I could write a fifteen-page diatribe on my distaste for Ohio State the team, and Ohio State the fans as an entity. I could write a thirteen-page rant on the irritating qualities of Michigan State fans and random things I dislike about their team and their coach. However, let's just say that today I'd much rather have woken up to an angry pack mule kicking me in my lower jaw. That's how I feel about football so far. Right now I'm watching the Notre Dame/USC game, and many of you might assume that, as a Wolverine, I'd be booing the Fighting Irish. Normally, this would be true of a Michigan fan. However, my husband is a Notre Dame fan, and it's better for me when they win, because he's in a generally upbeat mood. Read: I have a better chance of a pleasant evening.
Tomorrow, our oldest son turns eighteen years old. I remember the excitement of turning eighteen, and thinking that I was finally an adult. I remember the expectation that I would wake up and feel more mature. I could vote. I could play bingo and buy lottery tickets and cigarettes. I did all of these things right away (except for the voting thing) and pretended that I felt older, but the truth was, I was the same scared little girl inside and I really didn't feel different at all. I know that Zach has been counting down the minutes (I know this because he continues to post them on his Facebook page...) and I just wish I could make him understand that this won't change anything. There will still be rules in our household, he still needs to respect them, and he already knows that. It's different with him -- I was more willful and rebellious at that age. He has become, for the most part, pretty responsible and mature. Maybe adulthood will look better on him than it did on me.
Not that I've completely grown into it yet.
I finished reading that next Sookie Stackhouse novel that was more boring than the rest. "Dead as a Doornail" sort of seemed as if Charlaine Harris just churned it out and put it on paper to fill a deadline. There was nothing new or passionate about it, as I had come to expect from the rest of the books. Steve says the next one gets much better than all of the rest, so I'm looking forward to starting that later tonight.
My cousin Charlene is in South Korea, in the Army. She's posted on her Facebook that she is fine, but I hate that she is there, that she is so far away, that things seem to be dangerous there lately. I also hate that there is absolutely nothing I can do about it.
My nephew Mark came to Thanksgiving this year, and I was so happy to have him. Mark is only seven years younger than I am, and he was my only nephew for a long time. I was just a child when he was born, obviously, and a little jealous of all the attention that he got, but as we both got older I really enjoyed spending time with him. We've not been as close in the last several years, and I've missed being around him.
There's something about the last load of laundry in the dryer that makes me lose my initiative for doing laundry. No matter how much I tell myself to get in there and fold it, it doesn't happen for like, three days. Usually until someone else throws a basket of dirty laundry in there, and I have to put something else in the dryer. Then the cycle continues. (Cycle -- no pun intended.)
My husband, my father-in-law, and my nephew all figured out how to hook up our wireless internet over Thanksgiving, so now I can sit on the comfy couch while I type this. I'm pretty excited about that. They did all of this while I played penny poker in the dining room. I didn't take everyone's money this year like I usually do, because we didn't play blackjack. I always deal blackjack and take everyone's money. Even my kids. Yeah. They gotta learn sometime, the house always wins. Think of it this way: I'm saving them from a lifetime of gambling addiction.
I do believe I should get back to editing my last book so I can get it put up for sale. Have a very lovely rest-of-your-weekend!