Last Sunday, on Mad Men...

Peggy's Sister's House:

Fr. Colin Hanks: *is adorably awkward*

Peggy: *is less adorably awkward* You want something to eat?

Fr. Colin Hanks: No. I'm good. I've had lots of unsatisfied women feeding me today. In fact, your sister should be bringing in a doggy bag any minute. Hey, do you want to run the CYO dance?

Peggy: I'm not sure. I'm so comfortable with our weekly awkward, if I added any more I'm not sure I'd appreciate it. Also. You think I'm a whore.

Fr. Colin Hanks: True. Very true. But I'm clearly going to continue to have a quasi-inappropriate attachment to you all the while admonishing you silently for making a moral mistake, so why not just cut your losses? Plus, you have a color printer.

Peggy: I guess.

Meanwhile, at the Draper's: Betty beats up a chair. This is in no way connected to her crumbling marriage.

CYO Dance Meeting:

Fr. Colin Hanks: Pegs, we got a problem. You cannot make lightly-veiled first-time references on church flyers.

Old Lady #1: Look how they're dancing!

Old Lady#2: SCANDAL!!! Leave some room for the Holy Ghost .

Author's Baby-of-the-Eighties Note: Teehee. Holy Ghost.

Peggy: I think the flyer is nice.

Fr. Colin Hanks: I changed my mind. I'm clearly going to agree with you. This is post-Vatican II, ladies. Let them grind. Btw, it's CYO. Nobody going to come anyways.

Old Lady #1: *huffs*

Old Lady #2: *huffs*

Peggy: THANK YOU.

Fr. Colin Hanks: I still think you're a whore. Even though you should be coming to Communion.

Peggy: Seriously. You need to stop talking to my sister.

Meanwhile at the Draper's: Betty freaks out at a dinner party and then smells all of her husband's suits. Yeah. I don't know either.

At the office a few days later:

Fr. Colin Hanks: ZOMG thanks so much for the flyers, even if it was a hideously misguided attempt to spend more time with you.

Peggy: No problem. I'm just glad that I didn't burn upon entering the church, what with being such a mortal sinner and all.

Fr. Colin Hanks: Yeah. I know. You wanna talk about it? God already knows. He sees everything.

Peggy: Really? Even when you were staring at my ass that one time?

Fr. Colin Hanks: I AM NOT THE SINNER HERE, SKANK.

Peggy: Did you talk to my sister again!?!?!? Seriously. I'm having her change her number.

Fr. Colin Hanks: Whatever. I'm just going to go play my guitar. This is post-Vatican II. We're allowed to do that now.

***

*sigh* I love Colin Hanks. He's so adorable. Our children would be so wealthy.

Why, yes, thank you, my priorities are in the right place.

I'm going now, because I have to get up for Mass. (Haha! I just realized the irony in that! Colin Hanks is not my priest, however. While disappointing, this is probably ultimately a good thing, as it could possibly lead to me spending all of eternity burning in hell. The sulfur? Not good for my hair. I'm pretty sure you don't get to bring your flatiron with you in the afterlife.)

I seriously need to go back to Concordia.

At Concordia, the worst sort of activism we had was when Facebook was relatively new and somebody freaked out and posted flyers all over to help us with our "addiction".

At UWM today some crazy guy was standing in the middle of the plaza screeching about God's laws and the rapture and whatever, I don't know, for like an hour. And then some people would start singing in protest but I couldn't hear what they were saying. And then some guy started screaming, like, really screaming- wild, primal screams.

Dear God. I need to get out.

Oh, so did not need this.

Because why, WHY should anything go right?

Apparenty, September saw how much fun June, July, and August had RUINING MY LIFE and decided to join in.

Except that September throws in dealing with the shit and having to get up at five in the morning every morning. And writing weekly six-page scholarly critiques of free-speech cases. And proving that the Bible isn't a massive literary hoax for fifty percent of my grade, as though people haven't been struggling with that since, oh, THE DAWN OF TIME.

AND STARBUCKS TOOK AWAY MY COUPON.

HATEHATEHATEHATEHATE.

HATE.

So. I'm ignoring said six-page scholarly critiques and massive presentation and stolen cars and watching YouTube videos that make me laugh.

This isn't YouTube video, but since John downloaded the song on Rock Band for me and it's hilarious, I give you the Charlene "video".

Ahahaha.



And now, I go to watch the season premiere of House. A lone bright spot.

They may have to fight Target for my soul.

Okay. So. Remember this summer? When Starbucks bought my undying devotion? For the low, low price of $2 grandes after 2? Thus every single day I was all, "Oh, I should go to Starbucks! It's only two dollars!!!" and spent way more money than I would have otherwise?

Yeah. That.

Well, technically that's over now. The coupon is expired, I cried a little, but it's okay. But Starbucks would not be placated. Their marketing team, whose genius is so great that they could convince the United States to reinvade Iraq, came up with the brilliant idea to do "treat receipts". So when you buy a drink in the morning, they stamp your receipt and you can can come back after two and get a $2 grande (mama has missed you!!!)

There may be a few problems with this plan.

1.) You're really poor. And probably shouldn't be at Starbucks in the morning anyway because really poor.

2.) Well. Clearly I should be at Starbucks, because I have an empty half hour in between Mass and school and the church is right across the street and well, I do not want to be a part of a world where you cannot kill half an hour at a conveniently located Starbucks.

3.) You are so dumb. Seriously. You're broke.

4.) Whatever. I can't hear you over my skinny vanilla latte.

5.) You could spend that hour studying? Or writing that paper you have to write today. Lots of options.

6.) What's that skinny vanilla latte? You think she's a drag? Me too.

Then later, you may be out running errands to avoid writing a constitutional history paper and pass Starbucks and feel the pull from the receipt in your purse. Again problems.

1.) SERIOUSLY DO NOT PULL IN HERE. You already spent four dollars this morning. FOUR DOLLARS YOU DO NOT HAVE.

2.) But I has a coupon.

3.) I don't care that you "has" a coupon. It's still two dollars for a drink that you wouldn't consider buying if it wasn't two dollars.

4.) But I'm getting tired and the caffeine will keep me awake!

5.) Writing that paper will keep you awake.

6.) I can't hear you over the drivethru Starbucks person. Banana chocolate vivanno with skim milk, please.

7.) *headdesk*

It was an interesting day of self-loathing.

And oooh! Guess what?? I have McCain 2008 buttons in the mail! That I can put on my messenger bag and drag around campus and then people can glare at me but whatever, I feel like rebelling.

Nowhere but a state university can you rebel by voting for the 72-year-old white guy.

And I can see Russia from my house!!!

I've been watching SNL for the political sketches since 2000, even though I was only twelve. This has got to be one of the funniest ones I've seen.

(Oh, and I'm tired and have been drinking, which is my usual excuse. But this! It's really funny!)

I will continue to beat this horse.

Like a good little dork I watched Sarah Palin's 20/20 interview last night. And the commentator person on afterwards was right- people who already liked her will think she was fantastic and people who didn't will find a lot to dislike.

I'm not saying that I'm unbiased, because I don't think anyone can claim that in politics, EVER, but I'm pretty middle-of-the-road on Sarah Palin. Mostly because I find myself wanting to and generally succeeding at liking her as a person (except for the part where I think she shouldn't have exposed her daughter to the public eye), but seriously do not think she would make a very good President should she ever have to become one. So. There's my bias. And here's what I thought.

She didn't do...poorly. There wasn't a whole lot of substance behind her answers. She looked coached, and I think a lot of people will just kind of be like, well, yeah, of course they're not actually going to lower taxes (Um, hello. Welcome to politics. Are you new here?) and continue mooning over Obama. And there were a lot of issues where she had changed her mind or obviously was just politicking or veered a little bit FAR RIGHT (like with the anti-assault-weapon-ban-ness.).

I think that she would have been further ahead to just admit that she had changed her mind on a lot of things, because that isn't necessarily a bad thing. I'm not making excuses, because I still don't feel comfortably having one more-tenuous-than-most heartbeat away from the being president (what with all of her experience BEING CLOSE TO RUSSIA WHICH IS THE STUPIDEST ARGUMENT I HAVE EVER HEARD IN MY LIFE OMG), but like the whole Bridge to Nowhere thing. It would have looked a lot better if she had just said, "Um. Yeah. Thought it would be a good idea. Turned out to be kind of pointless. And expensive. And then figured, eh, no, we can wait." I wouldn't not vote for her because of that.

She was not terribly polarizing- she was clear on her personal position on abortion (which differs from McCain's) but not obnoxious about it, and even suggested that the two sides could work together to cut down on the number of abortions performed. Her take on homosexuality was pretty much "whatever blows your skirt up", and while I disagree with her about the ban on assault rifles, I think that perhaps we do not need to show the picture of her standing over a bloody carcass quite so much. Propaganda much?


But I think the best thing for her that happened was that Charlie Gibson was kind of an ass. I mean, honestly. Again, I am not her biggest fan. But he was just nasty. The whole three-point economic plan? It was like he was a high school teacher and wrote in the margins of the test, "Good points Sarah, but you only gave me two. The directions clearly specify three." When did we give Charlie Gibson the right to decide who is qualified to be Vice-President? (To re-reiterate, I have yet to be convinced.) And then the constant, "Well, you don't have a plan. And if there's anything Barack Obama has is a plan!" (Really? Did I miss that somewhere in the past NINE YEARS THAT THIS DAMN CAMPAIGN HAS BEEN GOING ON?)


I mean, my God. He did everything but mouth "I love you, Senator Obama," at the camera with the little "call me" fingers. Good Lord.


That combined with the obviously choppy editing actually made her look better, in my opinion, because at it made the interview look a little bit one-sided. I am not one who normally gets all up in arms about the liberal media, but the entire introduction was very much con, and I kept waiting for the pro, but there was no pro.

Also, she looked very pretty. Which I am quickly realizing given the upswing of McCain supporters in the last week may in fact be a more important issue than many. And then I get a little bit scared for our country.

So. There you go. You will never be able to convince me that she is qualified to be president. But I'm beginning to question McCain's judgement less because it looks like this actually may have worked out in in his favor. And then, again, I get worried about the state of the union.

Facebook Meme

I am a whore for a good meme. I'm taking the birthday wishes out of the running, because I don't want to make it seem like I'm more popular than I am.

****Here are the rules LOL. Take the last OMG 12 ppl that wrote on your LYLAS wall and answer these ques. about them LOL Its tot. ridic. and lotsa fun. Frwrd it on to all 857 ppl in your TTYL friend list! If u dont then a big hairy monster with 10 heads will come eat you at 3:14 am OMGZZZ!!!****

1.) Keelin

2.) Colleen

3.) Mary

4.) Emily

5.) Sasha

6.) Sean

7.) MC

8.) Sarah

9.) Kiel

10.) Nick

11.) Steven

12.) Derrick

Q: Have you ever kissed number 7?

A: I'm sure at some point she's kissed me, like when I was a baby, but I tend to not make out with my aunts. I'm just saying.

Q: When’s the next time you’re going to see 4?
A: I am not entirely sure. Probably this weekend or next at Mass.

Q: Is number 8 pretty?
A: Lovely. And happy and engaged. And now living in Chicago and going to grad school and generally making me feel inferior. *woe* ;)

Q: What was your first impression of number 10?
A: Are we talking first mental impression, because I heard about him like a month before I actually met him? In which case I thought a.) yay she's going to prom and b.) boo I'm not going to prom and c.) it's kind of funny she's failing calculus. Physically meeting was more like, oh, it's good to finally have a face to put to the stories.

Q: How did you meet 3?
A: I don't remember, but I'm guessing it was the first day of K-4, because that's the first logical time we would have crossed paths. I know she's in all my "going to school" pictures from kindergarten because our names are next to each other alphabetically.

Q: Is 11 your best friend?
A: We're cousins. That's better. No, seriously. He's helping me clean. There is no higher level of devotion than I give to somone who helps me clean.

Q: Have you seen 5 in the last month?
A: I think so. But I so rarely show up at work.

Q: When was the last time you saw 12?
A: Yesterday morning. And the day before that. I'm not stalking him. I swear.

Q: Have you ever been to 1’s house?
A: Indeed. Keelin and I would often retire there after a hard day of Protestant Bible Summer Camp.

Q: When’s the next time you’ll see 10?
A: Hopefully soon. We always say "yeah, we should do something this weekend!" and then something hits the fan on my end and we don't. So. Soon.

Q: Are you really close to 3?
A: ZOMG SO CLOSE. The kind of close where we can never stop being close, or dangerous and embarrassing secrets could possibly be loosed and dear Lord, neither of us wants that.

Q: Have you ever been to the movies with 6?
A: I think so? Did we go to Collateral together? I think so. Anyway, I know we went to see The Dark Knight on the same night but in different theaters. That counts.

Q: Have you ever gotten in trouble with 2?
A: There was the great Cookie Debacle of '08. If you mean get in trouble with other people in conjunction with #2, then I guess there was the time when she climbed on my shoulders and I fell over and cracked my head open.

Q: Would you ever go out with number 7?
A: We have indeed gone out many times. Not on dates, but we do have a damn good time.

Q: What do you and number 3 talk about the most?
A: Usually it's just yawning and "Hi. It's really early." Occasionally snarky comments. I should ammend that. Usually snarky comments. This is why I started giggling during my grandfather's funeral.

Q: Do you even know 9?
A: Of course, I do not have any stalkers at the moment. It's not like we hang out all the time, but we bonded over our ruddy Irish complexions and love of The Fest.

Q: Would you give number 3 a hug?
A: Of course I would. In fact, I hugged her just yesterday. How do you like them apples?

Q: Would you ever go on a date with number 11?
A: Well, we already established that he was helping me clean...but I tend to stay away from incest. I'm single, but not that desperate. But he is absolutely adorable. Let's put it this way- I'm sure if we were in a sexually repressed Bronte novel, I'd be all over him.

Q: Are you in love with number 12?
A: Absolutely. I'm naming our children. :-D

Q: Have you ever lied to number 6?
A: I really don't think so. I only lie to make people think I'm not mad at them. When we were kids I just yelled at him if he did something I didn't like (like hang my Beanie Baby over the balcony) and now that we're old he generally doesn't piss me off too much. If I did, I apologize because he's gone now and I miss him!

Q: Do you know a secret about number 8?
A: I'm convinced that she's actually an upper-level corporate spy for Borders, because no one should be that good at their job for what they pay us.

Q: Describe the relationship between number 9 and number 5.
A: They're going to elope next week. I'm fairly certain his girlfriend doesn't know. No, I kid. I actually don't think they've ever met. Certainly not through me.

Q: What is the best thing about your friendship with number 4?
A: Oh, she's just lovely and in a few years I'm going to stalk her and take all the same religious studies classes as her. Oh. And she made me laugh harder than I laughed all summer with one line.

Q: What is the worst thing about number 1?
A: At one point she considered leaving me all alone here in Milwaukee. Other than that serious lapse in judgement, there is nothing. Keelin is perfect.

Q: Have you ever danced with number 7?
A: No, but we danced at the same wedding once. That's close. And frankly I'm drunk most of the time I'm around her, so it's bound to happen sooner or later.

Q: How long have you known number 12?
A: Less than a year. September? October? I don't know, I know it was after school started last year. I know we decided to rule the world together sometime in October. That's the important day. One day, when we take over the country you will all get off work on that anniversary. Perhaps we will stop the mail delivery. Unless it is a day People magazine is supposed to come. I do love my People magazine.

Q: Have you ever been in a fight with number 8?
A: I don't think so, unless she's been hiding it quite well.

Q: Does number 9 have a boyfriend/girlfriend?
A: I'm pretty sure he has a girlfriend. I have not heard about a boyfriend, but I suppose I have not asked, either.

Q: Have you ever been a co-worker with number 6?
A: We've done a lot of work together, but we've never been paid for it. Like the lovely wallpaper-scraping that was August.

Q: Have you ever wanted to punch number 2 in the face?
A. Maybe when she decided to throw all my shoes in the hallway because there was no room for them in our closet. But other than that, no.

Q: Has number 1 ever met your mother?
A: Indeed, Keelin has met my mother. A lot. My mom says she remembers meeting her for the first time, but as that was circa 1989 when I was still notsomuch with the congnizance, I don't remember.

Q. How did you meet number 6?
A: At my house. When I came home from the hospital. It was a party. Very exciting. The joys of being born to sisters.

Q: Did you ever accidentally physically hurt number 5?
A: I have never hurt Sasha. Her glorious capability for fandom, I think, is akin to a shield and protects her from harm.

Q: What is the best memory you have with number 8?
A: Because I was a loser and never actually made it to any of her going-away parties, I'll have to say just sometime at work. She's just a fun person.

Q: Do you live close to 7?
A: Yes. Closer, I think, than either of us expected to. EVER.

Q: What is number 2’s favorite food?
A: I don't think we have enough room.

Q: Out of you or 12, who is the most flirtatious?
A: Definitely, in normal circumstances, Derrick. He's not good at being nice to customers he doesn't like, though. I'm far better at sucking up for tips. He just glares.

Q: If you could change one thing about number 10, what would it be?
A: I like him so much I'm not even going to make a conversion comment. Unless, of course, you tell my best friend that she can't get married at a full Mass, in which case I'll have to change this to I'd like it if he were still alive, it's really too bad I killed him.

I'm kidding. I love Nick.

Q: Say something nice about number 8.
A: I've said like sixteen nice things about #8!!! Luckily, there are many, many good things to say about her. She became a manager in a shift. That takes talent, people.

Q: Which one lives the farthest away?
A: It's Sean for the next couple of months, but then it's probably Sarah long-term.

Q: Which one(s) do you hang out with the most?
A: Mary I see every day, but Colleen I see all the time and she does technically live with me. Keelin every couple of days. And Steven I've been seeing with increasing regularity because OH GOD SO MUCH TO DO.

Q: Who is the loudest?
A: Mary has a very loud voice. But I've also heard MC yell at Tigger's handler, and that's something I don't really want to listen to again.

Q: The quietest?
A: Probably Nick. We discovered last night that he and my brother are basically the same gaming misanthropic person.

Q: What kind of car does number 12 have?
A: The most incongruous one ever. It makes me laugh every time I see it.

Q: Have you traveled anywhere with number 8?
A: The stock room? That's kind of far. But I do have theoretical plans to visit her in Chicago sometime.

Q: If you gave number 5 $100 dollars tonight, what would they spend it on?
A: I don't know, something Harry Potter-related or maybe something responsible. She's all grown-up now with her internship and all!!!

Random Thoughts on My Birthday

They are not connected, except that they all occurred to me at some point today. :)

I think I should go buy some alcohol. It would be fun. And also we need wine.

We talked about Dublin's St. Patrick's cathedral in class this morning, and how it's kind of incongruous that this major Irish cathedral is, in fact, Anglican. I laughed a little in my head because when my mom and grandmother were in Ireland they actually tried to go to Mass there because they didn't realize that it wasn't Catholic. Ahaha.

I think the EMS Building at school is actually trying to kill me. Every time I go to class I think I'm going up the right staircase and then end up at the end of some obscure hallway and have to wander aimlessly until I find room 237. I swear to God, it's like freaking Harry Potter. The staircases move.

Why is it always hot on my birthday? It's been like fifty for two weeks, and now it's 75 and sunny? Why, God, why? Have my people not suffered enough??? We do not do well in the heat.

Why are people insisting on asking stupid questions all through all of my classes today? Of course St. Patrick is Catholic. There was only Catholic in the fourth century. Martin Luther wouldn't be born for a thousand years. Gah. Stupid stupid stupid. And seriously? When was the Inquisition? You're in an upper-level history class that, btw, was TALKING ABOUT NOTHING HAVING TO DO WITH THE INQUISITION. *stabbitystabbitystabbity*

OH MY GOSH I COULD GIVE THIS FREAKING LECTURE ON THE ENGLISH CIVIL WAR I HAVE HEARD IT SO MANY TIMES.

I have a Mark Rothko poster now. And I love it and think it looks artsy and fun. And the enigma that is me continues.

Today was the first 9/11 that I didn't wake up thinking about the terrorist attacks. Like, I didn't exactly forget, it just wasn't the first thing that popped into my head. I kind of hate myself for that.

My grandpa didn't call me this morning. He always called us on our birthdays before we left for school. (Okay, so the last few years I've stayed home. Not the point.) It bothered me more than I thought it would. He probably isn't going to come out to see me this afternoon, either. I don't remember anything about last year except he came out- I really wish I did.

So I wore something that reminded me of him and while I didn't get to talk to him, he did come to class with me (he would have been happy that I was going to school, even on my birthday :)).

Ironically, he already bought me a card (I found it when I was cleaning), and I think he sent me this book in the mail (he would not have ordered a book about 1968 in life).

Okay. Now I'm crying and I need a drink. Which I can get myself. Because I'm old now.

Adventures in Hebrew Studies

Author's Note: Gah Creepy Guy on America's Got Talent is singing Music of the Night and now it's just weird. *shivers*

I'm taking Hebrew Studies class this semester, and, well, it has kind of shattered my personal constructs.

Because apparently, despite (or maybe because of) the fact that I have had a rather religious upbringing and attended Catholic schools (Yes, I'm counting my living room, because I think any history book that can condense the gist of the Inquisition into "It was a misunderstanding," deserves to be Catholic. If stupid.), I know ABSOLUTELY NOTHING about the Old Testament and Jewish civilization before Christ.

I'm good with the New Testament. I can run down the gospels like nobody's business. When you say "Premarcan" or "Q"? I get it. I know the differences between the synoptic and Johannine traditions. I've studied the historicity of Christ as a man. Right now I'm reading a 1600-page breakdown of the Passion narratives. For fun.

And thanks to one particularly awkward homily, I even know that Corinth was a sea port and sailors would come in looking for a good time.

But pre-6 BC? SCREWED.

Like, I kind of know the creation story? (Actually, stories, because I didn't realize until today that in Genesis chapter one God creates man and woman together and then in chapter two there's the whole rib thing that generally pissed me off, if only because (again with the homeschooling) I saw crazy Protestants take it to an extreme.) But after that, meh. Notsomuch.

So this semester should be quite interesting. Perhaps it's a good thing there aren't any tests. And maybe before my presentation I should give a disclaimer like, "Product of the Archdiocese of Milwaukee" or something.

OH! Also! Did you know that the actual proper name of God, Yhwh (anglicized to Yahweh) is untranslatable and no one knows how it was pronounced because the High Priest was the only one who could say it and he only said it once a year on Yom Kippur in the temple and no one has any idea how it's pronounced STILL???

As we established earlier, I didn't.

I find it fascinating, though.

There is no logic.

I don't want to go to school tomorrow. I really enjoy my classes, but honestly? Sitting at home would be so much easier.

I've hear "Come On, Get Higher" like sixteen times today, and I kind of love it now.

I think I'm going to go to bed freakishly early for the second night in a row. And I'm quite pleased about it.

And because I'm so incapable of working tired that I can't even put together a freaking list, I'm giving you a Colbert Report video, because a.) I'm a fangirl, b.) they finally put up all the old videos, and c.) Dude, it's the Nicene Creed! And after the "and the kingdom will have no end" part, I totally finished it in my head. I suck.

So. There you go. Good night.

It's the most wonderful time of the year...

Hells yeah there are pumpkin spice lattes again!!! Whee!!! Imagine my glee when I walked into Starbucks this morning and saw the lovely little coffee cup on the sign- well, I'm not going to damn my immortal soul to hell for all eternity by comparing it to the celebration of the Eucharist I had just partaken in (even I have standards, as we established last night), but, dammit, I was thrilled.

(I'm fairly certain that I only disturbed the other patrons with my squeals of glee, as Mary was still harping about the music and how we're better zomg.)

Also discovered that when you start the day in a lovely relaxing way such as sitting outside in the lovely cool autumn morning, the rest of the day is kind of amazing. Even if you arrive at school to discover that two of your three classes are videos and why could you not have just told me to rent that series about the Jewish Egyptian civilization and if I had wanted Egyptian civ I would have signed up for Egyptian civ and oh wait, I totally did LAST YEAR and I really only need this class anyways for my more-impractical-than-history-if-that-is-even-a-possibility-here-in-the-three-dimensional-world theology degree and whatever, it doesn't even bother me, because I got a pumpkin spice latte this morning!

Next semester I'm decided to stop picking classes for my major but rather choose based on what will give me lovely mornings where I'm able to go to Mass and get coffee.

I'm pretty easy to please.

There's football on. And I am not amused.

Okay. Maybe notsomuch with the "easy to please".

Dear Russell Brand

I love you. I really, really do. I think you're hilarious, and adorable, and just screwed up enough that maybe I could fix you and then we could have adorable accented babies.

So obviously, when I discovered you were hosting the VMAs, I decided to watch even though even I am not sad enough to actually want to watch the VMAs .

But you were a total douche. Really gross. Rude, kind of disgusting, and there is no excuse for brining up Bristol Palin. Poor form.

I mean, damn, when you have to apologize mid-show to the Jonas Brothers? Not. Going. Well.

I still love you. Kind of. Which may say more about me than about you.

Sincerely,

Morena

Two Months Later

Okay, so this is like ridiculously old, but I just heard about it today in Entertainment Weekly. and then I freaked out because how? How can my fandom be so inferior that I had NO IDEA of this horrible turn of events?

Then I looked at the "July 16th" date stamp and went, "Oh. Right." I was just slightly preoccupied in the middle of July.

Anyway, Boston Legal ends this season, with only 13 episodes.

*is in mourning*

It's embarrassing, but I've actually rented Strangers with Candy.

Did you know Amy Sedaris was in Maid in Manhatten? I didn't. I freaking love Amy Sedaris. She's adorable. And weird. And adorable again.

ALSO! In a bizarre, free-association Six-Degrees-of sort of connection, Justin Theroux, aka Crazy Hot John Hancock, is in Strangers with Candy!

Playing someone name Carlo Honklin. Huh. I don't remember him at all. Wow. Cannot believe I missed him.

Damn. Now I need to rent, like, tomorrow.

It's okay. We've already established that I love Amy Sedaris. And everyone else associated with that movie, even if I didn't find it hilarious because I was a teensy bit young for the TV show. Still. Love her.

Also squared! Colleen is home. Yayness. Now I won't have to watch the movie alone!

ETA: Okay. I realize I'm now just connecting the Daily Show dots, but John Oliver's Terrifying Times is on and I am dying with as much laughter as I was in April when it orignally aired. Yes. In fifty years I will be ashamed to enter ANY museum. *squee*

It's a historic pandering!

It's rather late (almost ten, golly, mother, we should get to bed!), and I'm more than a little bit tired from this first week of being back in school. Have to get up early tomorrow to avoid the crowds that will presumably be flooding Neighboring Town to see My Favorite VP Candidate, because no way am I touching that with a ten-foot pole.

So! You're getting a video! Mostly because I think she dresses really well and I am amazed at how much she looks like her grandparents. It's uncanny, really.

(Oh, wait. Can I just say that McCain is talking about being stuck with a broken arm in the Hanoi Hilton and I'm feeling like a bad American because I really want him to shut up so I can watch The Daily Show?)

Liveblogging the RNC

Except without time stamps. Because, dear Lord, so much work.

Disclaimer-

1.) I am not anti-feminist. I am a woman. I think I am as smart and capable if not smarter and more capable than any given man. So is my sister. And my mom. But I don't know if I can trust a woman who accepts a position that will guarantee that she is not around to raise her newborn with special needs and expose her daughter to public scrutiny. I have nothing, NOTHING, against working mothers. Knock yourself out. But I know that if I was in her position, there is nothing I wouldn't do to protect my kids.

2.) I want to like Sarah Palin. I really do. The little girl inside me who used to dress up as Chelsea Clinton is going YES! SOMEONE YOUNG AND PRETTY MAYBE I SHOULD BE A POLITICAL SCIENCE MAJOR!!! Also, her teeth are adorable.

3.) I'm still voting for McCain.

4.) I still think this was a ridiculous decision and it seriously makes me question McCain's judgement.

5.) STOP TELLING ME TO SUPPORT HER. I'm voting for her, dammit. Why must I be happy about it, too, just because I have a vagina and think that Roe v. Wade should be overturned?

So, Rudy just made some jokes. And everybody is all fired up. Woohoo.

Little known fact- I saw Josh Groban in that building last summer. I'm fairly certain I had a better time. Nobody wants to see any flappage here.

Wow, her baby is adorable. If drugged. Kid hasn't woken up once and people are going batshit crazy there.

Cindy McCain let her hair down. Good. I've been saying that for months.

Oh, the traditional "we met in high school and fell in love and 100 years later we're still together!!!" story. Gah. Once, just once, I want someone to be like, "Um, yeah, I got drunk. And he was dating my best friend, and now we're not best friends anymore, and most of the time he really bugs me."

Now the little daughter is holding the baby. *is enchanted* *is disgusted by threshold for enchantment*

Her hair looks better too. I'd still change the bangs, though.

Average mom quote. *snore*

I tire of this. I'm going to go HAVE MY OWN OPINIONS. She'd better hurry up. The Daily Show is on in eighteen minutes. And then six times tomorrow. Whatever.

ETA: Oh, my Lord, that little girl just licked her hand and smoothed the baby's hair. I'm disgusted and want to adopt at the same time.

There was no picture this year.

When we were little, my parents would take our picture on the first day of school standing in front of the fireplace. We figured that by junior year, perhaps we did not need to do that. Although we may have done it two years ago. Maybe.

Colleen did well! Not that I really expected her not to, but as my first day of college wasn't exactly a day I return to fondly in my dreams, I'm very glad for her. And apparently my devotion and sore butt I got from sitting outside her classics class results in the forgiveness of (some?) of my debt! I'm still unsure about the cookies. The cookies seem almost more like student loans, debt you can't get rid of even if you declare bankruptcy for sit in Curtin Hall for an hour.

So my classes. They were...well, pretty predictable. Ireland sounds amazing because oh! Anytime I can hear about Britain in the 1100's? Sign me up. Imperialism looks good too- the "major" term paper is 10-12 pages and not due until December. Pssh. Baby stuff.

2oth Century in Global Perspective turned out to actually be just the Cold War because the professor (who is EIGHT YEARS into his doctorate and STILL DOESN'T HAVE IT and OMG I AM GOING TO ROT IN HOLTON HALL NOT EVEN COUNTING THE THEOLOGY ONE *woe*) only really cares about that. But I like the Cold War. So this is good. He's really boring and kind of has a bad attitude (might be the failed dreams), but still.

Tomorrow I have art history, con law substitute (still pretty much con law, but technically a history class), and Jewish Biblical history. I know exactly how con law will go (and I'm trying to ignore that), and I know I'll like art history, so unless Jewish civ completely SUCKS this should be a pretty good semester.

Speaking of art history (and we really almost always are), Architect Daddy pointed out that I was remiss in my attribution this weekend, and he's right. It is Romanesque. But not really. There's some Spanish influence, and I stand by my pointed arches. Should I ever be bequeathed a fiefdom by her Imperial Highness, I will make Architect Daddy a vassal and should he ever get into any wars, I will pay for him to go to battle. Of course, in I ever get into any wars, he'll have to go die instead of my kids. But it's best to focus the honor of this post. :)

Oh! And I have friends in my classes! That I totally didn't realize until she walked in! *squee*

Oh! And also apparently my professor's ongoing struggle to pronounce my last name weighs so heavily on his mind that he feels the need to bring it up in classes I'm not a part of.

This morning in Ireland during roll call he mangled my last name and was like, "I seriously need to write that down," because EVERY SINGLE TIME I got a test or was called on or whatever last year he was incapable of pronouncing my name. Whatever. So in Imperialism he got it right (well, close to right, but I'm not splitting hairs) and was like, "Yes! After only calling your name 87 times over the last year, I finally got it right! I was even talking about you in my Arab-Israeli class an hour ago! And I'm sure the rest of you are so glad that I share so much!" Mary was laughing ridiculously hard and Kim was smirking. It was a trifle amusing.

He didn't even try with Mary's. It was like, "Mary Na...Mary, where are you?" *giggle*

I'm still fairly certain that when I get my first test back it will be with a first name only.

It didn't suck as much as I thought it would.

As My Three Sons and '50's sitcom as it sounds, I think Sunday dinners would be a good thing.

So I hope you all had a good Labor Day. I did absolutely nothing but clean, go to a sing-along Mamma Mia! during which no one sang but everyone laughed awkwardly, which was almost as good, and drank A LOT. It was lovely. I also may have screamed at family members about Sarah Palin. Maybe. A little.

So I have opinions. That's a good thing, right???

Now I'm going to bed, because dear God, Northern Ireland is going to come early and right now I could frankly care less whether or not England reinvades. Seriously. TIRED.

Seriously? The sexy librarian?

GAH. I am so worked up that John McCain, whom I previously mostly supported and even received e-mails from him (his campaign, not himself personally, ala Obama and Scarlett) has SCREWED OVER THE ENTIRE PARTY with his ridiculous n00b, barely postpartum, obviously pandering VP candidate.

And now I'm tired and watching National Treasure and rediscovering why I am a history major. Because clearly why pursue law school when one can run around in pretty dresses doing God knows what but presumably she has a doctorate and is also "trained to handle delicate documents" and whatevs, I just want to be the waitress that Nicolas Cage picks up and impregnates next.

What? WHAT? SO I DON'T SHOOT HIGH. My parents are kind of proud of me, dammit.

Oh, also? Imladris is home and there is much jubilation and drinking. Can you tell?

Today was kind of boring, except for the part with Colleen coming home and the drinking. I'm wicked tired, had to get up super-early for Mass because I missed it yesterday.

Discovered two things during Mass- one, while I adore St. Eugene's and would never, ever leave, I kind of TOTALLY wish we had a pretty church like St. Monica's. And not just because I found myself mentally cataloguing all the late Gothic architectural elements (because that actually got distracting when I was writing an essay in my head about the transept instead of concentrating on the Lamb of God), but because it's all big! and pretty! and churchy! And there is a real baptismal fountain instead of a Jacuzzi and some palm fronds.

(Ugh. I kind of hate my parish sometimes when I actually stop to think about it.)

Second, it's really weird to see someone who you've kind of accepted as "your" priest being pastor somewhere else. I don't know why, but it didn't really occur to me that the guy I see being my pastor several times a week (well, at least the last month since the alcohol stopped working so much for the grief) would be saying Mass this morning somewhere else. Not sad or anything, like when Father Ken left, but just...weird.

Also, Padre? Why when I have nowhere to be is Mass over in 49 freaking minutes but this morning when I had to change and get to work you rambled about St. Peter for like THE WHOLE HOUR? Not cool, dude. Not cool.

But I got to work on time and goofed off with Derrick for awhile (There was Madonna. And dancing.) and completely restrained myself from throwing bags of coffee at the bikers (oh yes, they were plural) who ordered iced coffee but really wanted and iced flavored latte and dear, Lord, HOW IS IT THAT I DON'T HAVE A MASTERS YET!?!??!

I'm going to go have a Manhattan. Have a lovely sleep-in tomorrow. Unless you have to work, in which case your life sucks and my prayers are with you.

More embarrassing revelations.

The Sound of Music is on ABC Family RIGHT NOW and I am ridiculously excited. It's the part where the kids go storm the convent and are all "ZOMG YOU MUST LET US TALK TO MARIA DADDY HAS A NEW WHORE AND DOESN'T LOVE US ANYMORE!!!" and the nuns are, "Um, I think not. She's praying or something..." and the little one's like, "Bitch, look at my boo-boo." And the nun's like, "Oh, God, there is a REASON I have a vocation. This womb wasn't made for nurturing, Lord."

I love that movie.

Anyhoodles, you know Hamlet 2? Which is supposed to be hilarious and offensive and hilarious again? Yeah. I must see it. First of all, I am a whore for a fun kicky musical story. And I find the idea of Hamlet 2 hilarious. Also, I had the sneaking suspicion that at some point I adored Steve Coogan, even I couldn't remember when or why. So I searched him on IMDB, and DUDE HE WAS COUNT MERCY IN MARIE ANTOINETTE.

This is the embarrassing revelation. Not the fact that I freaking adored Marie Antoinette and even bought the DVD, which is embarrassing in and of itself, but that during the initial theater viewing of said movie (Yes, I paid to see it. On opening weekend. *shame* THERE WERE LOTS OF OTHER PEOPLE IN THE THEATER I AM NOT THAT WEIRD.), I totally kind of thought Mercy was hot. Like, I was pretty sure I wouldn't have wanted to talk about how my husband found having sex with me a physical impossibility around him.

At the time I thought it was just because I kind of find the idea of the historical Count Mercy adorable, you know, how she kept him around way longer than she needed to because she was lonely, kind of like when you find sixteen reasons to call your mom when you're lonely. And he was all like, "Oh, it's okay. You'll get to have sex eventually. I mean, you can only miss so many times, right? Right? Please say right. I really want to go back to Austria and NOT DIE BY THIS NEWFANGLED GUILLOTINE. I signed up for driving a 14-year-old across the border. I DID NOT WANT THIS. *ahem* Love ya, hon."

Now I'm pretty sure it's just because I adore Steve Coogan.

I feel old.

I helped my sister move into the dorms today, or rather I sat in the lobby because eleventy jillion people in a teensy weensy little suite? Maybe not so much fun and also may spook the roommate.

And while I was sitting in the lobby watching the masses of heavily eyelinered, skinny jeans-wearing, slouchy incoming freshmen, I noticed several boys wearing the same (heinous) outfit.

Apparently, it's considered attractive for young men to wear sleeveless t-shirts with the sides cut out. Like, really, gone. There was just a band around the waist. I saw like sixteen different boys wearing a shirt like this, and it absolutely astounded me.

I have never seen it before. I have missed and ENTIRE trend. I am only 20, and these kids today are completely not even consulting me long enough to mock, for heaven's sake. (Much like I did with the boys-wearing-girls pants trend. Grow up, Pete Wentz. You're going to be a father.)

So now I'm old. *sigh*

And yet, I want to be a perpetual student.

This afternoon I was driving home and passed Cardinal Stritch. It was small. It was pretty. There was a parking lot. That you parked in, and then walked into the buildings. It was like Concordia, but with the Blessed Mother. I had walked three blocks one-way to one of two bookstores only to discover that all my books were actually more expensive there than on Amazon. And then I seriously considered transferring.

So, the whole perpetual student thing. I know, I know, you thought I was over this. The general law school vs. history thing hasn't shown up here a lot, and that's really been my only issue for over a year. In terms of a solid academic trajectory, barring major flubs like failing the GRE, I'm pretty much set.

But today I was reading a fantastic book by the guy who wrote My Life with the Saints, about his work as theological advisor to an off-Broadway troupe doing a play about Judas. Even discounting my glee as I paged through the photo insert and realized that the guy playing Satan was TOTALLY THE CAPTAIN ON LAW AND ORDER: CRIMINAL INTENT AND DO YOU REALLY KNOW GOREN???, I loved it really. And it made me feel smart, because in the "For Further Reading" section, he recommends John Meier's A Marginal Jew for the "truly ambitious". AND I'VE TOTALLY READ THAT. *self-satisfied squee*

That's right. I'm truly ambitious. So while I'm not going to be completely irresponsible and abandon the history Ph.D thing (which is still what I want to do for a career), I think I'm going to go for a doctorate in theology or religious studies too. Maybe concurrently or possibly right afterwards (really, once you've defended one thesis, what's the big deal about the second?), but I think I definitely want to supplement my background in "secular" history (history is very rarely secular, particularly before 1700) with graduate studies in theology.

And not just so I can meet Law and Order cast members.

Apparently there is a bird that you cannot change. Who knew?

So...went with the fam to see Lynard Skynard tonight, because they are The Artist Formerly Known As The Boy's favorite band evah omg. They were at some Harley gathering. There were 30,000 of them.

And me.

I'm trying to put this delicately. In a way that doesn't make me sound like a horrible snob, because while I am kind of a snob, I swear to God that's not what I mean here. These people make more money than I ever will, even if I have to sell my Ph.D to make rent. No, it's just that...they're not really my people.

I'm fairly confident that out of the crown of thirty thousand, I was the only one wearing a Josh Groban sweatshirt, listening to Mozart, and reading about the Easter Rising.

So it was just kind of awkward because I got the feeling that each and every one of them (including the women) could WIPE THE FLOOR WITH ME.

I'm really bad at the being young thing, so I have no desire to go stand in a pulsing mob of my peers listening to a band I actually like and getting beer poured on my head. I have less desire to stand in a pulsing mob of baby boomers listening to somebody scream "The South shall rise again!" and getting beer poured on my head by someone my father's age wearing a Confederate flag bandanna.

Guess which one happened?

And, oh, the second-hand smoke. And the saggy boobs. Lord, if I never see a boob that really should be supported but is instead shoved into a thin tank top that may or may not be lacking an actual BACK, I will be happy.

So when I marry that rich guy so that I don't have to sell my Ph.D to make rent, I'd better make sure he's not into motorcycles. Because there is no way I would do this for anyone other than my brother.

In which I live up to my family name...

...and royally freak out.

Doesn't happen often. But when it does, you can bet your ass it will have something to do with school. Because the normally rational me completely goes BATSHIT CRAZY whenever you mix academics and any amount of stress (and, um, I don't know if you noticed, but I've become an incredibly devout alcoholic, which is not entirely normal behavior). This could explain why when I think about taking the doctoral preliminary exams, I break out in a cold sweat and want to dry heave because WHAT IF I FAIL? THEN WHAT? BECAUSE I CAN ONLY RETAKE IT ONCE AND IF I DON'T HAVE A DOCTORATE MY CAREER PROSPECTS WILL BE EVEN WORSE THAN DISMAL AND NO ONE WILL LOVE ME AND I CANNOT WORK RETAIL FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE IS THAT WHITE ZINFANDEL????

Just a little bit.

Headed down to UnWed Mothers today to buy books and get UPasses and walk Imladris around and generally take care of pre-school stuff. Bought about half of my books. They were inexpensive and depending on how much of a personality change the professor has undergone over the summer, I may be able to return one or two of them. Happiness. Got my bus pass, and took Colleen around to find her rooms. Yay.

Then I picked up a bus schedule.

And proceeded to freak right out.

THEY CHANGED MY ROUTE. The beautiful little schedule that I have had the ENTIRE time I've been at UWM, a schedule I could recite in my sleep, one I depend on and can even figure out when they're going to be late. IS GONE.

They've added a stop at MATC North and changed the times and now I'm very confused and have to wait around until after two every day to be picked up and on Monday and Wednesdays I only have eight minutes and what if they're running late? Believe me, I've tried to get from Mequon to Brown Deer during rush hour and IT CANNOT BE DONE IN A TIMELY FASHION I WILL HAVE TO DROP OUT *WOE*.

Then I calmed down and actually read the route on the back and discovered that the route avoids the freeway, so it shouldn't be late. So perhaps the rending of garments and gnashing of teeth was slightly uncalled for. And I actually get to leave later in the mornings for a few days. So, um. Yeah.

I'm still confused and it will take a little while to memorize the new times, but I'm back to my calm, cool, collected (shut up) self.

I know you're all thrilled.

Jon and Kate Plus 8 is WAY more my style.

We're watching the Democratic National Convention. Or rather, we're watching three fake pundits on PBS talking about the Democratic National Convention. Because the real pundits on actual networks (except Comedy Central, which will be beginning it's Daily Show coverage tomorrow night- and I am way too thrilled for a halfway intelligent student of international history and politics) don't come on until nine, and other than Michelle Obama debuting her brand new White House Black Market find, not much is going on tonight.

Oh, I'm sorry. There's also a tribute to Teddy Kennedy, who is still alive but apparently not letting that stop him getting his glory. I'm so glad I live in a nation that puts together glorified PowerPoint presentations of murderers to some ridiculous power ballad. (ETA: They're using Orleans' "Still the One". Oh, *barf*.) This is really what the founding fathers had in mind. Well. Maybe Franklin. He was kind of a loose cannon.

Meh. I like politics, I really do. That's why I was initially involved in international relations, because I loved the political arena but certainly didn't want to run for office. (I did a three-paragraph reading at my grandfather's funeral in the church I've spent my entire life in, in front of pretty much immediate family and Mary laughing behind my back, and I ALMOST DIED RIGHT THERE. Actually. That would have been dramatic, and at least I would have gone out in a pretty dress. Huh. Anyway, somehow I didn't think public office would be the most amazing career choice.)

(OH MY GOD THEY ARE INTRODUCING CAROLINE KENNEDY WITH SWEET CAROLINE. I think I might throw up.)

("Barack Obama makes them feel hopeful like they did when my father was President." Oh, bite me, Caroline. The best thing that happened to your father's political career was his death. Had he lived, we all would have been screaming, "Hey, hey, JFK, how many babies did you kill today?" That is, if he hadn't already run the country into the ground because he SUCKED at domestic policy and we were actually damn lucky that the Russians started building nukes in Cuba because at least it distracted him from SCREWING US OVER at home. *ahem*)

(Okay, back to the real post.)

But while I'm interested in current politics, I'm really more of a historian. The part of politics that absolutely fascinates me is the way in which the political process is used to create (and destroy) countries and empires. This is part of the reason I'm an Article III groupie, because the privilege that the Court has is the ability to make history with every single decision, and they're (at least on paper) free from the disenchanting, unpleasant side of politics.

So listening to hours of newbie Democratic senators crying over how alive Barack Obama makes them feel? Makes me want to drink. (Which I am! Because this month has sucked! And I hate the world!)

And I'm not remotely a Democrat. Occasionally, I try to convince myself that I am. I think, being young, that my entire society tells me that the only thing worse than not being a Democrat is killing African AIDS babies by beating them with the body of a kitten that you've gutted while your grandmother watched. But I'm really not.

I'm a Republican. I'm a rather independent, tolerant, middle-of-the-road Republican, but I am a Republican nonetheless. I don't have a problem with gay unions, I'm against the death penalty, I am against any and all wars on principle, I think we need some health care reform, and I certainly don't always agree with Bush. But I'm fiscally conservative, I think that less government (at least in the context of our political system) is better. And DO NOT GET ME STARTED ON ABORTION.

I'm also cynical enough to realize that private industry is good for the economy. Seriously. It is. Take a history class. Any history class.

(Side Note: The phone just rang and I looked at the clock to see if it was nine o'clock. Now I'm going to get another drink.)

So I'm voting for McCain in November, even though I don't agree with him on everything. Now you know.

Although, only because they took Stephen Colbert off the list. Because I would become a Wiccan, Green Party member if that man told me to.

From Liberace...

Mary and I should not be allowed to sit next to each other at Mass. Because there is usually too much to laugh over, and then it just gets inappropriate.

So, book update! I still think I would be totally okay just using my own Bible in replacement of the NSRV one. I'd probably have to work harder at finding citations, but I could probably figure it out. Not really an issue, though, because Mary I had a stroke of genius and did a library search for all of my books. And guess what? SEVEN of them are available from my local library. I am thrilled. It will be kind of complicated, because sometime in November I'll have to return everything and check it out again, but it has the potential to save me HUNDREDS of dollars. Half of me is like, "Well, but what if someone else orders them? THEN WHAT STUPID PERSON?" And half of me is like, "Shut up, now we don't have to take up stripping."

Guess which half is winning?

This means I may actually be able to pay cash for everything and not have to max out my credit line, which would be amazing because I kind of totally have to do that next semester after the lovely familial gifts run out. But I'm not going to think about that! Not ever! *grins wildlly in denial*

I need to hang out with more religious studies majors.

Finally it looks like all of my books have at least been ordered, if they aren't already in the bookstore. Of course, it isn't the bookstore that's easy to get to, with a parking lot RIGHT THERE, but the one on the edge of campus and isn't nearly as pretty but also doesn't have distractingly cute sweatshirts (okay, they're few and far between, but if you look hard you can find some) that you can't buy because you are totally broke, so I guess it evens out.

This, obviously, allows me to kind of figure out how much they're going to be, and then do a quick internet search for "pimps" because mama needs another job STAT.

It actually doesn't look too bad- most are relatively inexpensive. Using the highest amazon prices I could find and rounding up, most of them only come to about $375. Three I couldn't find online, but even allowing about $50 for each, it's still less than $550, which is what I was kind of figuring.

Except one thing. My Hebrew studies class as five books. FIVE. I'm not even JEWISH, for God's (or rather, Christ's) sake!!! My Ireland class (which I am ancestrally tied to) only has two.

My issue- two of the five are Bibles. I have a bunch of Bibles already. The first required book is a Jewish Bible, so I'm guessing that one would be a little bit different (probably notsomuch on the Resurrection), but the second one is the NSRV. It's not allowed for liturgical use, but the USCCB even approved it for study. So how different would that be from my New American Bible? Could I not just follow along? I mean, I already know the major plot points. And it would save me probably around $30, which would be a major spiritual blessing.

I need a theology major roommate. It would make book shopping so much easier.

Wakeup with Morena.

It's really early. And Morena is not amused.

I was going to get up and go to Mass this morning, which isn't the part I'm annoyed with. I wanted to, 7:30 really isn't that early, I could, in theory, go to the church closer to my house that is later if I didn't have an irrational aversion to all churches but mine and feel like they were playacting the Mass, blah blah.

No, my issue is with the fact that I could get NO sleep last night. It was eleventy jillion degrees in my bedroom (and we know I can't open the windows and let in all those serial killer hacker people who are TOTALLY waiting in my front yard, confounded only by our cheap windows), and I slept probably like an hour. At least until quarter after five, when I fell asleep.

You can imagine that when my alarm went off at 5:45 I really could care less about the American Heart Association's recommended daily exercise advisement. They, frankly, could go screw themselves.

Of course, my lovely little graduated alarm thing doesn't turn off that easily and woke me up for good nine minutes later, by which point someone who shall remain nameless announced they were going out in public without brushing their teeth and then, well, after that the nausea kept me away.

So. I'm going to go shower my unellipticalled self and BRUSH MY TEETH BECAUSE I AM A CIVILIZED HUMAN BEING.

Have a lovely morning.

Because you really need *more* information about my life.

No, clearly Facebook is too demure. The never ending spout of stuff you never really needed to know about another person that is this blog, modest. Because now! Now I have Twitter! That's right, ladies and gentlemen, linked on the sidebar, you can see what I'm up to. Or you could get it yourself and we could talk! Without picking up the phone! Or even Facebook messaging! Because clicking that little "compose message", oh, so much work.

You may now begin to mock mercilessly.

Also found a lovely new template on some website that I'm pretty sure infected my computer with a virus. But look at the pretty coffee cup!

***

I'll bet you're all, like, dying to know what's going on with the washer, right? I know I was.

Luckily for my dignity and immortal soul, I did not have to proposition the repair guy. Within moments he was like, "Um, yeah, I think you have something caught in the pipe." Sure enough, there was what used to be a sock stuck in the drainage pipe, thus illuminating the mystery of where all those socks really do go. They get sucked into the machine and then result in a costly home visit! That's where!!!

Got it out, it's working fine, and I even did a load of towels. And then said a rosary in thanks. I even refrained from correcting the repairman's grammar, even under my breath, because I felt as though he were operating on my baby.

And also I'm not a huge awful person. Well. Not all the time.

You never think it's going to happen to you.

So you know my reason for living washing machine? The beautiful, wonderful, ginormous machine that makes my life so much easier?

Yeah. It's broken.

During a cycle this morning it started making HORRIFIC noises, noises that were not made to come from a washing machine. I ran out of the bathroom where I was straightening my hair (This, let me tell you, was an interesting sight. Half the head was already blown out and in two separate pigtails, and the other half was wet and frizzy. I looked lovely. Shocking that I'm not in a relationship, right?) and threw myself at it, possibly screaming and crying and begging God that if He lets this stop I will totally sacrifice my firstborn son, or, you know, a lamb or something look, I'm not sure what You're into now, Catholics pretty much let the whole Old Testament thing slide.

It stopped making the noise. I went back to my hair.

Ten minutes later, John announces that, um, maybe there's water? All over the floor?

Oh. Shit. I huddled in the corner rocking back and forth thinking of my happy place (which, incidentally, includes CLEAN TOWELS).

Not actually that huge a deal, because for some reason this week our family is fairly brimming with washing machines that aren't being used. Or, I could, I supposed, venture back to the laundromat.

Which actually just makes me think about the Norman invasion of England and the Crusades because I spent the entire time sitting there studying for my history midterm. So now when I think about communal washers I think about Innocent III. :)

ETA: Apparently somebody will be over tomorrow. "Now, that doesn't mean that it will be fixed tomorrow," my mother warned. Oh. Oh, it will be fixed. If I have to offer inappropriate favors and possibly threats against his family, it will be fixed.

ETA 2: Goodbye to Mickey! And Spawn of Mickey! You other two readers will really have to step it up in the comments section the next few days.

Attention all Gentlemen...

...I have found my engagement ring. Anyone who may in the future consider proposing? I'd like this ring. Just so you know.

And I also really want this one because oh! So old! And pretty! And medieval! And I'd love to walk around with an amethyst ring from 1450!

I've decided that from now on, all my jewelry must be vintage pre-1750. So, shop accordingly for Christmas.

That is all.

Last Night, on Mad Men

Last Sunday of Lent:

Peggy: Y hello thar, Father.

Fr. Colin Hanks: *is adorable* Help me with my sermon? I'm totes scared.

Peggy: Oh, is that what the kids are calling it these days?

Peggy's sister: *smolders*

Meanwhile, at the Draper's: There is sex. A lot of sex.

Palm Sunday:

Peggy's Sister: Bless me Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was two weeks ago and OMG MY SISTER IS A BIG WHORE. Seriously. FILTHY WHORE, UNDESERVING OF YOUR "FRIENDSHIP". She seduced a married man and EVERYTHING. And, oh, I'm angry about it. Um, yeah, that's my sin, being angry. That's totally why I'm here and it has nothing to do with my unsatisfying marriage.

Fr. Colin Hanks: *pouts* *is still adorable, even while pouting* Okay. Say three Hail Marys and two Our Fathers. *woe*

Meanwhile, at the Draper's: There is spousal abuse. And makeup sex.

Easter Sunday:

Peggy: Hi! I'm adorable and wholesome and ogling me is in no way a sin at all!

Fr. Colin Hanks: *still adorably pouting* Here. Have an egg. For your FILTHY LOVE CHILD that is apparently a bigger impediment to our awkward silences and meaningful stares than my vows. *woe*

Peggy: What? Wait. Have you been talking to my sister?

Fr. Colin Hanks: DO NOT SPEAK TO ME WHORE. I'm going to go pout for our relationship that now can never be because you drunkenly slept with someone.

Meanwhile, at the Draper's: Well, we don't know what happened at the Draper's, because the episode ended with the pouting. But I'm guessing there was sex. Those two are like rabbits.

So, all I can say is that if you're not watching already you TOTALLY SHOULD BE.

That is all.

Thoughts on Irish Fest

Pictures and a more complete review will be forthcoming, but oh, God, so tired, bloated, and tearful. This is not fair- I should not have to deal with a death in the family and Logan's final episode on Criminal Intent. Why, God? WHY???

So, Irish Fest was lovely for the second day in a row. One of the alter boys was ridiculously adorable. At least I hope he was just an alter boy. If he was a deacon, I'm totally going to hell. In past years, there occasionally was a Father What-A-Waste, which usually just kicks my Catholic guilt into high gear, so we thankfully avoided that this year. But the alter boy! HOT!

So were the accompanists and director of the children's choir we sat through. Accented. Lovely. I'd have taken choir if the guy directing it had looked like that.

Then it got ridiculously hot and killed my buzz.

And that's all for tonight. :D

Maybe I should write about someone else's life.

Maybe I should turn my blog into someone else's, a writerly experience, like Anonymous Lawyer.

Because, well, if I were to write about my actual day? I could write about sleeping until ten. Or balancing my checkbook. Or setting up online banking because I suddenly realized while waking up this morning that I kind of maybe had exhausted almost my entire credit line that I was planning on using to pay for books on Monday and perhaps I should find out exactly how my I had left. (Should you care: Oh, holy mother of God, not much.) Or how I managed to do my hair in only! one! hour! and this is clearly a personal victory. Or how I fell asleep for two hours this afternoon while watching Doctor Who. Or how I woke up hungry and devoured a meat pie and several chocolate chip coconut Kahlua cookies (oh so tasty). Or, finally, how I'm now too full for dinner and am watching running (Side Note: There are not words to describe my loathing for and philosophical opposition to running) and drinking a lovely glass of wine (we need more, btw).

Yes, I'm sure any of those would be just ripe for internet fodder.

But then you wouldn't get random pictures in which I look kind of halfway pretty.

My brother looks okay, too. But it's all about me. If you don't know that yet, you're reading the wrong blog.

And oh! If I was pretending to be someone else, I probably couldn't tell you that this guy? Is back. And he's friendly.

Oh, I don't really mind that I had nothing going on today, because did I mention the wine? No, really. Yesterday was kind of packed full of unpleasantness and then finally fun but still packed, and then tomorrow will be very fun (presumably there will cake) but still like four things to do and that clearly is way too many for a hermit such as myself. I'm getting tired just thinking about it.

And when, for the love of God, will I finish the Doctor Who episode I fell asleep during today?

The Fest.

It's Irish Fest weekend! And omg, so important.

Because I have just now returned from the awesome, and am a teensy bit tired (but I have a Celtic cross! And perfume! And a stomachache!), I'm giving you adorable pictures of my very first Irish Fest, twenty years ago. Yes, adorable little eleven-month-old me, rocking out at Irish Fest. With my grandma. And my mommy. Who finally had an Irish girl to dress up.

(I know the scans are terrible, but they're scans of copies of old pictures- it's not my fault, really.)

My mom actually made this little outfit, even embroidering my name on a little removable panel. She made the panel removable so that if she had another little girl, she could wear it too. Two years later when it came time for Colleen's first Irish Fest, she seriously underestimated the amount of work that two toddlers required, and instead of a whole new panel that said "Colleen", Colleen got a button that said "Colleen" pinned over the "Kath" part.

Second children. They have it so difficult.

I think someone had taken away my Irish Fest baby in this picture. I had a little doll that said "Thank God I'm Irish" that I was clearly enamored with, because I'm playing with it in every other picture from that day). But it's not in this one, and I look a little bit peeved about something, so I'm guessing that's it.

Please note the '80s sunglasses. And the fact that my crazy mother has me in a sweatshirt (also with my name painted on, with little shamrocks, in case someone should catch a glimpse of me and think that I wasn't Irish enough) in August.

Good times.

Suddenly, the fact that they HAVEN'T RELEASED A REAL TRAILER YET kind of makes sense.

Harry Potter 6 movie pushed to Summer '09. DAMN! I was totally looking forward to generally embarrassing myself in, like, two months. And now I have to wait a YEAR before I get to see Alan Rickman run like a girl and kill Dumbledore?

Why must you toy with me? Why, WB, why?

Gah. Hate the world.

I'm stealing links today, because the Potter scandal has thoroughly deflated me. *tear*

Frankly, more movies need to call Johnny Depp "king of the world". (So I know the Latin. Shut up, I know I'm a dork.) I'm intrigued by the concept, and edified that look! Johnny likes history too! Fake history that comes from a comic book and let's face it, even the "real" history it's based on is not so much with the real but I don't care! Clearly we're meant for each other, right? RIGHT!?!?

*ahem*

Anyway, I'll be there with bells on.

Finally, Colin Hanks to guest on Mad Men. OMG! OMG! OMG! I love Colin Hanks. I love Mad Men. I LOVE THEM TOGETHER EVEN MORE!!!

(Also, take a look at the picture and laugh at how much he looks like his dad. Haha.)

I'm just guessing, but the story line has the potential to be interesting. Last season Peggy had a fling with her soon-to-be-married co-worker and ended up pregnant but didn't realize it until she gave birth. Her crazy-conservative family still doesn't know she had the baby. I'm thinking maybe they find out? And some shit hits the fan?

Cannot wait.

Joey Cheek on the The Colbert Report

Because I am so unbelievably tired and have nothing else to say except that I really regret that I lack the strong black Irish features that allow one to carry off a lovely scarf and cool earrings but instead possess the ruddy shanty-Irish complexion that only allows you to wear one color at a time and God help you if that color is red.

Oh, and I really, really like days off from the painting. Because the open sore on my finger is preventing me from even holding a pencil or makeup brush. (NO!!! THE HORROR!!!)

So. Here you go. It's...well, it's not as funny as the show normally is, because Cheek seems unable to realize that he's on the frickin Colbert Report, despite the fact that he's the core demographic (college kids without actual jobs). But two years ago when he was an Olympian my mother inexplicably decided that he was my intended and clearly I had to marry him and she would start buying clothes for our adorable sports-savvy babies.

No. I don't know why.

Yet another example of how practical a degree in art history actually is.

Much like first-year psychology students who find themselves unable to go home for Thanksgiving because they fear sleeping with their moms and the resulting castration at the hands of their fathers who are really, really pissed that they slept with their moms, art history students are unable to complete everyday tasks without intellectual contamination.

For instance- painting. If you are, say, shown to a room, handed a can of primer, and left alone with just the Killz fumes and a friend who the same educational background and indeed has spent many, many lectures giggling over the Ecstasy of St. Theresa with you? Madness will ensue.

You will begin to harmonize with Josh Groban singing Vincent, with some slight variations that made very little sense three years ago when they first entered your personal lexicon (SQUIRREL!!!) and less so now. You will start to laugh about Youth Camp 200-whatever, because you can't remember what year it was but you know you were also painting and singing spirituals from memory, which isn't a lot (although I realized this morning that I totally remember the entire song that they play at the end of the Mass with exposition, a little reminder of the countless Mondays I served in my early teens).

But perhaps most tellingly, you feel that you are overqualified simply to paint the wall white. You know too much. Surely my mother actually meant a triptych? With a Madonna? And the Christ child? And John the Baptist? Arranged artfully in the pyramid shape? After all, I have not spent countless hours and pages learning how to do just that to waste my talents.

I know what colors to use, I know that all the angles must be actually pointing to the Child, and what to stick in the background just to rack up the grace points for those poor illiterate fools that these paintings were usually aimed at. (Survey says crosses and other indications of future Passion-ness score rather high, other saints and Bible stories lower.) Hell, I could even date it approximately by how cute Jesus is- if it looks like an actual baby and not this weird anthropomorphic little man? Post- 1500.

But then a breeze cleared out some of the fumes and I realized that I actually have no talent, at anything (including priming, as it looked, well, not like HGTV, when I was finished), and am only good at memorizing other people's accomplishments. It was sad really.

Well, at least until Gwen Stefani's The Sweet Escape came on and I seriously embarrassed myself by rocking out.

My emotional insecurities- let me show you them!

Or would you rather see my injuries?

No snark today, I promise. I'm too tired. Emotionally and physically, although currently physically is winning.

As though the actual dying wasn't enough, we also have a house to deal with. Fortunately (I guess), my family and I are polar opposites. My mom and sister can't deal with the physical changing of the house, but are perfectly content to spend eight hours going through piles of papers. I have very little problem with washing walls that another family painted when my grandparents still lived in another state, but while I was moving stuff so I could clean said walls I ran across a bag from Stemper's filled with cards that were (of course) itemized on the front of the bag and it said, "2 Granddaughter birthday " and burst into tears.

It actually works out quite well. Hand me the Killz and let me put my iPod on shuffle and pretend that it's somebody else's- anybody else's- bathroom. Y'all can deal with letters and pictures and clothing and all that stuff.

Well, at least I thought it was a good deal until I spent five (yes, five) hours scraping the ceiling. Do you know how difficult it is to scrape a ceiling when you are the same height as a hobbit? Very. I burned my wrist on the light (huh, I know how the CSI:NY episode worked now), lost feeling in my thumb, somehow took a gouge out of my finger without realizing it, and cannot move my right shoulder. And it still didn't all come off.

My mom walked in and asked what we the hell we were going to do with it. I'll tell you what we're going to do with it. We're going to paint it and call it faux-finishing. And if anybody begs to differ, they will get to view the scar on my wrist.

Oh, hey! Speaking of shuffle, I heard a lot of great songs that I haven't heard in a long time today. Like the ending to the Resurrection piece of the Passion of the Christ? Lovely. And Avril Lavigne! I forgot how much I love her! She speaks to my pasty white angriness.

I'm going to go die in a corner now. See you tomorrow.

Olympic Self-Loathing

So, you guys know me, right? I mean, you're all related to me, and you've been reading my drivel for, like, over three years now. (You know, back when blogging was cool and something that people who didn't have fertility issues did.) Ergo, you know that blogging? Is pretty much the only thing I've managed to stick with.

EVER.

I have a horse in the backyard. A flute upstairs in my closet that I actually received as a gift for Christmas because my parents got tired of paying rental fees TWO YEARS after I stopped taking lessons. I've changed my major five times, finally giving up because I'm too damn old and if I'm going to be in school for the rest of my life at least it won't be undergrad.

Girl Scouts, horseback riding, piano, flute, horseback riding, 4H, that random homeschooling group, I've dropped all of them. Most for good reasons (no talent, what the hell kind of Kool-Aid are they drinking in 4H anyway?, I was the world's worst homeschooler) some for bad (I don't like socializing. Ever.).

Well, upstairs next to my flute is a leotard, because, once upon a time, I was a gymnast. I was pretty good, too- I made the team. I quit though, because the daily practice and twice weekly *choke* ballet classes were seriously cutting into the time I normally reserved for reading Nancy Drew books and, I don't know, picking at my feet or something. What? I don't remember what I was doing around age 10. Whatever.

I'm not terribly broken up about it. Probably for the best, as shortly after this I woke up one morning and needed a C-cup. And also? I really like my neck as it is- a different entity from my shoulders.

But watching these ridiculously talented and YOUNG! gymnasts bopping around like nobody's business is almost as depressing as watching the figure skating. You know, when the prepubescent beauty spends fourteen hours a day skating and somehow has time to sing Christmas carols with old people and cure AIDS too!

*scoffs* It disgusts me.

If there is one thing I dislike, it's watching people who are several years younger than me and in way better shape accomplish things. At least, I don't like doing that without a glass of wine. Well. It's a good thing that's not happening tonight!!!

Good days and bad days.

Today? Not so much a good day.

I suppose it wouldn't be when you hang out at a cemetery and realize that you are hugely in debt- not only the lovely financial aid debt that doesn't really count because you don't have to think about that for, like, years, especially if you are on the never ever leave not ever plan for graduation, but real credit card OMG PAY US NOW OR WE WILL CHARGE YOU EXORBITANT INTEREST BECAUSE YOU HAVE NO CREDIT RATING AND WE DON'T CARE THAT YOUR GRANDFATHER DIED AND YOU NEEDED A DRESS MWAHAHAHA.

Yeah. That kind.

But did actually manage to get writing on the crypt, so we're what? Nine years ahead of schedule? And they had better be able to fit "Elizabeth" on there, so help me God, because I did not waste like seven good years of my childhood learning to spell my ridiculously long name if I don't get to see my namesake's actual name on the damn wall.

And then I may have yelled at my parents and made them choose a burial site because they've been pussyfooting around for my entire life about where they're going to go and I DO NOT WANT YOU TO DIE IN A CAR CRASH AND THEN I HAVE TO PICK A CEMETERY BECAUSE I KNOW WHICH ONE I WOULD PICK AND I DON'T WANT TO MAKE MY THEORETICALLY DEAD DAD MAD SO MAKE UP YOUR MINDS FOR GOD'S SAKE WHY YES I AM A LITTLE BIT STRESSED AND THE ALCOHOL DOESN'T WORK AS WELL AS IT DID TWO WEEKS AGO.

Yeah. I told you it wasn't a great summer.

Goodness. We're just capitalizing up a storm tonight aren't we?

ETA: Oooh! Michael Phelps won a race! I got all patriotic for a moment.

8-8-08

I'm rather exhausted a little bit, and am going to go watch the end of the opening ceremony (Four hours in, and USA is almost up. God, I don't know why I watch this.), so just links.

There is a special place in hell. I don't think Dante invented enough circles for people who cheat on their cancerous wives who lost a child a few years ago and then make her campaign for him for his sorry adulterous ass. I've never dealt with dead children or, obviously, campaigning, but I do know how cancer affects a family. I love my father, but if he had hurt my mother one sixteenth of how much that ratfink bastard probably hurt his wife, well, he'd never be able to come close to committing adultery again. In fact, urinating might be an issue.

What rage? I have no rage.

Creepin'

I don't like heights. I don't like bridges. Driving over a high bridge? I don't like that.

Just so you know.

***
Had planned to go to Boring Starbucks today, but discovered upon arrival that something in the shopping center had caught fire and all the trucks were seriously messing with our mojo and clearly this was a sign that God wanted us to go to the prettier Starbucks a few miles south with way more atmosphere. Obviously.

It was such a pretty day that we sat outside, which afforded us a lovely view of old people who kept removing items of clothing (with the woman it was her pants, and the guy it was his shirt- no, I'm not making this up.) and St. Monica's, which was way prettier than the crazy old naked bikers. I'm just saying.

It was so pretty that Colleen wanted to go creep on it. (In a long digression, we discovered that were she to be gang-raped walking to Mass, she would be canonized and she would become known as St. Colleen the Creeper, and the picture on her holy card would be the one of her creeping on historic Cedarburg. I look forward to the made-for-TV movie.) I don't remember much about the inside, because I was only dragged there for super-conservative confession with the Opus Dei priests (Colleen: Wait. They're real? I thought you were being sarcastic!) who wanted me to kneel and I'm sorry, I'm a baby of the nineties, I don't kneel in confession, just absolve me and leave me alone!, and that was emotionally scarring enough to block out any and all aesthetic recollections.

Finally, it was decided that we would go to Peg Bradley, tell them that I was getting married, and that Colleen and Keelin were my bridesmaids because I apparently look "mature" enough that this would totally work. Alas, they were closing. *tear*

When I got home, Bright Young Things had arrived in the mail. I am now watching it. Aside from the horrendous porn mustache marring David Tennant's lovely face, it was a good day.

Here I go again...

...ZOMG ONLY TWO HOURS UNTIL I GET TO SEE MAMMA MIA AGAIN!!!

*ahem*

Perhaps, just perhaps, Colleen will treat the entire car to her unique rendition of "Super Trouper" which had me laughing so hard I almost had an accident last week. Well, that and I got lost somewhere behind St. Monica's because I forgot I had to go back to Bayshore and why does no road just go straight, dammit???

But that's a whole different story.

Not a whole lot going on. Yesterday was a little bit exhausting, and I fell asleep this afternoon watching John Adams.

Oh, John Adams. A few thoughts. Thomas Jefferson is kind of hot. Not as hot as he usually is. I'm not sure when they decided that of the historical figures, Thomas Jefferson would get to be the cute one (sex in that cool Monticello bed just a bonus), but he always is portrayed by someone hot. This one isn't the hottest one I've seen (Shut up, I like revolutionary war dramas. Sue me.), but pretty good.

Except there's this totally awkward part in France where Jefferson is all widowered (is that a word?) and totally being weird with Abigail and she's all giggly and "OMG ur so charming" and John is all blustery and "Wut? I'm not charming? Whatevs." Which I'm pretty sure didn't happen.

It could have. Because I think it was around the time that history declared him Teh Hawt Founding Father, it also turned him into a hound dog. An undocumented, possibly-cleared-by-DNA-but-we're-not-really-too-sure-hound-dog, but one nonetheless.

Wallpaper of a Color Not Found in Nature: A Photo Essay

Alternately entitled: Why You Should Change Your Wallpaper Occasionally At Least Like Every Century or So.

Alternately Alternately entitled: I'm Betting Keelin's Mom Recognizes This Because It Hasn't Changed Since She and Mickey and Mommy Were In High School Even Though Now All Their Kids are in College.

And I thought yesterday was fun. Oh, ha! Painful photography and embarrassing service people with our family issues? Nothing. Because today I got to strip. Wallpaper.

Of course there are pictures. As Susan was tearing the paper off, she said, "Oh, I hope you took pictures," and then kind of laughed and said, "Wait. I'm telling your family to take pictures?" Yes. the family that spends half the given time for any activity documenting it for posterity. Which could explain the metric assload of Baby Spawn of Mickey #1 pictures that we found today. Colleen said there were more photographs of that child than Prince William. She's probably right.

Because we figured that maybe the metallic silver that was literally put up in 1960 (yes, for reals) wouldn't just rake in the potential inhabitants. And I sure as hell am not moving into this. I don't care how adorable the neighborhood is or how many times I've mentally placed my unborn children's cribs in the adorable bedroom upstairs. Hell no.

Um. Yeah. Look at that flowery pink, turquoise, and silvery goodness. And what's that you ask? Does it go up onto the ceiling? Why yes! Yes it does.

There it is. Covering the ceiling. When one steps inside, it's like a bright shiny cave. A bright shiny cave from the Kennedy era. Jackie would be proud.

Ooh, wait. It's too bad I don't have a picture of the kitchen, because then you could see that the turquoise flowers match the turquoise EVERYTHING in there.

Yes, folks Someone actually thought that this was pretty enough to put underneath the door handle. Dear God. We may bypass the renters altogether. Hell, I may go through menopause before this place is ready for me to live in.

Sadly, we're missing pictures of the upstairs bathroom because I left my camera downstairs. If you did have pictures, they would mostly be of my trying not to retch while standing in the tub (I'm sorry, I won't call that a shower) pulling moldy wallpaper off. Or me trying not to retch while pulling brown-stained wallpaper off from around the toilet (I don't want to know!!!) or me trying not to retch whilst discovering that the entire room is actual a horrid orange color underneath it all. And the dust and random allergens and floaty things?

I had to come home and wash my hair. Unholy things fell into it.

Skipping around, I'm amazed that man made it to 91 and didn't fall to his death down these stairs, which I, a healthy 20-year-old almost killed myself on, like, six times this afternoon. And I wasn't even drinking. Yet.

Then my brother found this DVD and it made me laugh. I'm sorry. But if you're compiling a DVD on the Pacific victories during WWII? You should know that unless "hour" is possessing of the "on" (unlikely), it does not require an apostrophe.

AHAHAHAHAHA.

*ahem*

Yeah. It's going to be a fun couple of months.

We're going to leave on a sentimental note. Being in his house isn't has wrenching as it was a few weeks ago. On the day he died I actually cried more standing in the hallway upstairs than sitting with his body that morning. (No, we're not Jewish. Just procrastinators.) That's gotten better, especially as more things get changed. But I can't get over how unreal it is that he's not there. I kept expecting him to come into the room, or walk out to the car, or answer the door. And he's not going to. There are all of his papers and notes and stuff covered in his handwriting that I can totally see him writing. Less than a month ago I took him down there to putter around for a few hours and we cleaned out his fridge. I convinced him to leave most of the stuff because it wouldn't expire before he came back home. That was less than a month ago. Maybe I just process things slower than most, but I didn't have time to get used to him being sick and dying much less gone. And that's what I think is going to take the longest to come to terms with.

Adventures in Photography

One of the drawbacks of being Catholic, along with the gnawing guilt, is that most parishes decide to periodically publish a photo directory with pictures of their members. In theory it's supposed to "help you get to know one another!", but in reality is used mostly to bring shame upon your family and allow for rude comments about other people's clothing choices.

Oh. Wait. Is that just me?

Anyhoodles, our church is doing one this summer, ostensibly to allow the new priests to "get to know us!" (Yeah. I'm sure they're sitting in the rectory making flashcards and quizzing themselves.), but again, mostly just there to piss me off.

We did one like five years ago, and...well...it wasn't pretty. Not only had I not discovered the joy that is a flatiron and thus Diana Ross probably could have looked at my hair and wondered what product I used to get such great body and volume!, but we were all pissy and annoying and kind of at each other's throats by the end.

The guy who was helping us pick? Started to swear. (That story killed at cocktail parties for years, btw.)

Not our finest moment. And the picture that we ultimately settled on? Well, it was so bad I almost had to change religions.

Needless to say, I wasn't holding out a lot of hope for tonight. I figured that if we could get away without embarrassing ourselves, it would be a successful evening. But lo! There was kind of a rocky start when the guy told me to straddle something and I don't care if it makes me immature, you cannot expect me to react appropriately to that, and the awkward when I had to kind of sit around John and then he was all, "Oh, do you want copies for the parents!?!?" and Mom was all, "My dad just died." and the guy was all, "Um...oh...I'm sorry for your loss..."

Other than that, it went fine. The picture was actually not terrible, I looked not hideous, and you totally can't tell that I was straddling my little brother.

And nobody screamed or swore or cried. So we're getting better!

Drinking. And headachy.

more cat pictures

Sometimes I amaze even myself.

Oh internets. I accomplished absolutely nothing today. Possibly even less that my sister, who apparently ate her weight in carnie curds and I'm convinced some bootleg Mike's Hard Lemonade because she was buzzing when she got home this afternoon.

No, internets, today I spent twelve hours in bed, read two books, and went to Mass. Um. Yeah. You know when people say they experiment in college? I don't think I'm going to have any of those stories. I experimented with what shirt to wear? That's about all.

I've even fallen off the LSAT/GRE wagon. And let me tell you, three hours at a wake and then another three at a post-funeral party having every friend of your mother's that you haven't seen in ten years ask, "So! What are you doing now?" doesn't actually force you into decision-making. It actually makes it more confusing. I was rotating stories by Monday night. Odd numbered people got law school, evens got history professor. Occasionally I threw in a "Oh, I work Wisconsin Ave? By the river?" for fun. But only people I didn't like.

I'm kidding. In no way did I tell anyone at my grandfather's funeral that I was hooker. At the party after? With booze. Maybe.

Because I have very little going on in my life.

My father's favorite strapping mill owner talks to Entertainment Weekly.

And complains about the heat.

See, Daddy??? Thorton would want you to keep the AC on!!!