(Yes, I intended to write an entry for every day. Alas, my parents� net access died the day I got there, and thus I�m posting the paper journal entries I wrote instead a few weeks late. Sorry �bout that.)

12/27:

We did very little today. I�ve been writing these journal entries in a notebook, and my parents keep being curious as to what I�m writing for so long- "a list of my presents" at first. Later Mom asksed if I was "writing a little story," and I sorta nodded. I suspect they may figure it out before long, given the diaryesque dates on here. But my handwriting�s monumentally bad, so trying to read it will be difficult. Man, I miss composing while typing.

Mom had a list of chores she wanted to get done today: (a) put up and decorate the tree, (b) take photos of all the gifts we got, (c) clean out the other random junk in the living and family rooms in preparation for the NYD family party. I said I�d do the tree for her if she�d just get me out the ornaments from wherever she hides them.

What has she done instead? (a) Found every college application form/financial aid form we ever had, then shredded them (well, I did some of it at the end once I noticed what she was spending all her time on). Yeah, that was urgent to get done today.

As of this writing, 5:10 p.m., she�s STILL arranging clothes photogenically for photographs. She decided to do my presents in two photos and isn�t even done yet, or on to her stuff or Dad�s. Honestly, she is such a procrastinator sometimes, it amazes me. She�s going to be freaking out later on this week (and she can�t work on it Friday) because nothing�s done, and screaming at me because she�s stressed and in a bad mood and has nothing done. Sigh. I actually don�t mind being home for NYE this year, for the first time ever. It beats being home in my apartment or being around anyone who�s puking like last year. But oh, how I dread Mom becoming a bitch while preparing for the NYD party.

You know what both amazes and annoys me? Once upon a time when I lived here permanently, we received a good amount of phone calls, and the chances of them being for one of us were as follows:

Mom- 60% (relatives, the occasional friend, salespeople, random other people she knows and I can�t keep track of)

Me- 30% (friends- I�m not a big phone person)

Dad- 10% (co-workers, relatives. He really wasn�t a phone person)

Nowadays, however, I don�t live here regularly (and only Hill has the phone number here these days) and Dad can�t talk hardly at all. Hence the percentage of phone calls likely to be for Mom is about 99.5%.

So, let�s say that now that I�m home and the phone rings, Dad won�t answer it, and Mom and I are both equally far away from the phone. Now I, figuring that the phone call will be for her, won�t get up to get it. But Mom�ll pitch a fit at me because she doesn�t feel like getting up and wants ME to go answer it? Hello?! Why should she not get up and have me answer it when she KNOWS that the call�s gonna be for her and no matter what, she WILL have to get up and talk on the phone? Why put the caller through the rigamarole and wait of "I�ll go get her?" Sheesh.

Here�s the last news story on TV just now: The CA Republicans are putting ads on TV griping at Davis for the 25 cent increase in the sales tax. However, a good many Republicans supported this increase when it was signed into law way back when, and a Republican governor was the one who signed it into law. As the talking head girl put it, "This begins the political ad season." Oh brother. Talk about dumbass. Though I�d have to admit that was an actual sensical TV news story, for a change. (Oh, how hard it is for me to come home and be bombarded by the parents� watching of TV news.) Now it�s once again going on about how it�s going to pour here like fuckall until 2002, and there will be guaranteed flooding! Joy! I don�t wanna hear about Osama attacking the economy, I�m depressed enough about that. Thanks to Channel 4 losing their NBC affiliation, they�re already trying to fill time with approximately 12 hours worth of Same Old News, alternating with 12 hours of reruns. Whee!

Mom managed to dig up the Christmas letter of my cousin Matt�s parents (this is the family I mentioned in the Christmas letter entry) this year. It�s not nearly as cheery as usual, mentioning Matt�s being laid off and probably having to move to CA or somewhere. His brother got his appendix out, Mom went on vacation for Thanksgiving by herself (hmmmm) and Dad�s "working 14 hour days for weeks on end." They also sent along a page of not real flattering photos- the one of Matt makes him look really pissed off, like "GET that camera away from me right now!" That seems to be a tradition, I guess- Matt�s much cuter in person than in the stuff they send out.

Mom also dug up my Amazon wishlist today in a pile, which of course she disapproved of.

"Wonder Boys? You liked that? What�s this? What�s this? Mustang Ranch and its Women?" (She refused to say the word "brothel" in the title)

"Well, you raised me on The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas! I�m curious!" (Ironically, my best friend Jackie, a strict Christian, had no problems with my being interested in this book when I saw it in the store.)

"Well," she sniffed, "you should only buy books you�re going to keep!"

"What? You�re saying I wouldn�t keep that?" (I do NOT throw books out, even if they suck.) "I can�t exactly check it out at the library!"

So my mom has been going on all day about this Mattie kid with a terminal disease that saw angels and was on Oprah and all adults adore him and is now on Prime Time Live. All day long she�s gone on about how sweet and smart this kid is, and they are plugging the A-word at every opportunity here in the commercials, lemme tell ya. It�s all about his message of promoting peace through poetry. However� I�m a cynical bitch who just really isn�t into believing in angels at all (honestly, they�re too remote for me), and thus I�m not feeling the heartstrings and tears being tugged out of me. Mom just came up to me sobbing that Oprah asked him what he wanted for Christmas and he said for everyone to pray for him. Mom just adored that (though she couldn�t remember his name to pray for him in the first place). She sobbed to me, "He was meant to be here. He has a purpose on this earth. He wasn�t supposed to die."

"But what about his brothers and sister?" I said. "They all died really young. Did they have a purpose?" (Mom�s vote was no.) "That doesn�t make any sense." (Then again, after the second child died young, cynical me thought, "Why on earth didn�t she adopt?")

I think I�ve just become too bitchy and fed up with God to find this sort of Reader�s Digest-esque story appealing to me personally. Ironic, given that I used to lap those stories up (though I don�t cry). I guess I�m just at a loss about people who believe in God and angels and prayer so strongly and are filled with the Holy Spirit or whatever. I can�t say I�ve exactly felt God�s presence or caring or anything myself, so I�m at a total loss at those who do. It�s like they�re speaking another language. As for me, while I don�t consider myself an atheist (I do not think that some of the stuff that�s happened to me could exist without a Higher Power at least existing), but I have a hard time believing in something that I don�t have at least some scanty experience/evidence with, even if others have. And here�s where Mattie and his message of angels loses me.

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