You could have single-handedly redeemed 2009, Northwestern.

Believe me, I would have loved to have ended this with, Oh, and I got into graduate school. But of course, I still know nothing. More waiting.

That’s kind of how I feel about 2009. Waiting. I watched people I loved suffer. I suffered. But it was also the year that I started senior year of college. The first year I really felt like an adult. The year I started to deal with Grandpa dying. The year I started to deal with what happened after Grandpa died. The year I spent entirely too much money on clothes.

(Oh. Are we not being superficial now?)

This is the first decade I remember completely. I remember New Year’s Eve of 1999. The last ten years have been…well, it’s ridiculous to say I’ve changed because, um, I was twelve, of course I’ve changed. But when you remember changing? That’s pretty important. So I feel kind of badly that the end of the decade for me was kind of like purgatory. I don’t know what’s going to happen next, but hopefully I’m being prepared for something much better.

(Although the theology student in me refuses to let that metaphor go. Doctrinally, if you’re in purgatory, you’re definitely going to heaven. At some point. Whatever. It still kind of works.)

2008 was horrible. So horrible I can’t refer to it as anything other than a sucking black hole of evil. It rivaled 2002, and that, my friends, is really hard to do here at Chez Morena. I think the whole house thing ends up associated with 2008 in my mind, even though that’s not completely true. Please, you can read tearful posts here and here.

2009 was less dramatic in terms of all . There were fewer meltdowns. I was able to get through holiday dinners without…well. (I think a lot of it was the counter top.) Today, we met with the woman who will be moving in tomorrow. She’s great, turns out she’s a former friend, we knew her kids, awesome. It’s horrible that she’s living there for no reason except that she’s not me.

But I realized this afternoon (as I was standing in the bedroom crying because hey! I painted this! With my friend! And there’s my blood on the walls! Literally. Who the hell do you think you are living here with your monthly check crazy woman?) that it’s not the end.

Because the next decade? Will be the decade that I move in.

(In fact, if I find anyone who doesn’t have access to yesterday’s post, it may even being the decade that there are kids there again.)

As Bill (another rather awesome part of 2009- hi, Bill!) just posted on my Facebook wall, it’s a beginning.

I will be the worst pregnant woman. Ever.

I’m only having one child. Not for any personal reasons. Please. I’m Irish Catholic.

(Although to be honest, we kind of failed at the whole have-a-soccer-team-without-leaving-your-house thing. There are only five grandchildren in my mom’s family. My dad’s Polish relatives thoroughly beat us- there are like thirteen or something. Even the ex-seminarian has six! Probably a good thing he’s ex.)

No, it’s because I will be the most unpleasant pregnant woman ever, and no man is ever going to want to have sex with me again after nine months of having to exist with me, the most unpleasant pregnant woman ever.

This occurred to me on Monday as I was stress-eating my way through whatever was left from Christmas and obsessively checking for my grades. It’s not even just the wait, there’s no coffee or NyQuil in pregnancy? What??? And the fact that I know my body and wow, I’m going to be epic. I don’t put on weight prettily. I’m not going to be prime-time-sitcom-pretty-little-baby-bump pregnant, I’m going to be TLC-reality-harsh-lighting pregnant. No. Not just that.

I don’t do well waiting for results. It’s not necessarily that I’m impatient like a child, it’s just that I…well…am impatient like a child. The whole grade thing? I’m pretty sure I have an ulcer. Waiting for acceptance or rejection from grad schools? I’m ready to go to Northwestern and hold the head of admissions’ child hostage until he renders a decision.

(Also? My maternal instincts have only thus far been activated by the iPhone.)

Imagine nine months of major waiting. What if I don’t like the baby? What if the baby doesn’t like me and I love the baby? What if it’s a boy? What if it’s sick? Are you still in there? It’s been like five months. What if his father murders me in my sleep? That happens a lot you know. Oh my God, he’s going to kill me. What if the baby is ugly? What if it’s a girl? Still in there? WHY? What if the epidural doesn’t work? What if my mom doesn’t like it? What if she’s stupid? Am I going to annoy my own baby with my academic snobbery? What if someone cuts it out of me like that one CSI episode? Are you coming out yet? What if I have an episiotomy? That’s really gross. SERIOUSLY BE BORN ALREADY.

Oh. It’s not going to be pretty.

Maybe that’s why I’m single right now- no one could go through the waiting for acceptance into a graduate program and having a baby with me. It’s not human.

Screw you and your little dog, too.

Dear UWM,

It’s Monday, December 28th. This is the final date for grades to be posted. Do you know how many grades I have? NONE. Nada. Zip. Zero. THAT’S HOW MANY. So. I highly suggest that you have a discussion with at least the four faculty members who are withholding grades from me. One also still has my final paper that he said he’d e-mail to me two weeks ago, but to be perfectly honest I’m not holding my breath for that one.

The only two who have even made warlike moves towards final grades have fallen seriously short. One messed up my grade and I still have no idea whether or not I have an A or and A- (How is a 93.5% NOT an A? What scale are you using?), and the other one revised my paper grade saying it was awesome and my final grade would be “an A/A-“.

Um. Excuse me. You have a doctorate from Yale. PICK ONE, WOMAN. You certainly weren’t too busy celebrating Christmas this weekend and Hanukkah’s been over for like a week.

So. If you could impose some sort of penalty on them.

Also, I recently checked out the Spring 2010 graduation page. And, um, you have me graduating at 9 a.m.? NINE O’CLOCK ON A SUNDAY MORNING? Are you kidding me? I’ve paid $35,000 for the degree, another $80 for the double major graduation fee, and God knows how much the gap and gown are going to cost. And you still make me show up at 8:15?

That is really not cool, guys. The business majors get to go to the 1:30 one. I get that they are going to be a far more lucrative alumni group than us lowly Letters and Sciences idiots, but IT’S STILL NOT NICE!

Sincerely,
Kathleen

P.S. You all are invited to my graduation breakfast. Because that’s what time of day we’ll be finished. Please bring donuts.

One of these things is not like the other.

Went to see the new Sherlock Holmes movie today. Loved it. Loved the unabashed sequel set-up. Loved the jokes. Loved everything about it. I even loved it so much that I forgive Jude Law for being a skeez. (Kind of.)

Robert Downey, Jr. is clearly way hotter on the wagon. Obviously.

Also read Rome Sweet Home, and aww! That’s adorable, you guys. No, for reals. Aside from the part where Kimberley talks about how she should be under Scott’s spiritual guidance (Uh. No.), I totally loved it. And I’m not going to lie, when I finished it I googled them. Because I really wanted to know what they looked like without the late-80s glasses covering most of their faces.

For unto us…

(I don’t know, I really could have picked any line from the infancy narratives. Or even gone totally off the wall with John’s “In the beginning there was the Word,” which I guess would have been okay, because it was one of the gospels for today, but whatever. I’m lazy. And that’s the first one that popped into my head.)

Merry Christmas, blog groupies!!! I hope you all have a wonderful day, and a great Friday if you don’t technically believe in the Christ part. (Why?)

I, personally, am a little bit tired. I was awoken at some ungodly hour by “Santa”. Who apparently felt the need to put the presents under the tree this morning. The past few years, Santa has been a little under the weather, and usually we get home from Christmas Eve and, um, Santa is all, “You don’t need to go to bed, but you need to get out of the living room. I am TIRED.” Apparently Santa was too tired to do even that last night, and remedied the situation EARLY THIS MORNING. REALLY EARLY. FREAKING EARLY.

I maintain that life could have gone on if she had put them out when we got home from Mass, but whatever- the mystery, it remains.

Anyway- I didn’t trip or throw up or anything during Mass, so yay! That’s exciting. My mom tok inappropriate pictures- thank God she waited until after Mass was finished. I’ve gotten a ton of conflict studies books (Northern Ireland and the Middle East- whee!!!) and DVDs, most of which I’ve licked or made out with (Public Enemies. Next year I want Johnny Depp.)

And this afternoon there will be family and food and lots of booze because I’m the only one who drinks anymore! Whoo? Stupid medication.

So have a wonderful day and I’ll see you tomorrow.

I don’t really care about decking, but if you could vacuum the hall that would be great.

I’m finished with the semester. I’ve e-mailed my thesis advisor with this brilliant-yes-please-let-me-into-grad-school note- “I hope you had a wonderful time in Poland. I’m taking finals and Christmas week off. I’ll send you a draft sometime after that. Merry Christmas! Love, your loser student.” (I’m kidding about that last part. I don’t write “love” to my professors. Most of them.) I baked cookies on Monday after my finals disappeared into thin air. I don’t even have to make the Happy Birthday Baby Jesus cake.

(Which I still maintain is a three-year-old tradition at best. We NEVER had one when I was little. NEVER. If my mom is so in love with her photo scanner, why can’t she find any pictures of this alleged OMG WE HAD IT EVERY YEAR cake? Because it doesn’t exist. Hah. That’s what I thought.)

I have nothing do do until Christmas except clean the house, wrap gifts, deal with my unruly eyebrows (I’m a frickin’ redhead, how is it that my eyebrows are so terrible?), make a single pumpkin pie because honestly? WE DO NOT NEED TWO, oh, and try to get through the reading from Isaiah for Friday morning. At least I think it’s Isaiah. Nine o’clock Mass is the day reading, right? Don’t you think? I mean, it’s hardly dawn. And they’re both Isaiah. Whatever. No one pays attention anyway. They’re all dealing with their toddlers who have never been inside a church before.

Um. Actually. That’s a lot.

But my point was that I don’t have any real responsibilities, and yet I’m still procrastinating on ALL OF THIS. Because I have coffee? And Lifetime? Did you know they show crappy programming ALL DAY LONG? I know, right?

Way more fun than cleaning the shower that people will just insist on using again despite my protestations that I don’t care if you’re dirty, I don’t have to scrub you down with Comet just stay out of the damn shower!

Ooh! Two completely random things before I get back to the Falalala Lifetime movie marathon where there’s lots of infidelity and redemption and angsty yet wholesome holiday sex between two vaguely-familiar-looking-but-they-certainly-aren’t-famous actors.

I logged on to my UWM e-mail account this morning. It’s connected to the calendar now, for reasons that elude me. But a notification popped up telling me that I had an event. Winter Break. Yes. The university had taken the time to add Winter Break as an event, even equipped with an alarm. So if I wanted to hit snooze on my vacation, I totally could.

Also, I’ve stopped obsessively checking my application at Northwestern. Because I’m completely convinced now that they’ll reject me on Christmas Eve and the notification will go something like, “We regret to inform you that you are too stupid to attend Northwestern University. Please have a lovely holiday and maybe Jesus still loves you because God knows we don’t.”

I changed my mind.

You all can come and take my cookies for all I care. Because I am really sick of existing on refined sugar. Between the fact that I haven’t had any protein since, oooh, last week, and the fact that finals have COMPLETELY messed me up because my schedule- it is gone and I’m pretty dumb I need to know where I’m supposed to be, dammit, I don’t really even know what day it is.

Tuesday? Maybe?

I was kidding about the protein thing, by the way. I’m eating perfectly normally, it’s just THE COOKIES I CAN HEAR THEM IN THE FRIDGE BEING ALL TASTY.