This is why I wouldn’t actually be a good lawyer.

Oh dudes! I cannot wait. Boston legal goes to the Supreme Court!!! Like, the real one! Not the lame-ass one I get to vote for next Tuesday.

(Side Note: Wisconsin sucks.)

Shockingly, I know, the real justices didn’t want to appear (BOO!!! POOR FORM!!!) so they went with look-alikes. Which is kind of amusing in and of itself.

But if I were on the Supreme Court? I would be the annoying one going, “OMG you guys, we, like, HAVE to do it!!! We have lifetime appointments, we can afford to look a little foolish! DAMMIT I WANT TO MEET WILLIAM SHATNER YOU WILL NOT RUIN THIS FOR ME, SOUTER!!!”

(You know Souter would be the stick-in-the-mud who wouldn’t want to do it. I’ll bet Scalia was all over it.)

And then Roberts would probably just be like, “My God, I did not sell my soul to the devil to work with this bitch. Seriously. Who appointed you?”

Can’t wait for April!!!!

Far fewer cogs.

Things may actually be creeping forward re: Sister Smoke-Out 2008.

I know, right?

I finally got my parents to figure out where all the furniture was going, because I, quite logically, realized that if we know exactly what rooms need to be cleaned out, there will be far fewer rooms for me to facilitate.

(Side Note: Daddy dragged me up to the attic a few nights ago, in order to tell me what he wanted done. Which mostly consisted of “straightening up”. Which makes no sense. And everything I was supposed to straighten? Was covered in bugs. Um. Yeah. No. So I haul myself back up there yesterday, all bright eyed and bushy-tailed, ready to facilitate. Hah. No. I grouped the holidays together, and then kind of figured that since NOTHING WAS GOING UP HERE ANYWAYS, Daddy probably would think it was clean. Mom agreed, incidentally. And let me tell you, for a man who didn’t notice when his entire bedroom was changed for an entire week? He caught on to my less-than-complete “straightening” job in like two minutes. Yeah. That was a pointless story.)

Okay. Anyway. Before, there was this whole huge thing where for some reason both attics and the basement had to be cleaned, and my parent’s room, and the hallway for some reason that I haven’t figure out because the computer can’t go both places, but whatever, because the furniture all had to be moved to undisclosed locations. Now, the huge sofa that, excuse me, wasn’t making it upstairs anyway is just being tossed (*squee*), half the furniture is going to Colleen’s new larger room, and the other half is going to become a “hearth room” in the kitchen.

Except, you know, lacking a hearth.

But I’m thrilled about this, because our kitchen is kind of just a shit hole where people pile crap and then yell at me when I repile the crap someplace else where no one will see it. And the kitchen table is a very large receptacle for this crap. And now it will be gone. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

So now really the only cog is cleaning out the homeschooling stuff, which Mommy Dearest has promised to do soon. And then I can wallpaper and move the stuff. *squee*

And there will be a ceiling fan estimate next week sometime. YAY!!!

But then yesterday Mom came up with an issue. Apparently, her entire dating/courtship/engagement took place on her parents’ couch in the family room. And now we won’t have a family room! OR a a couch!!! And where for the love of God will we court!?!?!?!

After I stopped laughing, I hastened to assure my mother that this wouldn’t be that big of an issue, because, um, has she met me? And she’s all, Oh, but you might find someone tomorrow!!! And I’m all, yeah, but I wouldn’t want to bring them back here the day after!!!

And then she was all, “But wait! What about like after Easter dinner? You’re not going to send him home when the rest of the family leaves!”

Um. Yeah. After Easter dinner, I’m bloated, drunk, and going to be really pissed that I have to go to school the next day. He’ll be lucky if I let him come at all and don’t yell, “GET THE HELL OUT OF MY HOUSE I HAVE TO BE IN HISTORY IN TEN HOURS AND DAYTON IN 48 I LOVE YOU BUT LEAVE THE THE HELL ALONE!!!”

And we wonder why I’m single.

No allowing for taste.

I read Pattie Boyd’s autobiography this morning (Colleen read most of it a month ago, but checked out after George Harrison- that’s really all she was interested in.) and wow, she was really stupid.

And Eric Clapton was an alcoholic sociopath. Apparently.

So now I have added to my life’s goals to stay away from creative types with access to lots and lots of e, because damn, that will screw you up.

Real Plantagenets bring you bloody victories over ancestral enemies on the battlefields of France. Richard II brought England the pocket handkerchief.

I read The English American today, and I highly recommend (I also finished Morgan Llywellyn’s Irish Century series, but that deserves it’s own discussion). Except I think I may be pregnant, as I got really over-emotional about everything having to do with babies, or adoption, or adopted babies. Which, as the book was about an adopted baby, was quite frequently.

And I fell in love with the coat the woman is wearing on the cover. It’s so pretty. I want it. I wonder if I contacted the publisher if they could send me a website???

Ooh, and a signature fragrance!!! I has one!!! It is called Inis, and it is from Ireland (not known for their fine scents, but whatever) and pretty and relatively inexpensive and supposedly smells like the sea.

I wouldn’t know, because my entire experience with the sea consists of exactly one evening wading into the Atlantic somewhere in Virginia after visiting some military base because something happened there, and I don’t recall any scents at all except for the rotting coastline and a lot of teal t-shirt shops.

I expect that the Irish sea smells better.

One day, I shall thank her in my book.

Colleen was rifling through my DVDs this afternoon and picks up one.

Imladris, Possible History Major: *sarcastically* “Ooh, History of Britain. Exciting.”

Morena, Actual History Major: “It’s actually quite interesting.”

Imladris, Possible History Major: “Wait. This ends in 1200. How can it be the history of Britain if it ends in 1200?”

Morena, Actual History Major: “That’s just the first volume. There are five. It’s like 15 hours long.”

Imladris, Possible History Major: “Wow. That’s what keeps people like you employed.”

If you’re lucky enough to be Irish, you’re lucky enough.

It’s Saint Patrick’s Day!!! And instead of ending the day bent over a toilet heaving up green beer like all those who declare themselves Irish for 24 hours, I’m just going to do a blog post. And maybe have some Baileys.

(Hah! Maybe!)

(It’s funny ‘cuz I’m a lush!)

Anyway, I consider myself totally Irish. I have a really Irish first name that shows up in songs all the time, I look like a freakin‘ leprechaun, and my skin is practically translucent. But then people find out my last name and it’s like I forfeit any claim to the motherland.

Which isn’t fair, because if my mother had listened to her mother twenty five years ago when she sat her down and said, “You realize your children’s last name is going to be *Insert Ridiculously Difficult to Spell and Not That Pretty Name Here*?”, we wouldn’t have this problem. But noooo, my mom was all, “But oh, I love him!!!”

Pssh. Whatever. She should have thought ahead, that one.

(I love you, Daddy!!!)

I am actually Irish genetically, some percentage that I can never remember, even though my mom and sister who know these things have told me over and over again but I’m just “Whatever, give me the Baileys,” along with German and Polish and Scottish, even though no one will admit it. But here’s the thing- the German was beaten into submission fifty years ago. I’m pretty sure by the time my mom was conceived the German genes had given up and didn’t even bother making the trip to the zygote.

And Scottish? Why, what have you heard?

But my mom really raised me, and her mom really raised her, and dammit, culturally, I am Irish. I came home from the hospital in an “Irish Baby” onesie, the only music that would calm me down was Irish-American music, I go to Irish Fest twice every year, my mom used to carry me around describing Waterford, Belleek, (and Wedgewood, which is totally British, but I’m ignoring that. Although I do really connect with Britain. I’m pretty sure one of my ancestors hooked up with and Englishman. Do you know where Sligo is? It’s like right next to Ulster. And we all know I’m a whore for an accent. I must have gotten that somewhere.) and I really like potatoes, like, A LOT.

In a recent development, I’m going to write my master’s thesis on something about Irish/British relations.

(Although I wouldn’t hold my breath for the publication. Six weeks ago it was the crusades.
Me: Oh, I love the crusades!!!
Aaron: Which ones?
Me: All of them!
Aaron: Even the fourth?
Me: Oh. Damn. I forgot about that one. Okay, notsomuch with the fourth.
Aaron: Ha! I outhistoried the history major.
Me: Shut up. I need to go study.)

I’ve been reading about Irish history a lot recently, and it’s made me thrilled that I am first and foremost an American and live in a country where I am a free citizen, but it also has given me an incredible respect for the Irish nation who struggled and continue to struggle even today.

My family jumped ship during the 1840’s (because I’m pretty sure they flippin‘ loved potatoes, too) and missed the whole Easter Rising, Irish Free State, Home Rule thingy (although we did have a relative who was totally in the IRA, which is freaky, actually), but they were there for the revolts in 1603, the Battle of the Boyne, the United Irishmen Uprising in 1798, and certainly felt the effects of the Act of Union in 1800. I can’t imagine living in a country and then being told, “Oh, btw, it’s not yours anymore. You’re British now. Congratulations!”

(Except we’ve already established that I’m a whore for an accent.)

So yeah, I’m not sure where I was going with this, except to be all “Up with Ireland!!! Whoo!!!” I think I’m going to go inquire about the Baileys.

(Oh, don’t worry. It’s only 1:30.)

(Give me a couple hours.)

(My Irish eyes will be smiling!!!)

My goodness, 8:49 already?

Hmmm. Almost time for bed.

I get to sleep in tomorrow. And I am terribly amused by this.

I am not amused by the enormous amount of cleaning I’ve done today, including getting all my stuff out of both attics, sorting through every single piece of clothing I own, coming up with three huge bags to give away and five huge bags to throw away, and then actually cleaning a good chunk of the attic and not hurling large, heavy things at my sister who “omg, didn’t put anything in the attic EVER” well then WHY THE HELL IS YOUR SHIT ALL OVER, HUH!?!?!?

Oh, and I worked all day.

I’m definitely going to bed.