This is freaking me out.

On Saturday, the family and I ventured up to Winslow, AR to stay with my grandparents for Christmas. After the 14-hour drive (complete with our very own simple dog) to my grandparents’ my family loaded back up into the car for the 2 1/2 hour drive to Tulsa, OK that we make every year in order to placate my sister and me. It may have been 8 years ago, but dammit, we are still bitter about being uprooted.

In Tulsa I got to see a few of my friends who were in town and eat some Mexican fusion, so it was good times all around. We spent part of the day wandering around Utica Square, in December, in Tulsa, without jackets. You guys, this is freaking me out. The first year we went back to Tulsa, my friends and I hung out at the zoo because we were 12 and what the hell else were we going to do. We had to cower inside the rain forest exhibit to restore feeling to our extremities. This weather is unseasonably nice, is what I’m saying.

Because I am from the Midwest, this mostly makes me idly wonder what God is going to do in order to even the karmic scales. I’m thinking a hail storm, tomorrow. Given that my grandparents’ power just went out (they live on a mountain in a town with 399 people), this may, in fact, be the route that He has chosen to go. Still not worse than a tornado!

In Alma today (the next decent-sized town if you’re on the other side of the mountain–in a dry county because yes, those still exist), my family went grocery shopping and managed to stumble across the wonder that is red-velvet-flavored milk. I shit you not. Ours wasn’t even the classy Target brand–this was store-brand Alma milk! (Because this is America.) Since our holidays consist in large part of living in a town where my immediate family’s arrival ups the population by 1%, we delve into “make your own fun” territory pretty quickly.

For instance, making fun of toddlers.¹

Well, now that this is written I have to return to the dreary work of writing an outline for a paper on transit racism in Atlanta, as part of my quest to be the Least Fun Grandkid Ever. No, seriously. This is the 10-ish page essay I wrote on third-gender roles in Native American societies and then completely rewrote for shits and giggles. But I don’t totally suck! I wrote an essay about Catwoman, too.²

¹ In my defense, he was not hurt and giggled gleefully as the horse-sized dog licked his head. Plus, my aunt re-tweeted that so it’s, like, totally fine.

² I got an A+ on that paper, too, because my professor is the is seriously the nicest man alive.