When things are normal (read as: not absolute shit), my family follows a strict holiday routine. The only thing that changes it is death (ie it was once at Great-grandma's and is now at my grandma's, etc), or, of course, moving. So, how it stands in recent years, with all the death and then my dad and them moving to Virginia, our once complicated shuffle is now this little, simple, thing: We go to Ma's (dad's mom's) house to have "dinner" which is what you people call lunch. Actual dinner usual follows now that my Mom's mom, being widowed, doesn't host Thanksgiving. She instead comes with us to Ma's, because unlike 99% of the losers out there, we are a FUNCTIONAL BLENDED FAMILY.
Why I didn't spend Thanksgiving normally:
My dad's sister came down with some raging stomach flu and no one wants food in the same room as someone like that.
So me, mom, and her mom thought:
Why don't we just have a small Thanksgiving ourselves? And that's what the plan was. Grandmommy (mom's mom) rushed to the store to get all the fixings we would need, and we would go have it at my sister's house.
However, on Thanksgiving Morning:
It became apparent that our "new plan" wouldn't work.
Yes, I was infected. With what, we didn't know, but I aimed to find out...
And then I worried over my findings for roughly 48 hours -- like this:
After she finished being apathetic, Mom decided that I had Boston measles, lately known as Fifth Disease. (I want to point out that both names are nonspecific and are as pointless as each other.) And, since having lupus like I do, that could be a bad combination, it was decided that I would go to the doctor. And, since there was a possibility of Scarlet Fever, I also promised Mom I would mention I had a sore throat.
This is what happened:
You are probably asking yourself:
"Why would a young woman who used to have to clean out her own guts be afraid of having her throat swabbed?" The answer: I honestly don't know. I just know that having things stuck down my throat bothers me, whilst having my tissues and meat be ripped out and prodded on whilst awake does not.
Flashback to 1995:
I personally loved Mom's hair then, back before the apathy really kicked in.
Flashforward to the present, to my DIAGNOSIS:
I got reflective after we left:
All in all, I decided to go with the biggest pro of all: I was alive. So what if I had a rash that made me look like I had some dreaded pox? I was, despite being presently ill and having lupus, over all healthy-ish. And that was good enough for me.
After I reflected, we got some food:
And then all hell broke loose.
And that's where I will leave you...for now.
(Scroll down for notes and inconsequential bullshit.)
P.S. (or B.S., depending on your opinions): All this crappy!art was drawn on the computer, by my hand, but still on the computer nonetheless. I haven't quite gotten the knack of not having a rougher surface to use as a control, which, as you can tell, leads to sloppyness. However, I find this sloppy psychotic-kindergartener-ish style charming in its own way, and I hope you do too -- until my talents improve.
Also: I got sick and tired of coloring these cartoons, because I'm not a cartoonist. Also, coloring on the computer is even weirder than line drawing. Sometimes, when I color on paper, I use awesome medium like mascara and eye shadow and nail polish. Why? Because I learned some of these badass skills from Gladys Perint Palmer the Great. (I added "the Great" part, but isn't she? Also, if you actually take the time to Google her, you will understand how prestigious this all is...and when do *I* ever give a crap about prestige? *taps head*)