While cleaning up my room, yesterday, I found that someone had stuffed a six-pack of Sprite and a bag of Flaming Hot Cheetos under my bed. Since there's only one person in my house that would eat this combination, I went to my little brother to find out what he was doing.

"It's for my new clubhouse," he said.

"...under my bed?"

"Yeah."

"Why would you have a clubhouse under my bed?"

He looked at me like I was exceptionally stupid. "Because," he explained slowly, "I can't fit under my bed."

You know, I'm sure that makes perfect sense to him. I'm just a little freaked out because I have no idea how long he's had an under-my-bed clubhouse, or how many times I thought I was alone in my room and...wasn't. (CREEPY.)

My little brother is weird, y'all.

This morning at church, in the middle of announcements, my mother looked down at me from the pulpit and said, "Erin! Stop biting your nails!"

*dies of embarrassment*

To be fair to her, she's got a monster cold and was kind of drugged this morning (the sermon was good--she wrote it before getting sick--but the delivery was, um, slow), so I can let it slide.

Christmas day will be the first anniversary of my grandmother's death.

This year, as I was making out Christmas lists, I thought, "What am I going to get Grandma?" and then realized, "Oh. Yeah."

My Dad has been like a little boy all season, wanting to do every single holiday thing, from helping with the baking, to caroling, to visiting San Francisco for the toy store and the Nutcracker, to watching all eight versions of "The Christmas Carol" that we own. He doesn't feel like we celebrated Christmas last year (which is totally true, we spent the holiday season taking care of Grandma), so he wants to make up for it this year. I think he's also trying to forget or push down all the sadness he feels about his first Christmas without his mom. :(

Day after Christmas, we're going to southern California to see all of our extended family. For the first time ever, my mother had to make hotel reservations, because Grandpa is dead and we can't stay at his house. She sat at her computer and cried while she made them. My whole life, Christmas has meant all of our family gathered at Grandpa's house.

Sorry to be so emo. It just hit me all of a sudden.

So it's been two years since we adopted our little doggy, a pom that was orphaned during Hurricane Katrina. In the last two years, my mother has taught her: how to sit, how to stay (or at least come when called), to not chew socks or books, to do her doggy busisness outside, to not bark in the house.

In contrast, I have taught her: how to drink from a straw, how to carefully consider and finally choose which hand I've hidden the treat in, how to dance, how to give kisses, how to sit on my feet to keep them warm.

My mother thinks that her training was better, but I believe having a well-rounded dog is important.

(This post is 90% inspired by the fact that I am so tired of studying for my final that I am this close to going, "Screw this, I'll just wing it" and that would be bad. So I need to take a break before I can go back to pretending I care about the industrial revolution and its effect on Irish women. :P)

I know I've said this before, but I have the best mom in the world, y'all.

While we were out driving, we saw a car with a bumper sticker that read, "I love my gay son", and my mom said, "I want a bumper sticker like that. Do you think they make one for gay daughters?"

"Yeah," I said, "but you don't like bumper stickers."

"Well, I could get that on a t-shirt or something. Maybe I could make one."

Now, my mom has been really gay accepting, but I was still a little surprised. "You mean, if I got you that t-shirt, you'd wear it?"

"Of course I'd wear it! I'd wear it to work."

"Really."

"I'd wear it to general conference," she said. "I'd wear it all the time." And she sounded really excited about the idea, too.

So I went and bought this for my mom. :)

My baby brother, yesterday, after I picked him up from school:

"Erin, oh my gosh, do you know what they used to do to gay people? They used to make them live in closets."

He was totally serious, and very offended, so I couldn't go with my first impulse, which was to laugh until I peed myself.

Kids. So cute.

So it's Thanksgiving, and this year, Mom decided we were hosting. Which is cool, mostly. I like my extended family, even if they are really conservative, and even if having them over means "Erin goes in the closet in the name of peace and familial harmony". As long as we avoid political discussions, and I don't say anything too gay (or liberal), everything is fine. Mostly.

I really can't stand my aunt, though.

I bought an awesome pair of jeans from Lane Byrant, that fit perfectly, flatter my shape, and are just the best jeans ever. I also got a couple nice tops, and a wicked pair of five-inch pumps. I was wearing my new outfit, caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and said to my brother, "Wow, I am sexy."

My aunt said, "You could be beautiful if you lost weight."

My mother (how I love her) quickly said, "I think you look amazing, Erin. Very cute."

My aunt said, disapprovingly, "Don't encourage her." Then, to me, "You can't live in denial, Erin. You're fat, and it's unhealthy and unattractive. If you don't want to die young and alone, you need to lose weight." And to my mother, "It's not loving to lie to her."

I was gaping, speechless and pissed beyond belief. (Too angry to be hurt, though that came later.) My mom said, "I'm not lying. I think my daughter is gorgeous." Although she added, "And she knows she needs to lose weight. She's trying!"

That's when I left the room, and I haven't come out since.

What a bitch.

So I have the best little brother in the world, y'all.

A few days ago, I was driving in the car with my mom and little brother, and Mom and I started talking about the Iranian president's visit, and more specifically, his remarks about gay people. I said something along the lines of, "You can't execute gay people one day and then claim you don't have gay people in your country the next."

From the backseat, came a horrified, "They kill gay people?"

Stewart (age 12) was so upset, and spent the whole rest of the car ride talking about how horrible it was, and how gay people aren't any different than straight people, and we need to be nice to everyone, etc. Which made me happy.

A little while later, we were watching Doctor Who, and when Captain Jack kissed the Doctor, he went, "Ewwww." It sounded like something my father or other brothers would say. So I sat him down and we talked about how that was hurtful. "Remember when we talked about the country where they killed gay people?"

"Yeah," he said.

"And what did you think of that?"

"It's wrong!" he said. "It doesn't matter if a boy likes another boy. Who cares? You shouldn't kill someone just for being gay."

"So you think it's not okay to hurt gay people," I stated, and he nodded. "Do you think that it would hurt a gay person if you went 'EWWWW' when two boys kissed? Would you go 'EWWWW' if you saw a boy and girl kiss?"

"Oh," he said, looking sad, and apologized and said he didn't mean it. And that also made me happy.

So today, somehow the subject around the lunch table got to homosexuality. My father said something derrogatory, my other brother laughed, and my little brother piped up, "Don't say that! It's not nice! It doesn't matter if you're gay or not." Totally shocked my dad, and I was very happy.

So, yeah, best little brother in the world.

My dad got promoted! He's now the chief of police at his department, which is wicked cool. He's been doing the work for the last few months, but now he's actually getting paid for it (which is awesome) and they also gave him a car and will pay for his transportation costs (which is VERY awesome, as his commute has been costing about 200$ a week). Yay!

Also, my truly bad writer's block seems to have lifted, at least for the time being, and I've written quite a bit of a BSC fic (Byron/Jeff, of course), and part of an Animorphs fic (Gafinilan/Mertil, with a side order of Marco/Ax). The Animorphs fic is giving me trouble, though, because a) I was struck with inspiration for the middle/end of the fic, and I'm working backwards, which is hard for me, and b) writing two (gay) Andalites, when we have NO idea what Andalite sex/courtship is like, is driving me up a wall!

So even though I still hate chemistry, life is good. :)

Allow me to brag on my kid brother for a minute, okay?

I don't know if I've mentioned it before, but Shane is a phenomenal football player. His nickname at school is "the beast", for real. His number is 64, and his coach says it's because he's 60% human, 40% animal on the field. And no one can really believe it, because he's such a sweet, sensitive kid otherwise. He wants to play in college, but he's way too little (5'7 and 220ish) for college ball with his position (don't ask me what position he plays...he doesn't throw the ball or catch the ball or run, he hits people) *see edit*. So we're praying for 6 inches and 80-100 pounds, but it doesn't seem likely. :( Regardless, he's a great high school player.

On Saturday, they played Marin Catholic, their main rivals. AND KICKED THEIR ASS. (It was kind of personal for Shane, because two years ago in a game against Marin Catholic, he got tackled and tore his ACL, which required surgery and put him out of the game for the rest of the season.) And we opened up the newspaper Sunday morning and there he was! :) If you want to see the picture, click here. Don't know how long it's going to last.

My little brother is ten kinds of awesome, and I'm so proud of him!

Edit: I've just been informed that my brother plays offensive guard and nose tackle. He was quite irritated with me..."I've only been playing for FOUR YEARS."

Today I ran errands with my mother, which I really enjoy, because it gives us time to talk. In the middle of a discussion on gay marriage, my (fairly gay positive) mother said:

"I don't understand what two women can do together."

To which I responded, after a minute of confused spluttering, "Well, do you want me to tell you?"

She looked flustered. "No, no, that's okay--"

"Because I'm sure I can find pictures or something, if you need."

"No, you don't need to do that."

"Or maybe I could check out, like, a sex manual from the library. If you're curious."

"Erin!" she exclaimed, and man, she was bright pink. "I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT THIS WITH YOU."

And hey, I can take a hint. So I dropped the subject and we continued running errands. A few minutes later, my mom asked, "So how do you know so much about lesbian sex?"

*headdesk* *headdesk* *headdesk*

And that prompted a discussion about what Mom knew about sex before she got married. Turns out the extent of her pre-marital sexual information was a textbook "penis goes in vagina" explanation and her mother saying, "Now don't let him go sticking it inside you all willy-nilly" before her wedding night.

So I had to explain that times have changed, and while I a) haven't had sex or b) watched lesbian porn (seen a few pictures, but that's all), I do have a pretty comprehensive idea of what two women can do together.

My family is so weird.

So I have a box of tampons sitting in the cupboard next to the toilet. (Incidentally, the same cupboard that we keep the extra rolls of toilet paper in.) My brothers have requested that I move the box. Because it's gross.

Ahem.

A BOX OF COTTON WRAPPED IN PLASTIC IS NOT GROSS UNLESS YOU ARE SEVERELY DUMB AND/OR GYNOPHOBIC.

I'm not one of those chicks that want to paint the walls with my menstrual blood or something, but what the fuck.

I'm trying to process something my mother said. Quote:

"I'm glad your grandfather died before he found out that you're a lesbian. Not that I think he would ever have stopped loving you, but he wouldn't have understood. He wouldn't have known what to do, and that would have hurt him, because he would have wanted to fix it."

Okay. So I feel a little offended, and a lot sad, and guilty. Guilty because I've had that exact same thought, and I did always think in my mind, "I'll come out when Grandma and Grandpa are dead, because they wouldn't understand." And I feel like I lied to them. I feel like I should have trusted at least my Grandpa, who was very sharp up until the moment he died.

I have no idea why Mom said that, and I had no response. I just said, "Oh," and she changed the subject, but I can't stop thinking about it.

Okay, rambly post with no real point. Huh.

I uploaded the rest of our trip pictures, and thought I'd share.

First, a cute little brother story:

My little brother recently got a very nice digital camcorder. I hate being filmed, so I told him he wasn't allowed to take pictures/movies of me without permission. He turned to Mom and asked if he could videotape her.

"As long as it's flattering," she answered.

He turned the camera on Mom and started to film. "This is my Mom," he narrated. "She's very beautiful and really nice. I like her hat."

It certainly was a flattering video! :)

( Cut for lots of pictures. )

Well, I'm finally home!

After going to the Grand Canyon, we took the LONG way home, and went through Zion National Park, which was (IMHO) even more amazing than the Grand Canyon. Yesterday, we started out in St. George, Utah, headed across the 15 through Nevada and Arizona, and drove up the 395 so we could go through Yosemite on the way. Took forever, but it was so worth it. I'm exhausted, though.

( A few pictures of the Grand Canyon, if you're interested. )

I'll try to upload pics from the rest of the trip later. :)

I spent most of my fourth of July in bed reading fanfic. Yay? And after approx. 9,000 Numb3rs fic--don't look at me like that! I didn't ask for another fandom, it was thrust upon me--I have just one little complaint. ::cough:: Dear Numb3rs eppescest writers: "Buddy" is not a pet name. And Supernatural wincest writers? "Sammy" isn't a pet name, either. ::eyeroll::

Actually, today I read several Supernatural fics contained my absolute biggest pet peeve. I cannot stand it when Dean points a gun at Sam as a joke or an empty threat. Just, no. They were raised around weapons, they were taught how to use them at a young age by an expert, and lesson number one, drilled into you constantly, is: never point a gun at someone unless you intend to shoot them. John Winchster would have beat his boys black and blue if they ever pointed their guns at each other in play, and I can't see Dean throwing off all that early training and holding a gun to Sam's chest to get him to take a shower or whatever.

Ah, well, I'm drugged to the gills and bitchy, and I should probably be asleep.

(PS: Teen boys are so moody! Everyone talks about teen girls, but my two brothers--12 and 17--are so sullen and touchy! I can't really compare, not having a little sister in the house all the time, but I'm going out of mind. Sometimes they're fine, and other times the littlest thing sets them off. I kind of want to hit them both.)

So I am (SLOWLY) learning how to drive stick, because the car my parents bought, primarily for me to drive to and from school, is a stick shift. Unfortunately, I SUCK at driving stick, which we really should have tried to find out BEFORE purchasing the vehicle. At first, my mom was very chill, very, "Oh, every beginner goes through this, you'll be driving with ease in no time." Now she's a little more frantic, because I really, really suck.

Part of this, I do have to say, is my mom's fault, because my mother's teaching style and my learning style do not mesh at all. My mother is very much, "Oh you've got to feel it. You can feel how much to let off the clutch. You can feel when you need to shift gears. Just feel what to do."

I'm like, "I CAN'T FEEL ANYTHING. PLEASE TELL ME WHAT TO DO."

"I can't tell you what to do. You have to listen to the car. The car will tell you what you need to do."

"I DON'T SPEAK CAR, MOTHER."

And then I nearly started to cry, so Mom and I switched. She started the car and did...something...and said, "See how that sounded? Now I'll do it the wrong way," and did...something else...and it sounded EXACTLY THE SAME. "See the difference?"

"...no?"

She sighed. "Okay, let me try it again," and then the car went SPLUTTER SPLUTTER COUGH and died.

"OOOH, I heard it!" But apparently, that was an accident. ::shrug::

About a third of the time, I can start the car and get it moving forward. God as my witness, I have NO FUCKING CLUE what I do differently that one third of the time. It just happens.

::sob::

Dear Church Board,

No, I will not wear nylons while leading music, and neither will my Mom. Wearing nylons in full summer (in a building without A/C) wouldn't make us look modest or professional, it would make us look insane.

No, my brother will not cut his hair. He keeps it pulled back very neatly, and, hello, he's not on staff, he's just a member of the pastor's family. He's seventeen years old, he can decide if he wants a ponytail or not.

Yes, it's fine if my mother gets her toenails painted red. It doesn't make her look trashy. They're pretty. Why are you looking at her feet anyway?

Thanks for making my (admittedly insecure) mother come home and cry. Assholes.

No love,

Erin

First the good news!

My Dad got a promotion! Which is awesome. The bad news is that it doesn't come with a pay raise. The good news is that it doesn't come with any extra responsibilities, either; it's more like a recognition for for the work he's been doing for the last year. But it looks good on a resume! :)

In other less happy news, my brother got a GIANT FUCKING TATTOO. It's so ugly. It's a giant skull. My parents are really chill. They've got very few rules, but one of the biggest is: no tattoos or weird piercings until you've moved out. So now they've been put in a really awkward postition. On one hand, my brother hasn't had a job or paid rent or attended school in months, regularly uses drugs, is extremely disrespectful to my parents, etc., and my parents have given him a lot of "shape up or get out" kind of talks. On the other, he has no motivation, no maturity, and really bad friends. So my parents are terrified that if they tell him to get out, they're going to lose him forever. GAH. I just want to beat him with sticks right now.

Also, we took our doggies to the vet today, and found out that our terrier has cancer, a bunch of tumors all over her body. Mom and Dad were pretty blunt...they don't have the money to treat her, so they're going to do whatever they can to keep her comfortable, and when she's in pain that can't be managed, they'll put her down. But right now she's happy, so we're going to do what we can to keep her happy. We bought her a giant steak after her vet appointment, and cried. :(

I love my family, and I know that I was totally miserable and homesick when I was away, but sometimes I just want to find away to move out.

I just finished my last final.

I'm so irritated with my professor. First, she gives us a study sheet, which is nice. Yay, I don't have to aimlessly study every bit of information that she gave over the semester! I made flashcards for every item on the study sheet. I spent the last week making sure I was thoroughly familiar with all the material, and I was so incredibly confident when I went in to take the test.

A good third of the information wasn't on the study sheet. What. C'mon, what's the purpose of telling the class what to study, and then pulling test questions from somewhere else? It would have been a lot better to just not have a study sheet at all, because then I would have at least attempted to study all the info from the semester, instead of what she told us to. Grrr.

Plus, her babysitter canceled and she brought her toddler-aged children to class with her. Her two-year-old fussed almost the entire time. I understand about how hard it is to juggle kids and a career, but come on. We should at least get a few extra-credit points tacked onto our test score, because it was super hard to concentrate.

I know, I know, bitch bitch bitch. ::eyeroll::

But I'm done with school! For a week! First summer session starts a week from today, joy.

PS: I turned 21 yesterday. My parents took me out to TGIF, which is my favorite restaurant(they have fried macaroni and cheese! awesome!). I really wanted to get a drink, as I've been a good girl and never had any alcohol in my life, but I ended up needing to take pain pills earlier in the day, and figured I'd save my first drink for another time. Ah well. It was an awesome evening, though! I love spending time with my family. :)