Thanksgiving Hilarity

I have never actually rickrolled anyone, because I'm not that slick and most people I know wouldn't get it anyway. But I do have to share this, as it is possibly the funniest thing I've seen in weeks.



Awesome. Who cares if only about 10% of the viewing audience has the faintest idea what just happened?

In which I make my family sound like either idiots or monsters, but we're neither, I swear.

This afternoon, my aunt emailed me a link to my great-aunt's obituary. That led to the following conversation:

Me: Did you know that Aunt Vera died?

Dad: Oh, did I forget to tell you that?

This sounds awful, really it does, but it's not like it's the first time. Several years ago I had this conversation with my mother:

Mom: Well, you know, when your [Great] Aunt Nina was alive...

Me: Aunt Nina's dead?

And to be fair, it's not just my parents. My dad once had this conversation with his father (now deceased.)

Grandpa: Well, we just got back from Iowa.

Dad: Why were you in Iowa?

Grandpa: The funeral was very nice.

Dad: Funeral?

Grandpa: The flowers you sent were lovely.

Dad: ...

My aunt had sent flowers in the name of all the "kids" and had forgotten to tell a few people...

Worst daughter ever.

I called my Mom today to wish her a happy birthday, making this the twelfth straight year that I've forgotten my Dad's birthday then felt so guilty about it that I remember my Mom's six days later.

I suck.

It's not as if I didn't know it was coming. On November 11, I thought to myself, "Hmm--I need to remember to call Dad tomorrow." On November 13, I was on the phone with my Mom when she said "Did you call your father yesterday?"

#$%@!

In other news, today was the first Reading Is Fundamental book distribution of the year. The students had a blast, and I am now so tired I can hardly hold my head up.

Attention Mother Nature

I am not ready for this cold.

And I am cold. All the time. Last night O. pulled out the godawful ugly comforter that I nixed last year. He put it on the bed and I didn't even argue, because it was wonderfully warm. Apparently I'm going to have to "put it away" straight into the trash if I want to get rid of it, but not until I get something that matches it in warmth.

The only place I'm not cold these days is work, because when DCPS turns on the heat, they TURN ON THE HEAT. It's about 95 degrees in the hallways. The only reason it's not 95 degrees in the classrooms is because we all have our window unit air conditioners on to balance it out. No, I'm not kidding. We'll have them on all winter. It makes my little environmentalist heart hurt...but not enough to suffer without it.

In which I spend time in the fresh air, and enjoy myself.

Yesterday O. and I hiked section A of the Billy Goat Trail. For him it was fairly easy--I think he is part billy goat--but it's basically at the limit of my (limited) hiking ability. For example, I climbed this:



I really do enjoy things like this, although I'm not very skilled at it. It's worth the hard work though, for views like this:




Hard to believe we're only 20 minutes from DC, isn't it?

The hike took about four hours, and we left late enough that it was pitch black by the time we got back to the car. Luckily the last mile and a half of the hike was along the C&O canal towpath, which is relatively flat. We were lucky that the weather was so nice so late in the year, so this is probably the last time we'll go out there this year...a four hour hike in the cold is probably pushing my limits a bit.

Undergarments

I had an epiphany this morning, as I struggled with a particularly bothersome pair of pantyhose. Now, I do not often wear pantyhose anymore, because really, who does? But this morning it seemed appropriate, because 1) I was going to church, and 2) the bruise described in my last post was still very much in evidence. Despite my threats to make up some wild story featuring O. and a letter opener, I really didn't feel like answering questions about it.

So, as I struggled with these pantyhose, I realized that whenever I get a run, it is always in the left leg. How do I know this? Well, I put the right leg on first, and it's always fine, which gives me hope for the overall fitness of the garment. And then I put on the left leg and it's shot to hell. Because let's face it--the flimsier the pantyhose, the more money we have to spend on new pairs. Sometimes I think my cats climb into my lingerie drawer and claw the hell out of my pantyhose, just for fun. I mean, how else can you explain why the shredded pairs would be in the drawer instead of in the garbage where they belong? I mean, it couldn't possibly be that I threw them on the floor when I took them off, and then picked them up a week later and washed them and put them away...Oh. Wait...

As an aside, I hate the word pantyhose. It sounds...unrefined. But nylons sounds stupid and stockings sounds like the things that are held up by a garter belt, and I do not have enough time in my life to bother with those things. Hence the title of this post...and I know that doesn't really cover it either, but I just could not make myself title a post Pantyhose.

Lethal Fashion

Last weekend, I bought these fabulous boots:



They look even more fabulous in person, because they fit my legs perfectly. And, they're comfortable as long as you're not doing a ridiculous amount of walking in them.

They're also lethal weapons. Exhibit A:



That would be the side of my knee. That would be the side of my knee after I tripped over a box in the library, flailed around trying to stay upright and kicked myself with my right heel.

It bled. It hurt as much as it looks like it did. And it made my fabulous outfit slightly less fabulous.

On the up side, it's two days later and I'm not limping anymore.