The Mysterious New Year's Magic

So the time has come now for everyone to party their asses up, throw grapes in each other's mouths, kiss each other, and count down for a ball to drop at midnight again. New year's means something different for everyone; for me, for instance, it means I ate a crapload of sugar and therefore can stay up late into 2011 writing this blog post. Other people make resolutions. There's some magic about New Year's, apparently, that makes maniacal resolutions have a glint of coming-truthfulness or something, I guess.

To me, New Year's moment, that moment of counting-down (which I missed. I was watching Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants on Lifetime.) is like the fart of a space-angel, just as brief, and just as ridiculous. It turns us into super do-gooding superheros of ACCOMPLISHMENT and GENEROSITY.























and then we all go back to what we were doing before.

Michigan Family Clan Christmas 2010

Once a year, the family is drawn as if by magical, beer-enhancing moonlight to a place far out in the boondock fields of Michigan. We all go there, pulled by an invisible force, to renew our magic and begin the new year frolicking and hay-dancing under the harvest moon in the fields amongst gossiping hillbillies, uncles with babysitter-wives, and 65 babies.

Since we’re the only ones who live far away, generally events are planned around us. So that means a 7 to 14 hour car ride usually. And since no one has a big enough house to let us stay, we usually end up in a motel. This year we stayed with my mom’s friend and her husband on a 76-acre farm. They’re quiet, sort of quaint people, and thus begun our adventure.




They also had horses, so that was fun. I smelled like fire and horse poop for the entire time. (Ily horses, but seriously, you have a poopload of poop.)

Upon getting into Michigan, thus began the Dubious Vegetarianism portion of my trip. Generally when I get into Michigan, I try to just stock up on the cheesy potatoes and cheesy broccoli and stay away from the cheesy beef and the cheesy bacon/venison lard dip (both of which were hits at Christmas dinner).

So when we get to Christmas (at my aunt’s house: only house big enough. Actually, only house.), it is already chaotic. As said, there are like 65 children-babies under 5. The new one (we were trying to guess her name on the way over. Rodney? Quigley?) is named Sydney, probably a boy’s name since no one can seem to have a boy in this family.




Present opening, even with everyone messily ripping open their presents at the same time, takes six hours. From two till eight. Presents are usually stacked not only under the tree, but under the dining room table, chairs, in the kitchen, bedrooms, lined along the walls of the family room and dining room, and also in the rafters in the garage. I have never heard anyone ever say in disgust, ‘There’s more presents under the chair.’ And I have never heard a two year old say ‘We have a LOT of presents, mommy.’

Last year my uncle got a roll of ‘poop’ smeared toilet paper as a gift (it was chocolate actually).

Speaking of poop, that’s pretty much what our family talks about. Poop, farts, butts, you name it. It is all ridiculously hilarious. Especially when we all sit down to play poker and most everyone’s had a few. And swears of course just make every story a gem.





Sitting around the poker table is the best time to listen to everyone. My grandma sits quietly in a corner, farts, and then laughs, my aunt screams ‘Scooby dooby dooby, I want bigger boobies’, and my uncles are…well…






yeah.

At one or two in the morning my sister, mom and Doug and I leave. Two in the morning is not the best time to be driving around the boondocks and to get lost and have to pull over onto a scary dirt road with trees that have signs on them that say ‘Property of the Gun Club'. Especially when your family looks like this:




Sister was overtired and, somewhere out there, there is a chart where her smartassosity goes up with her tiredness. My mom, on the other hand, has enriched vocabulary when she’s overtired. It is all a very interesting and impressive combination of ‘ass’, ‘stupid’, ‘hat’, ‘smart’, ‘jerk’, ‘shit’, 'dork', and ‘f***’.

I, on the other hand, was just thinking about how in Jurassic Park, this was where we were going to get eaten by a T rex.

All in all, a very eventful year. I can’t wait until next year: more babies, poop, swearing, beer, sweat, cheesy beef, and love. 2011 here I come.

the plot of basically every star trek ever made (and also les mis)

i am pretty damn clever

About As Awesome As A Dead Sock

So I went to two parties this weekend, because I am so damn popular. Just kidding.

Unfortunately, though they were fun I didn’t really do much. Have you ever just felt really, really crappy and then you go to a place where there is charisma up the wazoo and you’re just like really, Party God? Really? And then part of you is like, whoman, you have to be sassy and delightful now. But your logic and emotions curb-stomp that bitch into the ground.





There’s always a party pooper. But luckily, everyone else at those places was having a good time and I was relatively unnoticed.









I always want to make more friends except I am so damn socially awkward.






















Yep. My life is full of obstacles. It is like a friggin Japanese game show that I might navigate on a pirate ship of Fate.So, friends, I am sorry if I was about as exciting to talk to as a dead sock. Blame it on being raised in the wilderness or on Stephenie Meyer.

Tuesdays

should be excommunicated from the week.

Key To The Awesome Vault

When I was little (and p. much still all the time today) I always thought I’d be cooler when I was older. Like, one day, my whole paradigm would just shift and I would be automatically cool. I thought there was some sort of way to gain cool points that I could one day spend on some kind of huge-ass item in the Awesome Vault. Now that I’m older and smarter, though, I realize I probably could be cooler if I tried, but alas I am so lazy and instead I just have a name for the cooler version of me.




Basically, Meta-Me would react so much more awesomely in everyday situations. Observe.
















Um that’s about the gist of it. Basically there is a way, but Gandalf/Hagrid has not been pooped magically out of the sky and granted me magic powers yet.

Blood Drives Aren't For Suckers

See what I did there? I am punny.

A couple days ago I went to a blood drive. It was mainly my friend Katie’s fault. She’s able to peer-pressure me into pretty much anything because she is awesome (I guess it’s a good thing that she’s a good person and donates blood instead of…like…being an axe-murdering prostituting chain-smoking curb stomper, because I’d probably do that too) …but that was that. Basically, I thought it would be a lot different in my imagination.





But it wasn’t like that at all.

It was in the school gym, which smelled of antiseptic wipes and fear. There were recliney-beds everywhere, little private booths that were made of gym-mats, and stern looking medical staff (who were actually really nice, but sort of intimidating). Also, there was a water jug where you had to drink two cups of water before you could get in. It was like a cult. In the corner, (segregated by first-time donors and regulars) you could see the Veterans, who were all chill and reclined in waiting chairs and stuff, and talking about their days in the blood-donor battlefield.





They did not reassure me.

Before I even got asked questions about whether or not I had ever had sex in 1977, I apparently looked like I was going to die, because the head nurse was all like ‘Are you okay? Why aren’t you drinking juice?’ and I was all like ‘I haven’t even gone yet…’ and it was awkward.

But soon enough I was on a bed, staring with extreme interest at the ceiling. Katie was almost done, and she looked even better than before, just getting her kicks and giggles out of draining away one eighth of her blood count.





After Katie was done she came to hold my hand while the nurse drew on my arm with a pen which I thought was a needle and I was in extreme pain and it was sad because, seriously, I thought that bitch was a needle.

Luckily I spurt a lot of nonsense when I’m nervous, so me, Katie and Brett didn’t really stop talking. I told the nurse I was strong like bull so there was no need for them to worry about me. And my face got really hot and my fingers were cold and they got all chubby, that was fun. And I got a revolutionary sash. Then I talked about rapping my top-secret totally anonymous teacher rap, and some other stuff which I don’t remember, and there was Urinetown and also some orange juice. And my blood is fast, apparently (I can donate blood faster than I can run a mile). When I got home, this is all my mother had to share with me:









Yes. I’m glad I could do it, though. I’m glad I could do something with my pretty much useless blood, because now where that one pint of blood used to be, I can store POWER and experience points.

Vegetarianism Was Always Just A Twinkle In My Mommy's Eyes

I admit it. I am the worst vegetarian. But whenever my (admittedly weak) motives come up for being one, I fight for that cause, dammit, I fight for it like an Amazon on crack. I don’t really know why, maybe it’s because I’m stubborn, maybe it’s because it’s just the way I’ve been, but there are just some things, like powdered chicken fat, that you have to take a stand against.

My family has the strangest fights. In a house of two daughters and a mom, there’s way too much femininity around there that every so often my mom has to channel her General-Shang manfight side (and by that, I mean, use unnecessary force and make her voice all low and scary). One such incident occurred after we’d made pancakes and Sister darling looked in the fridge and, by golly, there was no syrup. At first I hoped it would just blow over.

But it didn’t.











After this went on for a while, my mommy decided to take things into her own hands.

Literally.





Another favourite of mine was when a friend of mine didn’t get an award, but mommy thought she had, and when explained to that it wasn’t actually an award, mommy got all mad at me and thought I was insulting her intelligence and that I should go find a shower out on the street, since that was where I would soon be living.

Yes, there have been some interesting squabbles in our house.

So when the vegetarian one came up again, (it is tried and true, sadly), I was prepared. Well, not really. It was pretty much my problem. There was this small matter of dried chicken fat and I was all like, I’m not really gonna eat that sorry…**awkward pause** and BLAM mommy’s Tolerance Wall just exploded. I can’t blame her. I am really annoying when I believe in something, even when it’s obviously a lie. I have been that way since birth.

















So even though there’s really no excuse for ANYONE to follow anyone else around, chanting various types of meat and threatening to buy slabs of it, I can sort of see her reasoning.