The Long Weekend.

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

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

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

Three more weeks. And counting.

I am rather tired.

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

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

Not worth going through eight hours of it, though.

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Obviously not.

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

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

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

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

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

I’m sorry. I’m a little bitter.

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

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

There you go. Saint found.

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

Various and Sundry Items:

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

-I’m very exhausted.

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


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

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

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

-I am going to bed. Good night.