It’s the day before Thanksgiving here in the old United States. And under those circumstances, I don’t think I can be expected to put together a coherent post. I’m leaving work around 1pm and ‘working from the road’ thereafter. It’s the magic of the Blackberry-or should I say, the terror of the Blackberry. Heidi and Mike’s Alaskan selves will be arriving at the airport mid-afternoon, where my husband and I will converge with them. Saint Uncle Mike volunteered out of the blue to drive us from O’Hare to the Gary train station, where we pick up a car we’re borrowing from my in-laws. Then we will drive to Kentucky to my sister Erica and her husband Dave’s house, where I will demand pumpkin pie as soon as we walk in the door. Does this sound complicated? Well you haven’t even heard our original plan, which involved a taxi and a train to boot. It’s city living, and we love it–but that doesn’t mean we have to like it all the time.
I’m doing preemptive exercises in anti-crabbiness for the benefit of my co-travelers. These exercises involve eating 1 mini pumpkin muffin every 5 minutes, and at the half hour marks, alternating a piece of fudge and a lemon bar. Yes, it’s the time of year when all the vendors we use at my job send us goodies. “Thanks for your business! Seasons greetings! Here are two dozen cookies!” and so forth. Just two days ago we received a pail full of scrumptious treats, including oatmeal raisin cookies and chocolate caramel toffee bars. It sounds delightful, right? However, I’ve been concocting a plan in which I start threatening these vendors with bodily injury if they don’t stop sending sugary goods, because I just bought this new pair of corduroys, see, and they are exactly as snug as they need to be, and it just so happens that the fudge from our chemical suppliers and the cookies from our logistics companies and the brownie/blondie combo box from our label vendor are all converging in the general area of my derriere.
Yes, it’s a battle between corduroys and holidays. I’m not sure who will win and who will lose, but you’ll probably never know since realtime reporting will definitely not be provided.
A full Thanksgiving report will at some point issue forth onto this blog. But until that point, instead of writing a gorgeously appropriate and elaborate post teaching you how to make sure your dinner rolls have the perfect ‘poof’ to them, I leave you with an absolutely random list. It’s all I got.
1. When I was 16, my Mom and sisters and I went to Ibiza for a week. It’s basically a party island off the Eastern coast of Spain. There, I saw an elderly German couple wearing transparent clothes.
The night-life there is chock full of surprises. In fact, any beach in Spain will yield an amazing assortment of frightening visions, like a bright green thong on a dry, tan 65-year-old butt (Valencia, circa 1993). And yes, I’m sorry I just put that image in both your head and mine. We’ll suffer together.
2. Once, when I was young, my Dad and my sisters and I were in Barcelona at some kind of Christian conference. There were lots of Americans in attendance. We went to a McDonalds for lunch—and I have to point out that we never went to McDonald’s except on very special occasions. They sell beer in Spain at that fine establishment, and one of the prominent brands there is “Estrella Damm.” As we were perusing the menu and making our choices, we noticed that every single American at the conference–all probably Christians–has also chosen to come to McDonald’s for their afternoon meal. Dad said “So, what do you girls want to order?” Erica answered in a very loud voice–let me emphasize it was a very, very, loud voice–“I don’t want the Damm beer!”
3. I always salivate when I smell Lestoil, Noxzema, or Burts Bees. Or Vicks. Or gasoline. Any number of cleaning products, truth be told. I look forward to Fridays because that’s the day the guys at my job mop my office area with Pine Sol. My glands rejoice.
4. I never believed in Santa. Do you pity me?
5. Once, I studied abroad in Paris. My host family never served water at dinner–only wine. I began to find it quite normal that we would go through 2 bottles of red wine per night and feel no effects whatsoever. My error in judgment happened on a fateful night when, years later, I assumed I still had the tolerance of a Frenchman.
I did not.
6. The phrase “don’t get your panties in a bunch” is hideous and whoever uses it deserves to have a wedgy that they are in no position to pick out.
7. Once, back in my managing days, I fired a guy for falling asleep (twice) on his first day during the 2-hour training class. He must have been on something, because as I escorted him out amidst his cusses and threats, he bent over and attempted to light the office carpet on fire with his cigarette lighter.
I’m happy to say that not only was he unsuccessful, but the cops got there dang fast.
8. When explaining to my Mom where we had stopped for dinner on our way to Wisconsin to visit her and my dad, she said: “What? The pandex breasts??”
“No, Mom,” I said, “we went to Panda Express.” Say it fast 5 times and you’ll completely understand the confusion.
I’m not sure what a pandex breast is, but it sounds like a fakey to me.
9. My most cherished dream as a 10 and 11 year old was to ride a horse wearing a beautiful flowing dress. These dreams were fulfilled during the magical summer of 1993.
Please note the white gloves.
10. When I was 7 years old I wrote the following poem in my journal to express my sentiments towards my younger sister Erica: “Erica is stupid, Erica I hate, Erica is nothing but a little bit of bait.”
11. I used to sing in a church choir when I was in high school. One day I came to a performance early to help set up sound with my parents. I was wearing a fitted, knee-length skirt, and as I (of course) tripped down the stage steps and fell face-forward on the floor, it split it all the way up the back. Right in front of the guy that liked me at the time.
12. My brother-in-law Mike won a ‘cutest baby’ contest.
HAHAHA heeee heee hIHIHI Hoooooo!!!!! (wiping eyes)
Oh–and I am forbidden to call that contest by its other name. The name that starts with a ‘b-‘ and ends with a ‘-eauty.’ Strictly forbidden.
Please click here to view his adorable little face. Everything will become clear.
13. I have a beautiful Mom. Beautiful now, and beautiful then–and this is ‘then.’
Check out those mad earrings. I would totally wear them in a second.
14. A typical conversation:
My husband: “You’re beautiful.”
Me: “Crondootiful.”
My husband: “Do you want to watch a documentary?”
Me: “Clarkokardiac.”
My husband: “Um, I don’t know what that means.”
Me: “I think I’m going to go make some popcorn. But this time it’s going to be a small bowl.”
*my husband shakes his head–like I’m even capable of making a small bowl, which by the way I’m not*
*I spank my husband*
My husband: “Hey, now!”
And that pretty much sums up our relationship.
Cheerio friends! See you all tomorrow for a holiday-esque recipe.
