yeah. Where's Dan?

Morena: Um...he's not here toda...

Mean Cut-Offy Old Guy: Ugh. When will he be in next?

Morena: I don't know, Monday? I don't have his sched...

Mean Cut-Offy Old Guy: Fine. Just give me his phone number.

Morena: I don't know his phone number. (I emphatically do not know his phone number. *shivers*)

Mean Cut-Offy Old Guy: Well, you just don't know anything do you?

Morena: I know I'm not being paid enough for this.

Reason #683 why I need to get out of retail. NOW.

The best of times, the worst of times.

Yesterday was fantastic. I came home, watched several movies, read a book, and then had a lovely dinner at Mickey's, where there was sangria and pasta, and we all know how I feel about wine that comes in a jug and complex carbohydrates.

Today I woke up at 3:42, couldn't fall back asleep, left the house at 7:00 and then spent close to eight hours sitting in a freezing house going through bank records from the 1950s and occasionally weeping over random things like strips of paper and projectors and Comet containers. Why did he have to label everything? Didn't he know that I would find the Comet he bought five days before he left his house for the last time and then end up embarrassing myself in front of the help-again?

Oh, and waiting for the world's slowest carpenter to hang the damn cabinet doors already.

No. Really. HE WAS SOOOOO SLOW. There are not that many doors. ALL DAY.

However, we have light fixtures now. And they are quite possibly the prettiest light fixtures I have ever seen. I almost hugged the electrician. This is the one in the dining room.

It reminds me of Beauty and the Beast for some reason. I'm not a crystal chandelier girl, or fond of anything overblown, so the search for a dining room light was a little bit difficult. But this was just pretty enough but still modern. It's my favorite.

Except much like the bathroom issue, I don't want anyone else to live there and use it. These renters did not pick out the fixture, and they did not post pictures of it on Facebook and they probably would not appreciate a piece of paper taped to the heating vent. It is mine. Hands off, Hypothetical Gay Couple.

The counter arrives on Monday. I may just move then and ignore the fact that there will be no running water, refrigerator, or downstairs bathroom.

I need a real job. If only I had any skills other than writing twenty-page papers in an evening.

Okay. I need to go to a holiday party now. My fingernails are encrusted in eggshell satin, I have a horrible headache, most likely due to the abovementioned weeping, and yeah, I probably should take my hair out of the painting-friendly pigtails. Whatever. It's family.