Tuesday, November 21, 2006

I Am Thankful They Have Not Yet Committed Me to the Psycho Ward

Ok, ok. So I realize that I totally decided to do this whole work full time and go to law school thing, so it is totally my fault, and every single year at this time it is the same goddamn thing with the whining and the bitching and the stress and the GOING TO FAIL LAW SCHOOL and the HATING THE HOLIDAYS and the vague feeling that if anyone really loved me they would just shoot me and put me out of my damn misery.

Hi, November! Missed you! Care to fuck around with me anymore? Because that would be awesome.

Things are just entirely out of hand at this point, and I’m not entirely sure I have the ability or even the energy to reign them back in. At the moment, I have three papers due and a final to study for. My room is covered in various piles of case law and journal articles, Christmas gifts, and a combination of the Joker’s and my clothing. My parents are coming into town on Thursday, to have dinner, meet the Joker, and see the apartment. The apartment? Not entirely unpacked. The painting? Not so much on the wall. And the kitchen? Oh, currently the kitchen is in the living room.

Yes. The kitchen is in the living room.

Because, see, the Brain Trust that runs my apartment building decided that two days before Thanksgiving was really the best and most convenient time to bring in the exterminator, so could we please just remove all of the items from our cabinets and drawers and countertops? So yes, instead of cleaning and finishing the unpacking and doing things in the manner of sane people hosting holiday dinners, last night my roommates and I artfully arranged the entire contents of the kitchen throughout the rest of the apartment. “Kate? Where is the garlic powder?” “On the bookshelf.” “…Of course it is.” Mom? Dad? Hope you weren’t planning on eating at the table, because that is where the dishes and glassware live.

Which, let’s be honest, is actually fine, because the sum total of things that I have actually purchased for dinner is as follows:

1 Turkey (frozen)
1 can pumpkin pie filling.

Yep, that, so far, constitutes what I am planning to provide to those who gave me life for what is traditionally one of the biggest feasts of the year.

“Yeah, mom and dad, just sit on the couch, or maybe on the floor near the couch, and grab a spoon for the pie filling. If… if you can find a spoon. I think they are in the drawer on the floor next to the bookshelf.”


Of course, things are going to magically work out just FINE, because the nice exterminators will of COURSE stay on schedule and come today, and Kate and E and I will rebuild the kitchen tonight, and the Joker and I will shop on Wednesday and I will make a lovely dinner that does not poison the ones I love with roach killer.

Aim high, y’all.

Do we remember the fact that I still have a broken foot? Because oh yes, I still have a broken foot. And I decided sometime last week that I would forgo the crutches, because crutches are DAMN annoying, people, and I am stubborn. Also, stupid. So I am hobbling around and it is hurty and I tripped on Saturday and there was a lot of pain and can you tell that right now in my life is maybe not the best time for restricted mobility?


And last weekend was equally insane, starting on Saturday with the make up show. Now, I love the make up show, and not just for the mimosas. (But the mimosas help.) And this time Peanut and I dragged Kate and Peanut’s mother along for the insanity. But last year I went to the make-up show, and it was fun, and I am pretty sure nothing tried to kill me.­ This year? Not so much.

So they are talking and they are pushing this new lip gloss, which contains approximately 47 adjectives in its name and also, apparently, collagen. Collagen, which will plump your lips up and last for 12-24 hours. And this adjective friendly lip pumping gloss is apparently 38 fucking dollars a tube, which for that price I expect it to do my taxes, but I actually won a free one by knowing Felicity Huffman’s last name. So I am now several mimosas in and in possession of Scary Lip Gloss, which we all try.

Me: “Huh. There is… tingling.”
Peanut: “And maybe burning.”
Me: “I… I can’t feel my lips.”
Peanut: “I still can, and that is rather unfortunate, actually.”

So then later in the day, having regained some feeling in my lips, I go to get my makeover, and she begins with a “peel”. “Peel” is cosmetic lingo for “acid that eats off your face”, which she failed to make clear until after the “peel” was on my face. And then she thought it was very funny as during the makeover layers of my face kept sloughing off.

Kate: “You got resurfaced?!”
Me: “My pores are apparently pothole-esque.”

But we survived, and I spent a fortune, and all was good.

Sunday we began “celebrating the holidays”, which I am beginning to think is actually a code word for “justification to begin drinking at noon.” El Capitan and her boyfriend hosted a “Thanksgiving day with friends,” where we all drank wine and ate lovely food and watched football and thought about the things we were thankful for, namely that there was a store downstairs where we could purchase more wine.

So things are insane and crazy and not exactly running smoothly, and all I can do is hope that it all manages to come together in the next few weeks or that someone decides to shoot me.

Until then, eat food, drink wine, and be with those you love.

Happy Thanksgiving, y’all!