I had a very ok Thanksgiving. Aaron spent four hours making the gravy. I spent 10 minutes making the green beans. My stepbrothers were there.
The highlight of the evening was when all the food was cleared off, the twins were in their rooms, and Aaron and my mum and my stepdad and I were debating school vouchers. It was my mom (pro) versus all of us, which is always fun because my mom is the best at turning your argument against yourself. But she gets paid for it. I want to be a lawyer. Except without that whole 24/7 work ethic.
My dog has the worst farts. Is there Beano for canines?
We decided not to go to Illinois for Christmas, because it doesn't make fiscal sense, and told my mom that we would be home, until we found out that we can't board the dog because everywhere is already booked. So I called my mom and told her, and she got upset and explained the situation to me: I was avoiding Christmas with her because of a dog. I thought her spin was that my priorites are out of whack, but in a later conversation, I discovered that she thought it was because I didn't want to visit her.
I don't particularly care about Christmas anymore, but this is her first Christmas with her new family -- I'm sorry, our new family, so she started crying during our third conversation of the day when she said that she asked my brother and I for one more Christmas together, and then we can do whatever we want for the holidays.
So I'm going home for the holidays, even if Aaron has to stay home to take care of the dog. He ruined my birthday last year; I guess I can ruin his Christmas this year? Priorities, obligations...I'm moving to a cave, where there are no holidays.
On the ride down here, Aaron and I sung our thoughts and actions, like in that Family Guy episode ("She chews her apple...She takes another bite...and another...and--she looks at me and throws the apple at my head...she walks away...left, right, left, right"). Then he sang the Clash and I sang Diana Ross. We joined together for "500 miles."
We're both tone deaf, so it was glorious fun.
We discussed what we're going to do for my birthday, what he's going to get me (I hate surprises), why my birthday isn't going to suck this year...it's a big year, the celebration of my second decade.
Sigh.
"And I'm going to be 40!"
"When?"
"Someday!"
"In [twenty] years!"
I don't care too much about getting older, but I hate having so little to show for twenty years of life.
I'm feeling very mentally stunted these days. I'm also feeling very hungry. And kind of nauseous. Stupid dog.
one year ago today: "fuck you, thanksgiving." two years ago today: "needless to say, woke up highly disappointed." three years ago today: "another one bites the dust."