Growing Up

It has become painfully obvious that this year, my 23rd, is quickly wrapping up. And again, as it has been every year since I turned 21 (yeah, I know, oh so many years ago) I'm beginning to panic. People seem distracted, preoccupied, and they are going to forget again. Two people at work know my birthday is next week. A few friends know (one shares my birthday, one was sweet enough to take me to Whose Live?, one may remember or may forget but he knows its here). My grandparents remembered, I got my card today. It'll be a miracle if my dad remembers, though I'm not sure why. Facebook will remember.

The plus side to my birthday blues: this year no one has pointed out what they were doing at my age. Last year it was all, "I'd been married for five years and had two kids." I think by now they realize this isn't how my life is working.

I think the fact that my loosely laid out life plan isn't shaping up the way I had pictured brings me down more than my dad not remembering and his mother reminding me that I haven't seen her in a long time can't seem to remember that birthdays other than hers exist. Apple and tree situation maybe?

I also think my panic comes from not having an adventure in sight. I can't seen a clear moment of joy in my future, I see working, I see grocery shopping and I see not enough time in the day. I think maybe I crave adventure too much, I spoiled myself with it too early... or not. Maybe I'm just playing it too safe now. Maybe I should get on a bike and ride across the country? Only I don't like bikes, but there has to be something sort of like that that I'm afraid of doing, something that I would actually.

Maybe, just maybe, I show become a roadie. I know, the whole thing has a certain skeeze factor, dirty clothes and buses and late nights and too much to drink. But I don't know that it would be bad. Maybe I should freak my mom out, join the Peace Corp like I always planned, throw caution to the wind, learn a new language, live in poverty in a strange place and maybe make a difference. I wouldn't be any worse off than I am today.

I could go back to school, take on that debt. Learn and end up actually working in a place I despise instead of just in an unstimulating job that I despise some of the time.

Operation Ada Jane seems more like a trap these days than a genius idea, but some genius ideas are traps aren't they?

Haha, who am I kidding?

Whatever you do this week don't compare me to you. Thanks a bunch!

I'm Writing a Rash Post that Will Bring Out the Tree Hugger in Me

So I got a text message today. It's not a first but it was interesting. It asked if I had gotten the news, I replied that I hadn't because if I had I wouldn't have been utterly bewildered at what news it could be. Then I got a response to my reply, and I feel a bit bad about my reaction here guys, the text said "Max passed away, he was killed by a bear." In my head I'm like: who is this Max?? And after running though a list of people Max is not I realize a second before asking my sister, who seems upset, who he is it smacks me in the face (too soon?) Max is-was one of my father's cats. He was a 25 pound orange cat with paws the size of my palm and fur so long and soft.

And he's dead. Killed by a bear. This isn't surprising though, my dad lives in the mountains with black bears. He has, for as long as he's lived there, thought of them of giant wild pets, feeding them (illegal) and getting unreasonably close to them (stupid). Recently my dad decided that his four kitties were outside eligible, all of them were raised indoors (stupid) and two of them are declawed (inhumane). Mind you outside cats get fed outside. Bears have been counting on food from my dad's front porch for a few years now-- are you getting where this is going?

So now my dad has a permit to kill the bear and my sisters all we're going to make a rug out of you m***er-f***er (is there a hyphen in that?). So the bear will get it and all will rejoice.

Am I the only one seeing the injustice here? Animal cruelty perhaps? What I'm saying is that killing a wild animal for competing for its food (natural) seems rather unreasonable. Also putting cat food on the front porch might be good for the cats but in a place where you can't store trash outside or food wrappers in your car why would you leave food where the bears could compete for it? Why would you put inside cats outside? Why would you put pets where they could become prey for coyotes (they eat cats too) and bears (though he wasn't prey from what I understand, he was an obstetrical)?

So my friends, I'm thinking that given the amount of criticism I receive for ragging on the family I will not go too far with my judgement of my father. I will only say that occasionally one gets what is coming to him. And if there is a God then he will make a special case of reincarnation to the swell fella I call Dad.

Stateriotism

My sister is a stateriot (think patriot). She even has pictures of the state flag on her return address labels.

Robert Duvall is also a stateriot. He told Esquire that VA was the the next best thing to heaven. He used to live in the same town as me. Heaven? Maybe not but his current farm appears to be pretty awesome.

This term "stateriot" came to me today when I saw the address label (also why does my 21 year-old sister have return address labels?). I feel as if a real word for the love of one's state should exist. I am consulting Google as I speak...fruitless.

My attempts were feeble but if you Google stateriotism you'll get results. Also if you know what the real word for loving your state is let me know.

The Trifecta

New gang in town ya'll. (And we may have stolen someone else's' gang name and I mean no disrespect.) We are the Trifecta and we have a handshake.

It involves a three-way super-white fist bump.

This fist bump was conceived over Italian Wedding Soup as my mother ran off to take a call from a man she met on the internet (really? yes, I don't fib about said things).

So respect to the Trifecta.

Respect.

Get on Gayle's Level

My sister is home from school. Oprah is a Barbara Walter's special. I'm bored so I'm watching this with her. Oprah's best friend, but not lesbian love, is Gayle King. Oprah describes Gayle as:

The mother she never had and the best sister anyone could wish for.

Hannah's response:

Megan get on Gayle's level.

And to that I have to say:

Alright.

Ha ha ha or not because really come on if I could be on Gayle's level I'd ditch my sisters and go find Oprah. Hell, that woman could find me a job, my sisters just threaten me and let their African friends touch my hair since I have to ultimate white people hair.

Which gives me an idea... I'm going to be the star attraction at the petting zoo! Or a stripper, which ever pays better.

Christmas Letter

Each year as the Christmas cards flood the mailbox you are inundated with pictures of people you don't really remember and letter explaining the lives of those very same folk. In my family there is one letter that we love to open because, though it is not intended to be, it is hilarious. Its a good ole run of the mill holier-than-thou letter of awesomeness. The kind where people announce their toddlers speak in paragraphs (there's nothing wrong with pride, but come on, who speaks in paragraphs?) and then describe their unborn offspring as impending. I don't know about you but impending has always connoted doom (ie impending doom) or something wholly unpleasant, next time you guys qualify it with impending joy or something, not just impending.

Last year one of my uncles sent a letter just to say "Yo, we're here too and we hate these letters so here is yet another one to read." It was actually a pretty good letter and it inspired my mother.

Last week my mother asked me to write a form letter. I was very confused as to why I was writing a form letter, though I have the capabilities it's not really something I enjoy doing, but then she clarified. My mother wanted a Christmas letter to send to all of her family. It was a daunting task, I needed the right balance of humor and superiority, I needed a good shock factor and I needed everyone to think that maybe, perhaps, my mother didn't write the letter.

So, here it is:

Seasons Greetings Folks!

We hope all is well this Christmas and as the year ends you will be able to look back on 2010 with fond memories. We have been incredibly busy this year, so busy in fact we would like to share the high points with you.

April has become a world traveler. Last spring she went on a cruise that circled the Caribbean with one propeller, though it was still chillier than she would have hoped, she had a blast and returned home, to the second decent snow storm of this year, with a tan. Before her tan faded she was snowed in for a week, trapped by about five feet of snow. This fall she took a quick jaunt to the Emerald Isle where she forgot to eat the cheese she dreamed about but drank in the sights just long enough to know that she wants to go back and see more than just Dublin.

Hope had a successful end to her sophomore year and got her first job. All summer she lounged by the pool tanning with her sun glasses on, waiting but nobody’s life needed saving. After school started and the homecoming buzz began she found herself loathing the popular girls as they announced the junior homecoming court, she apparently wondered aloud “I wonder who the fourth bitch is?” only for her named to be called. Even Hope agrees that this was the best bitch for the job. Unfortunately, her tan didn’t get to participate in the homecoming festivities with her.

Hannah turned 21 this year, was maced at a school dance and finally declared her major. If you ever need a good PO look her up, after hearing that could be one of her career options she jumped on the sociology bandwagon. When Hannah isn’t studying how to best beat the criminal mind she is wrecking cars and playing in the mounds of snow that have been falling in Wise since October.

Mark was laid off early in the year and moved to Roanoke to work, where late in summer he was laid off and he moved back to Round Hill. Aiden is three now and keeping his dad very busy with his love of dinosaurs, library books, library books about dinosaurs and his clever quips.

After Megan graduated last December she found an internship for a group of history magazines, fell in love with getting published and has been working for Ann Taylor Factory Store ever since. Who needs a byline when they have a double certification in pants fit?

Merry Christmas!

Love,
The aforementioned sign.

Facebook

So I'm on facebook. I know, right, I'm so trendy-cool. Everyone wants to be me. Everyone wants to be on the facebook. Including my grandmother.

Yes, my grandmother decided that she would like to be my friend. Don't tell her but I only became her friend because I don't want to worry the family. I'm the nice one here, I have accepted the "friendship" of several aunts, my mom's childhood best friend and so forth. I'm not even a friend-whore, I go through and delete "
"friends" every once and a while but some of them you just can't get rid of, they'll call your mommy.

Curses facebook, curses!

Also how am I supposed to create traffic via facebook? I don't want her to know that I despise everything about everything she's ever said to me, and if she reads this she will know.

hmph.

Happy Thanksgiving!!

I just want to wish everyone a Happy Thanksgiving and remind each and every one of you: I don't want to see your ugly mug out shopping tonight! (Read that in the sweetest tone please.)

As I sit here thinking of Thanksgivings past I'm in love, with the holiday that is. What other occasion can we celebrate the harvest, the intercultural exchange of syphilis (woot America) and small pox (double woot Europe), the family gathering together to resent each other and over indulgence. And the cherry on top? My sister will probably makes us go around the table and say what we are thankful for.

With all the excitement of this year I don't know if it will top last year's awesome Thanksgiving.  Maybe it was the sheer number of people in attendance, or the fact that all of us got along for a few minutes, could have been the excessive drinking or just a nice combination of everything but I'm going to vote that last year, Thanksgiving was nearly perfect. It somehow worked, all of that food and all of those people. We even had a full day of classes before sitting down to the most enormous meal imaginable (I made two different types of gravy- two types of gravy is too much). The turkey was fresh, not frozen, which was pretty cool. The aftermath of dinner turned out to be interesting also. There was a panty raid, poor Jamie scrambled to get her wash greyed panties back, and it more or less turned into a brawl. We met the security guard that night, he was a bit confused.

This year taping hand turkeys to the cabinets would be childish, as would passing a bottle of wine around the table sans glasses. I will not carve the turkey because there are people who are much better at it than me. And instead of a small drunken riot, I'll head to work after dinner (a riot indeed, but of a differerent sort, I'm glad I'm getting paid for it).

Happy Thanksgiving.

Geniuses Tie Their Shoes and Read, At the Same Time.

Got to love the family. They're all kinds of not normal, and today full of near genius quotes. Hope quipped impressively today, kudos Hope.

The gem of the evening: "Geniuses ties their shoes and read, at the same time."

I must add context- we were discussing the family, especially the backward folk from the hills (they are backward hill folk indeed, and I can say this feeling secure that they'll never read this and feel offended). The discussion was a bit of a childhood development lecture, one cousin normal but stunted by his circumstances and the other is socially inept due to his brain chemistry. Without going much deeper, some kids read before they can tie their shoes, the readers aren't geniuses, and neither are the children who tie their shoes first.

Anywho- the family.

When I was about 16, during a dinner with my father, his second wife, her children and my grandmother we were discussing college. My grandmother was adiment that I not attend college, it was a waste of time and money. I could, and she said this to my face, become a secretary and seduce the boss man, get myself pregnant and force him into marriage. I disappointed her, I still do.

I just turned 23, the age my mother had me, her second child, the age my grandmother had my father (if I calculate correctly), her second child, the age my aunt gave birth to her second child (again, this is math not fact but most of the women in the family had at least one child by the time they were 23). I am unmarried and single, not like I'm unmarried single, like I'm not dating anyone and haven't in at least the last year. I work in a female-centric place. I graduated and its ok that I don't have an MRS I guess but I don't even have a career.

I have yet to live up to my dreams let alone hers. I won't live up to hers, but mine, that'll just take a bit of time. I do intend to get married one day. I don't think seducing the boss is the best idea, thats another story for another day though. I hope to get out of lady land and meet new folk.

Today I declare that unlike the cousins I will not end up sitting in the "holler" twiddling my thumbs wondering whats happening beyond the directTV.