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Nov. 24th, 2007 10:49 pmThis holiday season was mildly uneventful.
We ate copious amounts of food. Extended-family backstabbing was kept to a minimum, thanks to my mother's lessons on what to say to people when they ask what I am doing with my life. There were no dogfights. The cousins and I played MORTAL KOMBAT and MOTOR KOMBAT until we could no longer see straight, and when we got bored with that, we watched Hairspray (and may I just say my love for Mr. Walken grew three sizes that night).
I got kicked in the jaw. I was tickling my little brother, and he pretty much accidentally roundhouse-kicked me hard enough to give me a minor concussion (although not enough of a concussion to make me fall into a dangerous coma-inducing sleep, which, though it sounds dangerous and fatal and stuff, would have been a lovely way to catch up on all the sleep I've missed this week), and to make my jaw act weird. I just took two Tylenol and it still aches, and it's doing this weird popping thing, but I have no insurance so it needs to get better on its own.
I got to fly an airplane. A little one, a four-seater. My Aunt Witty's Dave (all my dad's sisters are with a man named Dave; it's funny and confusing when they're all cooking in the kitchen) is a nationally-acclaimed flight instructor, and he had me taxi the plane around on the runway and lift off and fly and stuff. It was amazing and wonderful, and gave me flashbacks to that time when I was younger when I desperately wanted to go to space, and research told me that the best way was to become a pilot with the Air Force, and I can't help but wonder what my life would have been like if I'd had better eyes. I want to go up again.
Other than that, it was an uneventful Thanksgiving.
We ate copious amounts of food. Extended-family backstabbing was kept to a minimum, thanks to my mother's lessons on what to say to people when they ask what I am doing with my life. There were no dogfights. The cousins and I played MORTAL KOMBAT and MOTOR KOMBAT until we could no longer see straight, and when we got bored with that, we watched Hairspray (and may I just say my love for Mr. Walken grew three sizes that night).
I got kicked in the jaw. I was tickling my little brother, and he pretty much accidentally roundhouse-kicked me hard enough to give me a minor concussion (although not enough of a concussion to make me fall into a dangerous coma-inducing sleep, which, though it sounds dangerous and fatal and stuff, would have been a lovely way to catch up on all the sleep I've missed this week), and to make my jaw act weird. I just took two Tylenol and it still aches, and it's doing this weird popping thing, but I have no insurance so it needs to get better on its own.
I got to fly an airplane. A little one, a four-seater. My Aunt Witty's Dave (all my dad's sisters are with a man named Dave; it's funny and confusing when they're all cooking in the kitchen) is a nationally-acclaimed flight instructor, and he had me taxi the plane around on the runway and lift off and fly and stuff. It was amazing and wonderful, and gave me flashbacks to that time when I was younger when I desperately wanted to go to space, and research told me that the best way was to become a pilot with the Air Force, and I can't help but wonder what my life would have been like if I'd had better eyes. I want to go up again.
Other than that, it was an uneventful Thanksgiving.
