Thankful

I’ve had a lot of bad Thanksgivings. I’ve had more really awesome ones, don’t get me wrong; but a lot of real stinkers.

But this? This has been a pretty good year and it was a really good Thanksgiving.  Last year I was a mess. I didn’t know what was going to happen; I had no idea where I’d be today. I certainly had no idea I’d be happily in grad school, teaching a class I absolutely love and am genuinely sad will be over in a few weeks, and really quite happy with the state of my life.

Today I was content with all of that, but I also got the spend the morning shopping with my mom. Most of those crappy Thanksgivings? I didn’t think I’d ever get to go shopping with her again.

So this morning I went upstairs to say bye before I left for Wal-Mart at 4:30.(Yeah. I was that girl.) She said to have fun, but she really didn’t think she was up to going with me that early. (Understandable. If I wasn’t being lured by reasonably-priced electronics, I wouldn’t have gone either.)

I hadn’t reached the bottom of the stairs before she was screaming “No! Wait! I’m coming with you! Give me ten minutes!’

When she got downstairs she said,”Well, if I’m not going to force myself to do things with you,  I may as well be dead.”

Ookay. On that happy note, let’s go shopping!

Turns out my reasonably priced electronic was sold out. But there was another! even better! even more reasonably priced! electronic to be had at another store. That she talked me into buying. Because that’s really why I need to go shopping with my mom. I wander around and talk myself out of things and think they make me look fat and generally leave feeling horrible about the entire world and everyone in it and with my mom? I leave with televisions and cute boots that I didn’t think I could pull off.

Of course, once we purchased that reasonably priced electronic it all went downhill.

Kohl’s was just the embarrassing site of yet another one of my internal debates.

Boots! I need boots!

No, you really do not.

Yes! I really do! They were $80! And now they’re…not!

You have more boots than we have space for.

Tunic sweater!

You already own that.

In white! Not this color!

Are you kidding me?

Scarf!

Oh my God.

Needless to say, all those things were brought home in lovely little bags. And I ended up sitting on my bed wrapped in a tunic sweater that I now own in two colors, wearing adorable boots, and staring in wonder at the blades of grass behind Booth and Brennan on TV. REGULAR SIZED BOOTH AND BRENNAN. NOT TALL AND SKINNY BECAUSE THE ASPECT RATIO GOT SCREWED UP BOOTH AND BRENNAN.

But most of all, I got to go shopping with my mommy.

(And the blades of grass. Those blades of grass are pretty cool.)

Slightly Oblivious.

I like to give my dad grief about…well, a lot of things, I guess. (That neighing thing in the backyard comes to mind.) But also about how he sometimes misses major things that go on in our house like engagements or grandchildren or something.

(Okay. Neither of those things have happened. But I’m pretty sure I’m going to show up nine months pregnant to some Christmas and he’ll be all, “Well, I didn’t want to say anything in case she’s sensitive about her weight!”)

(Remember this?)

So last night I was explaining this situation to my parents. It’s a long, complicated situation and involves a student and weird comments and I kind of feel like I’m overreacting and thank God there are only two more weeks of discussion and NO WE’RE NOT TALKING ABOUT IT because that would make weirder and you know what any and all references to my anatomy by ANYONE is off-limits for the rest of the semester…

ANYWAY.

When I got to the end Dad looked up and said, “Uh…what’s the problem?”

But then again, once I explained it to him (Again. Slowly. With hand gestures.) he did immediately say, “Oh! Well I’ll do anything to make you more comfortable. I’ll come and stand in the hallway!”

So I guess it’s okay if he doesn’t always identify when I need him all by himself; I know that as soon as I tell him he’ll be there.

(Even if I’m nine months pregnant and he didn’t realize it.)

A person’s a person no matter how small.

So…I went to Seussical the Musical this weekend because my brother was the guitarist. He was awesome- I was so proud of him being all involved and popular and a SENIOR IN HIGH SCHOOL ARE YOU KIDDING ME I AM SO OLD. *cry*

ANYWAY.

The actual musical was cute. I never read Dr. Seuss when I was little, but it was cute.  And…now it’s stuck in my head. Like, I know the words to the songs. And I’m rhyming random crap. And I’m drawing similarities between the songs and the Yugoslavian wars of the 1990s.

Because that’s the only other thing I did this weekend- work on my ethnoreligious warfare in Bosnia paper. And maybe if the Serbs and the Croats had listened to Dr. Seuss things would have gone better!

Yep. Ethnic cleansing and Dr. Seuss. Typical grad school weekend?

I’d like Suze Orman to move in with me.

Here’s a snapshot of my finances…um…I live with my parents. My car loan is more money than I’ve ever seen in one place before. I’d be paid in hugs if it wasn’t against university policy. And my student loans are such that the new chancellor’s contract is probably going to include a clause that says he can do whatever he wants to/with me. (And I have to like it.)

So whenever I watch the Can I Afford it? segment when I’m…oh…I don’t know, avoiding my Bosnia paper, I have this insane fantasy about Suze Orman moving in with me.

I mean, not like that. I like men. And while Suze is lovely and can certainly rock a Coldwater Creek jacket, I just don’t feel that way about you.

But if she could just move in and yell at me before I spend lots of money at Target on ridiculous things like Hanukkah table runners when I emphatically believe in the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME? That would be convenient.

So that was my main financial responsibility plan. At least until tonight when she told some little girl that she couldn’t buy an American Girl doll because she already had TWO can you believe it and one should be enough and I’m sorry, are you friends with my father?

And yeah…uh…three American Girl dolls. That’s…terrible. Huh. Can you imagine what kind of spoiled capitalist pig has multiple American Girl dolls? Like maybe even more than that? I know, right? DISGUSTING.

Well that ticked me off. Because you can’t deny a little girl an American Girl doll! Because if she gets it then she reads. And then she becomes a history major. And does really well. And gets into graduate school. And becomes a TA. And…oh, look. We’re back at my finances.

So thank you, Mom and Dad, for sacrificing and giving me all the opportunities in the world.

And absolutely no marketable skills.

Maturity

I’m not going to see Harry Potter at midnight tonight because I have to teach in the morning.

(At the time I thought I also had my observation…and I figured vacillating between crying for no reason because I cry when I get tired and oh my gosh, you guys, that member of the Black Hand just, like, shot Francis Ferdinand AND his wife and can you imagine how sad their kids must have been???, giddy laughter because I also find things hilarious that aren’t really so when I’m tired and dude, Kaiser Wilhelm had a flipper, and comments about how I don’t care that Alan Rickman is 64 and probably gay I’d…well. My mom reads this, wouldn’t get me hired again.)

(And I really like being employed.)

(Turns out I’m not being observed, but I imagine if any of those three things showed up on a student review I’d be just as unemployed.)

(So we’re staying home.)

I had veggies for dinner. And liked them.

I also had ice cream.

And I’m really upset that I can’t make myself go to Harry Potter.

So I guess we’re not all grown up, then.

Does Denmark still have a monarchy?

I’m assuming you’ve heard the bad news? About how my future husband has proposed to some other slut? I mean, I don’t know how you could have not. It’s on Twitter. It’s on CNN.com. My dad knew about it at seven o’clock this morning.

(Okay. To be fair he did say, “Did you hear about that royal guy? Getting married? I think he’s from England?”)

(But still.)

IT’S LIKE THE WHOLE WORLD IS PARTAKING IN MY SHAME.

Prince William has apparently decided that Irish-American Catholic isn’t what the British royal family is going for.

I DON’T KNOW WHY EITHER.

So now I have to completely reorganize my life and my career goals and since I found out about his cheating on me, it’s been really weird.

It’s like every decision I’ve made today has had to do with Prince William.

Deciding what shirt to wear this morning? Well, it’s okay to go with the tunic from Kohl’s junior department. It’s not like you have to look like nobility anymore.

Yes, I’ll have that scone for breakfast. It’s not like I need to be thin for the paparazzi. Poor Fergie. I wonder if she’s kept the weight off. 

You should probably get some work done. He’s marrying someone else. You’re going to need to support yourself.

Go for a run? Yeah, why not. You need to find someone else to marry now, and should probably try to stay thinish.

Buy groceries? I guess I don’t have to think about how I’ll miss supermarkets when I move into Buckingham Palace anymore

Time to leave for parish council? Eh, may as well stay Catholic now that he’s marrying that Kate chick.

I guess I should learn something about the New Roman Missal. If I can pretend to be Anglican I can learn a new gloria.

Yeah. Put garlic in the pasta. William is kissing some perfect Anglican upper-class twit who went to Oxford. Or something. (Your bachelor’s in Jewish Studies from UWM apparently didn’t impress Grandma.)

It’s seriously depressing.

Accomplished.

Oh my gosh, you guys. I was ALL OVER the doing things today. I finished a paper and half of another paper (the half that has to be turned in tomorrow) and balanced my checkbook and folded laundry and made roasted asparagus and redid the blog and…I’m still behind.

(Except on the spending-more-money-than-I-have thing. I’m good to go with that.)

(More skanky boots? Will be here on Thursday.)

(WHAT? Don’t judge. It’s supposed to be cold this week. And you know how I feel about skanky boots when it’s cold out.)

So. It’s going to be Monday again. And I have to turn in my preference form. And I’m totally not okay with either of those things and can it please be Christmas already for the love of God?

(Ooh! Christmas news! I’m reading on Christmas Eve, which is pretty awesome because I love Christmas Mass but even more I like watching parents who have never had their children in a church before attempt to control them. Tis the season…”

I don’t think this had a point. Except I really wanted to tell everyone that I bought more boots and made some awesome asparagus.