All the things you missed by not insisting that I write

November is my favorite month because it has the best holiday ever created: Thanksgiving. It is one of the few holidays that our consumption-driven society has not yet ruined, and this is obviated by the fact that your local stores move immediately from Halloween decorations to Christmas decorations with no real stop in between for all those horns-a-plenty and turkey themed candy dishes. The retail powers that be have not yet figured out a way to cash in on Turkey Day and that means that we still have a holiday that derives its merit simply from gathering all your friends and family together in one spot for a nice, home-cooked meal. As I am fond of saying, any holiday that is centered on food is my favorite holiday!

As is my custom, I flew home for Thanksgiving to glory in my Masshole roots. Anthony (the poor schmuck) decided against the hassle of planning for the furry children and instead drove the whole furry crew from DC to MA. While Thanksgiving is traditionally the worst time of year to attempt long drives and still maintain your sanity, he somehow managed to drive to da' Momma's house in under 8 hours, and then drove back to our house in 7 hours. My self-satisfaction in my ability to plan in advance and mean-spirited joy in looking forward to being able to say, "I told you so," in regards to New England traffic and Thanksgiving were both completely foiled by Anthony's feat. It seems that the traffic gods were on his side this year. I guess that is what happens when you consent to bend to your girlfriend's will only once every three years.

The family was duly excited by Anthony's visit. I'm old hat, but Anthony's last Thanksgiving in Massachusetts occurred in 2004. Apparently, the one introduction barely sufficed to hold them over for the past three years. da' Momma spent the whole week proclaiming that, "Anthony cannot marry my daughter!" And then my Auntie Thomas would pull me aside and tell me, "If you don't marry Anthony, I will." So you now have a slight inkling what my family's intentions are for him. The amazing thing is that he hasn't run off screaming into the wilderness yet.

The month of November also witnessed another one of my favorite yearly traditions: the celebration of my birthday. And like any good six-year-old would, I hosted my very own ice cream party. Oh yes, most of my friends complained bitterly about having to tote a pint of ice cream up that whole flight of stairs, when, my god woman!, that was the space they were planning on devoting to their second case of beer. Pure, unadulterated catastrophe, I tell ya.

Although the purchase of ice cream did not slow down the beer consumption one bit. The whole toasted crew spent the hour between eleven thirty and twelve thirty trying to convince me that we all needed to go out to a bar, when I was perfectly convinced that there was still enough alcohol in the apartment to get them so mindnumbingly
drunk that they would all pass out and it would FINALLY be quiet enough for me to get some homework done. Which, might I add, was the whole reason I opted for the more childish birthday option of celebrating with ice cream instead of dirty Girl Scout shots. These days I am a curmudgeon, but I am a curmudgeon with a 4.0. Nyah.

More seriously though, it was good to see people and listen to Ben tell one unfunny joke after another (Stephanie just would NOT believe that jokes could be that not funny). Thanks to all you crazy kids for helping me ring in another year with stories of moosecock and fungor (sp?). Oh, and Andrew, that Heath bar was AWESOME. It was the best breakfast I've had in ages.

Since I've been back in DC, I have of course been eating ice cream sundaes every night and working maniacally to catch up on the school work I failed to do over Thanksgiving. There are less than two weeks left to the semester and so much cramming to do!

In honor of my birthday

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Myyyyyyyy liiiiiiiiiiiife…is a very, very, very fine life…

You and I both know the excuses I have for not writing often, so we’ll skip that portion of this blog and move straight on to the sweet nothings that I am wont to write.

The past few weeks have been, in a word, busy. Last weekend Anthony’s dad drove to DC for a visit, and the two weekends prior were devoted to visiting Preyasha at UVA (can I get a shout out for Martha, another UVA grad?) and giving me a heart attack at Philadelphia’s Eastern State Penitentiary.

So it was all that and graduate school, too. I spent most of the past weekend ignoring Anthony’s dad (sorry, Jeff) and researching security contractors in Iraq for a pro-con debate in my Third Party Governance class (which sounds just about as exciting as it is – unfortunately, it’s pretty darn useful, too; Damn you grad school! Damn you for being practical!). Greg, my fellow classmate, and I presented our whole “Despite-that-recent-Blackwater-incident-private-security-contracting-is-a-great-idea” argument Wednesday night. I think we did a good job of covering the basic concepts, but there is so much information on the subject and we were allotted a mere ten minutes in which to squish it. Even the Micro Machines man could not have expressed in ten minutes all the reasons why contracting in Iraq is essential. It’s a murky issue to manage and we public servants (this, despite the fact that I work for private industry) have to learn how to address the problems of contracting.

In any case, I worked really hard on this presentation and now I am glad it’s over. This class remains frustrating because, no matter how much time and effort I put into it, I still feel like I do not understand all the issues. Of course, this is the same class that is killing me slowly over the course of a semester so I shouldn’t be all that surprised. My other class, statistics, is a walk in the park, comparatively.

Anyway, my life really is that damn exciting.

Otherwise, the puppy is still in her cast, Pookie is still driving us nuts with all the talking, the Caribbean is still suffering from a tropical storm, California is still traumatized by fire, the Red Sox won the World Series (or so Andrew – my one link to the real world – tells me), Barak Obama danced on the Ellen Degeneres Show (maybe a new angle that all presidential hopefuls will try to emulate?), Jane Seymour has food poisoning, and a partridge still sits in a pear tree.

Photos from the past coupla' weeks

From the girl who used to fill out census surveys and then throw them away

This little survey is one of those cutesy couple questionnaires. I had a long weekend, so sue me if I don’t want to devote more brainpower to actual work today.

1. Who eats more?
It’s a photo-finish between Grace and Pookie. In second (or third) place is Anthony. And trailing at a distant third is me. In fact, Anthony still complains that I don’t eat anything at all now that I’m in grad school.

2. Who said "I love you" first?
He did – I conned him in to it. And then I gave him a Scooby Snack.

3. Who is the morning person?
It used to be me, but ever since his stint on the Secretary’s Detail, he can’t sleep longer than four or five hours. He’s up by 6:30AM, even on a Saturday. I at least have the good grace to sleep in until 7.

4. Who sings better?
He used to be in a band, I was in chorus. Apples and oranges, my friend.

5. Who’s older?
He is.

6. Who’s smarter?
He claims me, I claim the Fifth.

7. Whose temper is worse?
HIS. The good news is that he has an everlasting fuse.

8. Who does the laundry?
I do mine, he does his. If ever I become a housewife, I will be sure to peek into his laundry bag occasionally, but not a moment before then.

9. Who does the dishes?
As long as school is in session, he does. At least until I get so tired of seeing them in the sink.

10. Who sleeps on the right side of the bed?
Wherever it is that I am IS the right side.

11. Whose feet are bigger?
If my feet were bigger, I’d cry.

12. Whose hair is longer?
Anthony doesn’t even have hair.

13. Who’s better with the computer?
Me. I’m geek-tacular.

14. Do you have pets?
Two gorgeous furry children, thank you.

15. Who pays the bills?
We split them. But I’m the one who gets the thankless task of balancing our checkbooks on Quicken.

16. Who cooks dinner?
As long as I have a say in the matter – he does. Until further notice.

17. Who drives when you are together?
Apparently, there is nothing so scary to Anthony as my driving. So he does.

18. Who pays when you go out to dinner?
He does.

19. Who’s the most stubborn?
It depends – we’re both pretty mulish.

20. Who is the first one to admit when they’re wrong?
I don’t know that we ever really admit we’re wrong. Cuz you know I’m always right.

21. Whose family do you see more?
For a while there it was his but now we see each of our families as infrequently as the other>

22. Who named your pet?
I named them both – one name was perfect, the other not-so-much. I’m batting at 50%.

23. Who kissed who first?
The tequila made me do it.

24. Who asked who out?
I’m pretty forward, ain’t I?

25. Who stole question 25?
The sock gnomes.

26. Who’s more sensitive?
I’m more likely to cry, but I think he takes things more personally.

27. Who’s taller?
Thank goodness he is! He’s the 6’4” to my 5’10”.

28. Who has more friends?
Me. We joke that he has only one.

29. Who has more siblings?
Due to the fact that he is an only child, I win the siblings contest.

30. Who wears the pants in the relationship?
I think we’re both far more comfortable in pants than, say, a skirt.

Blogthings make those Mondays one degree sunnier

You Are From Pluto

You are a dark, mysterious soul, full of magic and the secrets of the universe. You can get the scoop on anything, but you keep your own secrets locked in your heart. You love change and you use it to your advantage, whether by choice or chance. You don't like to compromise, to the point of being self-destructive with your stubborness. Live life with love, and your deep powers will open the world to you.

What Planet Are You From?

The kids

Because I have nothing better to post and, more truthfully, no time to actually post, you will have to settle for these adorable pictures of our furry children, also fondly known as da' Momma's grandchildren:















Actually, the "upload picture" function on Blogger isn't working right at the moment and all I can post is Grace...

Oh well. You'll just have to enjoy the puppy!