Joining the Dinosaurs

Well, I'm back from break, and let me just say that is so positively *wonderful* to be back slogging through classes. If you failed to catch the irony of the last sentence, let me make that even plainer: coming back from thanksgiving break STINKS. Oh well. Seven days of classes plus finals week left. Not that I'm counting or anything.

Thanksgiving break was pretty much the normal state of hecticness that is my life. For that weekend before Thanksgiving, my mom and I flew down to South Carolina to see my grandma. It was good to see her again, and sweet to spend time with her, but sad, too (she has Alzheimer’s). My mom spent the weekend cleaning out her room and closet, and I spent it lugging the tons and tons of trash and junk mail out to the dumpster. Not exactly exciting blog material. (Except for getting creative so that the doors wouldn't lock me out).

Still, one funny thing did happen. One of the evenings, when my mom and I were out getting some food (since her choices are limited because of that terrible no-wheat-celiac-disease-stuff) I begged her to let us stop by Blockbuster and rent a movie or two. "Like, let's get a grown up chick flick" I begged. "Maybe one rated R? Like we can't watch at home?" "Why?" she asked. "Becaaaause," I responded. "We can't watch it at home." Duh.

[Side note: I did NOT want a movie for what I term "icky romance." I wanted a good movie with a higher rating because we can't watch those with my younger sisters, as I'm sure you can guess how well THEY take being left out.]

Like the kind and loving mother she is, my mom agreed. I ran in to Blockbuster, my brain furiously working to figure out what I could find in two minutes (our food was already in the car).
I had one of those moments when it's like the ground positively shifted under my feet.
I mean, seriously, it was one of those times when your frame of reference completely collapses. Aliens walking through the door would have been less surprising.
Because as I looked around, I realized to my horror than every single video was on DVD.

Now, I suppose I should explain. My mom and I were staying in the "independent living" home's guest room. A room that was equipped with one set of silverware, two plates, no glasses, a kettle for decoration only, lots of random and weird trinkets, and a TV and VCR. So, for the first time I needed something on VHS and realized to my shock that they were. . .extinct.

I swear, it was like one of those moments from the movies, where the hero glances around as the camera spins, revealing bad guys emerging from every alleyway. Every single DVD seemed to leap out with unnatural clarity as I searched in vain for a nice, fat, comfortable VHS tape.

So, my mom and I went back and watched a Disney Channel movie. I'm not sure rather to laugh or tear my hair out. The one time away from my little sisters, and I watch their favorite station. Really, life is ironic.

Happy Meals and College

I have to say, I think I’ve now lost any remaining dignity that I had. Ordering a Happy Meal hamburger plain on a college campus with no kid in sight is embarrassing enough; having to ask for a different toy is utterly humiliating. Now, I will defend my right to order a Happy Meal no matter what my age is; I like the portion sizes (except for the drink) and somehow it doesn’t feel as wrong still eating plain hamburgers when it’s just a kid’s meal. Plus, they’re a whole lot cheaper.
But it is truly a lowering experience to request a different toy. Now, I may still be childish, child-like, and possibly immature, but it is NOT true that I order Happy Meals for the toys. Usually. As it so happens, if the toy seems decent then I drag it home and give it to Clara. Usually she’s indifferent, occasionally Julia will be impressed (case in point: Yoshi ball-popping figure), but it’s better than throwing it away. (Once, recently, the lady asked me if I wanted a toy. I said no, of course. What, am I supposed to admit to clinging with my every breath to a McDonald’s toy?) Anyhow, last week I found one of the Barbie Twelve Dancing Princesses in my kids meal. Dutifully, I brought it home to Clara.
Rarely has she more surprised me with an outpouring of complete and ecstatic happiness. She squealed in delight and jumped up and down hugging me. Now, even when I BUY her toys, I don’t get that response. Apparently she had so wanted one of those toys, but she hadn’t been taken to McDonalds, and by the time she had, they had moved on to “Flushed Away” toys. Of course I thoroughly enjoyed being the loved older sister, and I basked in her affection.
So, when it came time this week to go back to McDonalds, I ordered a happy meal and hoped fervently for a different princess (after all, there are twelve of them). Imagine my unpleasant shock when I opened the bag and found . . .a hot wheels toy. What to do? The lines were getting long (side note: this McDonalds really does provide “fast food” as they have lines to the door during the between-class rush) and I hated trying to get someone’s attention. Plus, there was that whole issue of a twenty-year-old asking for a Barbie happy meal toy. Embarrassment warred with the ego-boost I’d get from making Clara happy (I really am a very selfish person). I hesitated at the counter for a minute or two, then quickly asked for the toy when one of the workers had half a second. The exchange was made. I left with cheeks flaming, but a sense of accomplishment and triumphant.
Then I went to get a flu shot, and well, that’s a different story entirely.