I was born thirty years too late.

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

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

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

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

I should have been born in 1960.

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Happy Birthday, Daddy!

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

But I digress. I give you the Crusades.

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sooooo over this.

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

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

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

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

Can I write about an ecumenical council? Please?

It’s every little girl’s dream.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jinger! Hi Jinger!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

First kiss—must we pretend that this is “waiting”? Really? TLC, don’t you have some editorial discretion here? It’s bordering on irresponsible.

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

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

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

Healthy, Catholic, sexually-repressed throwing up.

I don’t think I like this very much.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah. I need to go eat something.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

8:39- Shocker. Heath Ledger.

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

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

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

8:49- Yay Meryl Streep.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

9:00- Finally, best picture. Oh, I’m sorry, “best acting in an ensemble”. Whatever.

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

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