Transplanted Life
Wednesday, November 24, 2004
I live with a crazy person.
But, I guess we all deal with stress in our own ways. I alphabetize things, or if they're already in alphabetical order somehow reorganize them a la John Cusack in High Fidelity. It's a habit I've sort of retained from my previous life, and it was developed there in order to keep me from dealing with stress by eating. However, if that iteration of me had been the one sharing and apartment with Maureen, he probably would have exploded, because she evidently deals with stress by cooking.

I kid you not - when I got home from work today, she was making pies. A variety of pies. I don't know what she dropped at the grocery store, but she had peeled her own apples, made her own meringue, mixed the filling for a banana-cream... I was like, wow, her family was lucky.

Ha, she says, these are for us. There is no way I am going to sit in the back of one of my brothers' or sister's car while they're being insincere about being sorry just to arrive at the other end to hear my parents be smug about "Samantha" abandoning me - and it'll all be "Samantha", just to make sure it's clear to me that dating a girl was just an open invitation to heartache. Of course, if it were so easy with men then I would have been married right out of high school like Sean and Pat. Then, of course, they'll go on about me living in the city, and maybe, just maybe, they'll be caveman enough to suggest that if this is what sort of ideas a two-year Christian college put in my head, then think of what that state University must be doing to Krista...

I sort of started to back away, planning to get a Mike's out of the fridge, only to see a good chunk of the appliance filled with a turkey. Mo, I thought you were working tomorrow.

Oh, she is. Don't worry, though, she'd do all the stuffing and trimming and putting bacon on it for flavor, and put it in the oven, and if I'd just follow the instructions for when to turn the oven on, it'll be ready when she gets home at seven. Because I was planning on staying home and waiting to hear from the FBI anyway, right?

And don't worry, she'd mash the potatoes and make the gravy and and and and... I asked if she was planning on getting any sleep, but she said she not to worry, she'd be fine. That she needs to do this, because otherwise the thought of spending Thanksgiving away from her family for the first time ever would be too depressing but she just can't go back there.

So I tell her it's okay, that I wasn't looking forward to spending the holiday alone, either. Was weird last year (and led to me doing weird things), and I imagine spending it with a friend would be much better.

Yeah, she said, it would be. Then she laughed. Us, friends. If someone told her that I'd be her best friend when we first met, she probably would have just snorted. So would I, probably. Life's funny even outside the paranormal, isn't it?

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