Once again, PETA has missed the point.

Usually, the antics of PETA barely make a blip on the Nella Radar of worldly-going-ons. But as my brother has recently become a vegetarian, I've been getting snarky in regards to the bean and leafy greens set.

I am one of nature's omnivores in the broadest of senses--I'll eat ANYTHING, be it shit junk food or uber healthy vegan feed, because holy cow, I just love to eat. Meat? Boom baby! Tofu? Hell Yes. Vegetables? Load them on the plate. Fruits, nuts, and grains? Why hello there, delicious! Various fats and sugars that no man should put in their body? I'll regret it in the morning, and probably while I'm putting it in my mouth, but it's, er...part of the adventure?

Ok, so I've been trying to nix that last part out of my life--unsuccessfully--but the point is I would have been the crazy ass hunter gatherer who would have been looking at unidentified plant #637 and been thinking "Well, I saw a bird eat it once, and it didn't fall out of the sky right away."

But to the point. My brother has given up meat. And if he wasn't being so high and mighty obnoxious about it, I'd probably be happy for him. But as is my brother's want, he's gone and taking a perfectly reasonable lifestyle and make me want to bash him over the head with a frozen leg of lamb a la that Roald Dahl short story "Innocence of the Lamb" for it (GO READ IT NOW!! ONE DAY I WILL WRITE A STAGE ADAPTATION OF IT, AND IT WILL BE BETTER THAN HITCHCOCK'S!!!).

First off, he insists on repeating, over and over again, to us his family members that have to sit through this EVERY MEAL, that he finds meat "repulsive" and that he can't understand how anyone could stomach eating something that was "alive". And then he proceeds to complain about how he's tired of "Beans" and that my mother doesn't cook anything for him.

Ok, the repulsive I'll give him. I've move a rotten pig caress out of a blown up car in the dead heat of summer, meat IS repulsive, especially once the flies come. I get it. It turns your stomach. To each man his own, and mine is meaty, preferably fresh and grilled. However, since we've changed OUR diets to accommodate you--since you don't, you know, COOK FOR YOURSELF--how about you stop hating on the cooks, eh? We hear you every night. It gets old. Fast.

if you don't like mom's absolutely fabulous zucchini soup, how about YOU bust open a cook book and try to make something yourself? Christ, she's the one trying to at least make sure you're getting a balanced vegetarian diet, but you're the dumb ass who insists you don't need protein every day, and who still refuses to eat most of the vegetables she prepares. This woman has be jumping hoops for you since they brought you home, and as an 18 year old, you don't like what's cooking, MAN UP. Remember that story mom liked to tell, about how as a kid she hated lentil soup and refused to eat it, and grandma took her plate, dumped it over her head and sent her to bed without dinner? WHY we never did that to you while you were a child is beyond me. Who knows, as your older sister I may have to pick up the slack, do the world a favor and dump soup on your picky little head.

And in regards refusing to eat things that were "alive"--I've never seen my brother get more defensive and angry when I started pointing out (more like bullshitted, cause I don't think when I speak I just open my mouth and words come out) that that broccoli was once alive, growing to its full potential when it was cruelly plucked for our consumption, and that lemon, my GOD that LEMON had the potential to become a lemon TREE, but we denied it it's proper fate by using it to flavor our food, and that TOMATO, that tomato was the pride and joy of some--

At this point my brother punched me in the arm. And yes, I know comparing the harvesting of animals and plants is like comparing apples and oranges (OH WON'T SOMEBODY THINK OF THE ORANGES!) but that's the problem with my brother. Every crusade he joins, every decision he makes he then uses to try and prove how better he is than my parents and myself. Like the time he decided all organized religion was inherently evil (we're catholic), or the time he was an anarchist (By God did I have fun ripping that apart!) I can respect honest belief and convictions. I can't abide holy-than-thou idiocy for the sake of holier-than-thou idiocy. And by God, if I wasn't put on this earth to knock my brother's ego down a few pegs, then there's just nothing left for me on this sweet green earth. At this point I'd post some pithy and appropriate Chesterton quote about vegetarians, but I'm at my public library, and all I can remember is a verse from one of his poems:

"You will find me drinking rum,
like a sailor in a slum,
you will find me drinking beer like a Baravian.
You will find me drinking gin
in the lowest sort of inn,
because I am at heart a vegetarian."

And to his wondering about how ANYONE could POSSIBLY eat meat--
Step One: Take the Meat. Step Two: place the meat in your mouth. Step Three: Chew completely. Step Four: Swallow. Step Five: Repeat.

Oddily enough, they are the same steps used in eating, well, anything! Fancy that.
When my grandparents and parents immigrated from Sicily to this fine country in the 1960's, most of them had to find work in the garment business, as there weren't many jobs for high school educated Sicilians elsewhere (most were skilled in trades, just lacking in the book learning). They worked in the sweatshops in Brooklyn for years, even my mom did for a few summers when she was in high school.

HOWEVER, my dad's dad was a little higher up on the garment making food chain because in Sicily he had been a tailor like his father before him and his father before him. And when he went to get a job (so I'm told) he was hired as a pattern maker. Designers would draw up their designs, and since they were generally ignorant in how to translate those drawings into clothes that were cheap and easy to produce, the drawings would be send to my grandda and he'd figure out the actual pattern for it.

I mention this long winded background of personal family history because right now, I think I'm making the poor man turn in his grave. Without any experience in these matters except for nearly breaking my mom's sewing machine several times and teaching myself how to work around a needle and thread for emergencies, I'm making a Wizard of Oz Dorothy costume for the camp Wizard of Oz skit on Friday. I dragged my grandfather's clothing manikin from the guest room, and right now I haveā€¦

This! )

I need to shorten the torso, but right now it's just all pinned there, waiting for me to take it downstairs and nearly break mom's sewing machine again sewing it together.

All this I'm doing, as if I didn't have ENOUGH on my plate to get done for camp tomorrow.

May God Have Mercy On My Soul.

EDIT: Finished in two and a half hours?

I AM WOMAN SEE ME SEW!!

Finished dress!! )
Me: *sitting at the table, using teh internets and minding my own business*

Brother: ZOMG BLAH BLAH BLAH TV GEEKERY BLAH BLAH NONSENSICAL NOT-EARTH LOGIC BLAH!

Me: *has heard none of the above. Alice had nothing on me when it comes to A World of Her Own*

Brother: .........blah?

Me: *Bliss! Internet bliss!*

Brother: *eyes narrows*

Me: *Oblivious bliss!--wtf, is that a HAND creeping over my screen?!?!* Eh?

*Brother cackles as he pokes my keyboard and blocks my screen*

Me: DUDE! GTFO!!!

Brother: MWHAHAHA I in ur Fortress o' Solitood, killing ur doodz!!--

Me: *shakes fist!* CUUUUUUUURSE YOU LEX LUTHOR!!!!!


~*~*~



And to make this post not a total waste...Oh Justin. How I love thee. In Middle School I SCOFFED at such a thought, I KNOW! But now...*happy sigh!*



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The archaeology consulting firm officed at Bowling Green replied to the inquiry I sent them over their website! Now they want me to send my resume...which means by tomorrow, I have to learn everything there ever was to learn about their firm and what they do, so that I might woo them with the cover letter I most definitely should include. ('Why, yes, these are all the reasons you should hire me, because I appear to have an intimate knowledge/understanding of what you crazy archaeologically consulting sorts do!')

*bites fist*

Ok, the firm in Williamsburg, VA was hiring crazy amounts, and is, after all, in Williamsburg, VA (sends coquettish looks towards the College of William and Mary). But...but...BOWLING GREEN!! Uberly-downtown Manhattan could be mine once more!! True, I'd probably move in with my spinster aunts Angela and Giovanna until apartment possibilities arose, or stay at home and--dare I?--commute.

*shakes head!* Gah, chickens before eggs! I need to write out this cover letter and send my damnable resume first! And then make the appropriate animal sacrifices, pray to the proper saints, preform other heretical acts in an attempt to smooth my way, etc etc etc....

...mustn't get hopes up, mustn't get hopes up, mustn't get hopes up...

Though, they should seriously hire me, if only for my mother's 50 birthday (this Wednesday). Honestly, when I asked what she wanted for her big 5-0, "You getting a better job" was her reply. There's something terrifying about immigrant parents who have succeeded through education and hard work...even though they aren't laying the pressure down (...often), the guilt to make them proud is panic inducing.

Sigh.

Happier note: kick ass dream last night, about becoming selkies/mermaids, and diving to the bottom of the ocean only to discover it turned into the night sky and I was no longer swimming, but flying. Some issues though, when I tried to convince my land companions to dive in and swim down with me, and random people on the beach were like "ZOMB, MERMAIDS!". (Interestingly enough, under the water felt like breathing on a really windy day, when the wind whips the breath right out of your lungs, and you have to fight to breath in) There was some sort of nameless power/evil down there though, but I woke up before that part of the dream could develop.
Most assuredly you, my gentle readers of my Livejournal, know that last week was my birthday. And a most pleasant birthday it was. Definately my sort of birthday.

So, to undate you on what happened this weekend...

Surprising my parents: Well, it worked, but not exactly as planned. But oh brother were they surprised.

Sneaking into my house with the aid of my brother went shocking well. I've determined that my brother is a good person to scheme with. He's rather discreet and actaully thinks ahead. For example, he made sure that there was no noticeable trace of my presence. Case in point: noting that mom and dad's respective jackets were on the kitchen chairs and therefore I could hang my jacket up in the closet since they wouldn't have go into the closet the next day for theirs. We also snuck upstairs together, matching footsteps so it would sound more like there was only one person going upstairs, and Chris also followed me to my room, so it would sound like he was going to the bathroom.

Yes: I realize that we are dorks. But dorks that work well together on occasion.

So, I went to sleep, and figured that since my brother didn't have school tomorrow and that dad doesn't have work until 9 am, I set my alarm for 7:45 am, thinking that would allow me to wake up in time to catch them up and about in the kitchen.

However, it turns out that since I left for college, my parents have gotten into the habit of getting up at really, really ungodly hours. So, at about 7:30, I am waken by the nagging feeling that I'm being watched, and there's my mom, standing next to my bed about to put the sheets on it. Except she can't, cause, you know, I'm in.

So, we just kinda stare at each other, me a whole lot more bleary eyed then her, and then I say "Morning Ma."

She comes back with a '...Antonella? What are you doing here?' and I explain my scheme. And she gives a slight 'oh', puts my sheets on my bed telling me that I can put them on myself, and leaves my room.

I then hear her telling my father that I'm in my room, and gives a little uncomfortable laugh. You know, the "I don't quite believe it myself, but heh" laugh. And my dad's like, "No, go pull the other" and my mom tells him it's so, and he doesn't believe her until HE comes into my room and sees me, and then he's all like "....Antonella!....Er...Happy Birthday Honey!"

So, I'm going to count that as a success.

Other than that, [livejournal.com profile] singealiene spent Easter at my house, and with Liz Koke, Tammy and Wyatt we ate muchly of the Curry Club and the Cold Stone Creamery ice cream cake and of the cheese cake and the Italian pastries and her and Tammy ate muchly of the veggie burgers. And as noted on her livejournal, we painted Easter eggs. Unfortunately, my talents of mixing colors has been wasted on this century. If only I had been around when it was the womenfolk who were hired to hand mix colors...I would have been in my element!

However, in acrylics, a dark purple dries into a black. Which made me sad, but made for a mighty fine Irken egg.

And on the note of birthdays, I have The Great Mouse Detective on DVD!!! FINALLY I could see Basil of baker Street in all of his ADD sleuthing glory! I love how incrediably swishy and EVIL Ratigan is, and how gay him and Basil are for each other. For Christsakes, Ratigan plays a harp, and Basil a violin...you know back when they were together they made beautiful music together. But now they are the ultimate divorced couple.

On that note, expect shortly an icon of the picture of Ratigan on Basil's fireplace. It was BRILLIANT.

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