Nobody Likes You When You’re 23

Yes, yes, I know. You haven’t heard from me in over a week. You’re starting to get worried. What could possibly be going on in my featureless neck of the woods that would be keeping me from you, my beloved blog follower?

Surprisingly, a whole friggin’ lot. I don’t want to drop a 10,000 word monstrosity of detailed descriptions of my past week (don’t think I can’t spit that out. What else am I using my history degree for?), so this post will just cover the Triduum and I’ll post another of the past week (with special guests! Stay tuned!) later. I’m also watching the Sharks play the Red Wings in the NHL Western Conference Semi-finals, so I’d like to return my full attention to that as soon as possible.

As you know, Good Friday was my birthday (hey, I skipped a day of the Triduum…yeah, my life hasn’t suddenly become that exciting…we’re moving to the good parts, there’s a hockey game on, remember?). As on every Friday, I was on air at 6am to DJ for the early part of the morning. I had gotten home at midnight the night before, because I was chatting it up with some folks visiting the St. Francis Mission on a discernment trip (read: young, single guys with a strong Catholic faith. You know, I really didn’t mind at all staying up late and playing Settlers of Catan), but I was still able to muster up the energy to shamelessly plug my own name onto the birthday list and play a request “for me from me,” and be my usual goofy, far too excited radio personality self.

That was actually about the last of any shenanigan-type birthday celebrations for the day. I mean, come on, it was Good Friday. A day where I usually focus more on fasting, prayer and contemplation. I didn’t let that quite slam the brakes on any form of self-indulgence. While I couldn’t bake myself a decadent cake or cook up some succulent piece of meat, I could smoke a cigar and read Bón Appétit to my heart’s delight. Let me tell you, you really feel that tobacco buzz on an empty stomach. All in all, not a bad day. Definitely the quietest birthday I’ve had in years, possibly ever. Considering all the trouble I got myself into when I was 22, though, maybe this calmer birthday is a sign of a less tumultuous year. But I really hope not.

On Saturday, Fr. Hatcher drove the four of us to Pierre to hang out while he shopped for mobile homes. Exercised enough discipline to keep from spending most of the birthday money I got from my Grams on Tina Fey’s book, went on a nice walk, and then Fr. Hatcher treated us to a delicious steak dinner. I also bought myself a glass  of single malt scotch (yeah, just a glass. This is how you blend good taste and simple living) to enjoy before dinner, so it was really a phenomenal day-after birthday dinner. Steak and scotch might have to become an annual tradition. And by annual, I  mean weekly, once I start making money again.

Sunday (not technically part of the Triduum, but not deserving of it’s own post), was just like every other holiday I’ve had out here…Mass and then dinner with the Jesuits and I ended the evening watching a sporting event with some Jesuit priests (this time is was hockey. One of the priests is a pretty big Blackhawks fan…sucker).

That was Easter. The real fun began on Monday, but that’s the start of an entirely new post, which I should write now, since it’s intermission (Sharks are up 1-0), but we’ll see. This is the laziest day I’ve had all week, and I’m enjoying it.

P.S. Title if from a Blink 182 song. Let’s be honest…everybody loves me. Or least, that’s what my mom tells me.

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About Maggie

Hilarious drifter. Well groomed bum.
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