Your Super-Secret Thanksgiving Open Thread
Published: November 25, 2009
Thursday is “Thanksgiving” and is already happening in some countries in weird time-zones that don’t celebrate it, or even support the idea of it within their “constitutions” or “by-laws”. Strange, eh? It’s like the “World” Series only being cared about in America or something. Confusing! Anyway, seeing how all the internet happens in America, and America shuts down so turkey can be inhaled like oxygen, Wordsmoker is providing a public service to you – the public – a little place where you can live-blog or vent your Thanksgiving horror-shambles/undiluted joy. Servicey!
Yes, not everyone gets on well together at family gatherings, which is the main reason people run like fuck from their families the first chance they get. And a lot of people – some of them even American - don’t like Thanksgiving, or intensely-farmed turkey, or religious zealots in funny hats, or maybe puppies for that matter. Don’t worry – as soon as Lou Dobbs is your President, these people will be rounded up and be put to work rounding up Mexicans or anyone who looks “a bit Mexicany”.
So – this thread is for you to pump your vents into while you gag from under-cooked stuffing or while you over-stuff the cook. Feel free to moan about transportation problems, family members coming onto you while drunk, giant fowl-based nightmares or arguments that make you day-dream about giving CERTAIN FUCKING PEOPLE special “blankets” impregnated with SPECIAL LITTLE VIRUSES so they cough, splutter and die before dessert. Or – if you’re enjoying yourself, and everything’s going fine, why not write about it in the comments and enrage everyone else with your Capra-esque tales of joy and merriment. It’s your space – abuse it!
Oh – I also made the image for this post the default Wordsmoker logo so no-one will suspect your typing shenanigans*. Clever, eh? And in case you’re wondering, I’ll be spending Thanksgiving either sleep-weeping in my bed of sadness, or will be here writing about stuff that gets at most three comments – depends on the mood, which depends on something I’ve never been able to put my finger on ANYWAY
Let me pass my gratitude (Scottish gratitude is Very Important but doesn’t usually feature a tip) onto y’all for continuing to visit and writing stuff when you can.
For that alone, I give thanks.
* What I should say is that I couldn’t find an image of a turkey or a pilgrim with a red dash through it, and couldn’t be bothered to make one of my own.
First! I just made 5 gallons of stuffing for two people. Someone come over tomorrow.
Somehow I scored TWO Thanksgiving dinners both with people I like and with no family members in attendance (because they live really far away). One of them is on FRIDAY. How cool is that. Because we are in the middle of the Greatest Depression, this means no Kraft Macraroni and Chesse for at least a week — I am not shy about taking home leftovers even when not offered.
Also I found that I am grateful for my remote control because I can switch channels really fast when that insipid Kindle song comes on.
Nina, I will PM you my PO Box. How long does stuffing last in the mail?
I already hate it. (3, 2, 1, to inevitable). Goddamnit. My mom was suppose to be here and do stuff. She’s driving. Its dark. She’s blind. Whatever.
Now I have to go the store to get what she has, multiplied x28, in the back of her Explorer.
I see nothing but blistering defeat. How the hell do you work this wine with a wood thingy stuck in it remover.
NINA-NOOOOO! you if you fill up on stuffing who is going to eat any of the four pies I just made for three people?
SS: We should have coordinated this you know…
Harriet is cooking for me. She does whatever I tell her to do. Not really, it’s just that no one wants to eat what I cook. Sometimes that makes me sad, then I remember it will never be my turn to host and I’m all happy again.
@Nina and Strawberry: Or the 4 gallons of mashed potatoes (white and sweet) i made? But yes, let’s plan better next year.
I’m currently avoiding “family movie” night. I hate hate hate watching videos of myself – it literally makes my skin crawl. Probably because I’m afraid I come across as a little homo at the age of 5 and am still not 100% ok with that. Let’s hear it for self-loathing!
Virus – how on earth do you stay so in tune with American pop culture? I thought the Scots spent most of their time eating deep fried Mars Bars dunked in Irn-Bru. You know more about the goings-on in this country than I do…
Henage- truth be told, Virus hasn’t been in Scotland for years. He has been locked in a corner of my room that we call Scotland to make him feel better about being chained to a computer.
I may give him so turkey and yams tomorrow…..maybe….
I’m so fucking proud of myself – I managed to make one amaretto cheesecake with caramel glaze and it is de.lic.ious. Now I have to go and share it with the freakshow that is my family, which I don’t think is fair, but whatever.
I plan on stealing and bringing home lots of turkey – I love me a turkey sandwich!
Also, Virus, since when do people in Scotland say “y’all”? I live in the South and that is our thing. Y’all stealer.
@Gerbils – he’s still using it wrong. Y’all is singular, all y’all is plural.
Oh this is where ya’ll are. And there’s an open thread too. So this is Thanksgiving Eve Food Fest?
@Gerbils, Heneage: I’ll have you know that we use “y’all” in Bonnie Scotland, but without the Southern drawl that normally accompanies it.
For example “y’all are a buncha cuntz” – usually pronounced as a run-in as “yallareabunchacuntz”. Or “are y’all awright?” when asking if a group of people are okay.
My parents just called to asked “for specifics as to what a prince albert pricing is pricing” I am just going to drink and try to forget this! I AM NOT EVEN AT HOME! how can they embarrass me
SS: You are so in charge! I have a girl crush on you…
I have no plans except to chill with wife and child. Go for bagels, go to the park, walk around. I feel pretty good about it. Life has settled down into a pleasant mellow after a year if not from hell, from Jersey. So happy Thanksgiving, all.
that should read piercing
I am trying to make this not happen
Heneage: Exactly! He’s not even using it correctly! GAWD. And I don’t care what anyone says, it prettier with a slight southern drawl. Hrumph.
I just need to go make love to my tylenol PM and get some sleep.I am a grump.
o okay, night.
Thanksgiving is about ingesting and giving thanks for butter.
CF: I have used more butter today than I have all year.
I’ll give you all something to be thankful for.
At Mormon Thanksgiving, there is no alcohol.
@LL:
At Polish/Irish Thanksgiving, we are having nothing but alcohol. Oh, and turkey, soaked in alcohol.
@LL: My day already seems great by comparison, since I’m going to start getting drunk in about an hour. I wanna be good and sauced before the family gets here.
My family forgot that I existed years ago, so every once in a while I pop by to surprise them, which I will be doing today. They will wonder who I am. It will be a fun guessing game!
LL: But aren’t there sparkle vampires in its place?
The downside of skipping the family madness holiday is that one has to do all the cooking for their fast food drive-through generation friends. The upside, they bring alcohol. So, right about now, I’m wishing I went to more of Hippitty’s Top Chef live blogs in order to know what one serves up from three bottles of wine, half a bottle of Bacardi, orange juice and green beans.
@Nina: May god bless you.
CF: I’m sorry, I just had an angioplasty – what did you say?
The power keeps going on and off (island in the Pacific Northwest) so we have decided to spatchcock the bird. Sounds dirty and primeval.
A neighbor just stopped by to say she just received an alert from her bank that her $210.00 Macy’s payment just went through at $21,000.00 (held that zero down a little too long when she was paying her bill online it sounds like) so we made her a cup of coffee and asked her if she would like to watch the parade with us and she if she receives a little thank you from Al Roker.
The NFL Halftime Show is a Motown tribute that seems to be featuring chunky, rhythm-less white dancers and singers. I can’t seem to take my eyes off it.
Our cook asked me if I wanted to be a sous chef and do the mise en place (knowing I am a devoted fan of Iron Chef America) which is just a better way of saying “endlessly cutting shit up.”
Maelstrom: “what one serves up from three bottles of wine, half a bottle of Bacardi, orange juice and green beans.”
What more do you need? Open the wine, combine the second and third ingredients, put the green beans out for any vegetarians and order a pizza.
I’m debating between some turkey meatballs or lentil stew. Also, when to call my family to hit that sweet spot between pre-meal preparation stress and everyone too drunk to speak in complete sentences.
As of Sunday night, I was set to show up with a pie and a bottle of wine at someone else’s house. For the first time in 15 years, I was not hosting Thanksgiving.
For years, my place would be the wayward home for singles, couples without families or just plain “didn’t have anywhere else to go” folks. To say the least, I was estatic. No prepping, no cleaning, nada… just showing up with a pie and a bottle of wine.
That was Sunday. As of Tuesday night, the entire venue had to be moved. Can you guess where? Yup my home. Fifteen people. At first I was really pissed off. Growing up in the upper midwest, nothing less than your best for guests would do. That means cleaning your home top to bottom, breaking out “the good dishes”, linens ect. I had no time to deal with that, so I said screw it.
We ate off of paper plates, and drank from plastic cups. I told people to find a seat where ever they could. Everyone brought a dish to share. It was probably the least stressful holiday I can remember in a long time and after the year I’ve had, it really was something to be thankful for.
Hope everyone had a great turkey day… let the madness of December begin!
Thanksgiving is done! After hours of cooking the feast myself, gaining a 5lb food baby, then a nice little nap I would say it went pretty well!
Is it too early to start decorating for Christmas?
KTB: I too was the Island of Misfit Toys for many years. When they all started to bring their parents, it became a completely different animal though.
Ok now I am starting to get sad. everyone has left and now is when I used to sit around with my brother and sister and talk for hours. I miss them!
Fighting the urge to watch me, Meet Me in St Louis. That would not help my sads at all! Maybe I’ll try watching porn again and see if I like it better this time.
I am stuffed on pure protein. I fought off the bread, pie, cranberry sauce, stuffing, sweet potatoes and just stuck with the turkey. I did have some asparagus though, but very little.
I will be at my fridge before 10pm.
Strawberry!: Meet me in St. Louis! My sisters insist on watching that every single holiday. It is happy, c’mon – the boy next door, turning out the lights. why teh sadz?
Howdy, folks! Had tasty pork roast for dinner since I hate turkey. Thankfully was not exposed to swine flu today, which up to this morning was a very real possibility (infected relative decided not to stop by, thank God). Now my head is telling me I want cake and ice cream but my stomach sez otherwise. It may be best to let my stomach win.
And I am sick of the relentless Christmas commercial pitch. No, I do not want to buy a Lexus for ONLY $599/month.
Helen- they are happy because they didn’t move to new york and realized that they have everything they could ever want right there in the midwest.
I moved to New York…..from the midwest.
SS: oh baby, it’s not true. At the very least you need times in the big cities to know what’s worthwhile about the smaller places. Also: Call your brother and sister! doesn’t matter how late – make them talk for hours.
Helene you are pure genius! When the world ends, I hope we’re sharing a bunker.
Happy Thanksgiving, Wordsmokers! I had an awful day today and have decided, really and truly that I have to look for a new job and essentially a new career. I had an incredibly demoralizing day at the office – I didn’t mind working the holiday, but there was some drama and yet another sign that I’m in the wrong place, that the company has changed for the worse. I have no idea what to do next, but the idea of moving on and never having to work there again is the only thing that got me to stop crying tonight.
I didn’t get any turkey, but I have pizza leftovers in the oven, so I feel OK. I’ll try to get a turkey dinner out of my family around Christmas.
I’m grateful for you guys and this place because you guys crack me up AND make me think. Lots of love to all my ‘Smokers. Hope you all had a good holiday.
Dear Vox, you’re adored, and I’m sorry you had a bad day, especially today. Sending big love. Feel bad there had to be drama today at work, of all days. Rotten. But I admire your resolve. Next year is a wisp away, and it will be a better one if we decide to make it so. So sorry there were tears tonight. Sometimes we put up with so much, getting through the day, it takes something that upsets us a lot, to decide to make some changes. Easier said than done!
But sometimes we all need a spur. But don’t cry, love. It will work out, and in the meantime write your heart out here, we’re listening. And we care. Kisses.
Hope everyone had a lovely Thanksgiving. I myself am stuffed with Lady Gaga, who I understand is a 40-something divorcèe from Trenton with some catchy tunes. Actually her songs are delightful, but a shady acquaintance just sent me a packet with 17 different remixes of “Bad Romance”. It’s brain-numbing pop maximalism to riffle through them. I don’t eat “food”, but I’m gagging on Gaga tonight. And when you’re in my rear window, baby it’s sick.
Baroness, thanks – so very true and very well put. Thanks for the encouragement and a big hug to you. Tomorrow it’s chin up and back to work, but I’ll be searching for what my next move will be. I’m sure I’ll be writing about it soon.
Watch out for that Lady Gaga – she’s quick to smash the whiskey bottles and light the piano on fire if a dark mood hits her.
My 25 people left by about 6 p.m., so I polished off the chocolate cream pie I’d ordered especially for myself and was in bed drugged with Ibruprofen PM by 8:30 p.m. Best of all? I left Little Penguino with Mr. P and said, “good luck,” and shut the bedroom door. BLISS.
@MP Chocolate cream pie?! All we had was some sweet potato pie a neighbor made and which everybody raved about except me. I didn’t say anything but it tasted a lot like sweet potatoes. Off to the store for some Black Friday chocolate cream pie.Thxbai.
Vox: I have been in one of those soul-sucking jobs, and it can beat you to a pulp. Just do what you gotta do, and find a way to move on, leaving the pricks at your old job in the dust. You are obviously an extremely intelligent person, so I’m sure you’ll land on your feet in a much better place.
Ornery Babe: Don’t knock the Lexus! I got one for Christmas two years ago and it drives like a dream; the smaller SUV, the 350, is a fabulous drive and holds a lot of shit. Trust – all three dogs (and one is very large) fit in the cargo area nicely after a trip to the beach. And the seats are super comfy; I love me a heated ass in the winter!
Mama P: Sounds like a great day! My cheesecake was a huge success, but I managed to save two pieces to bring home and I am ready to chow like an effing pig, right after I eat my turkey sandwich and salt & vinegar chips for lunch.
I’m glad for this open thread – thankful, I should say – so I can enjoy a somewhat briefish rant regarding mister penguino. Who slaved away for DAYS getting the house ready, cooking all the food, blah blah blah, and he eats two huge plates of food, gives me a kiss, tells me it was wonderful, and then wandered upstairs to TAKE A MOTHER FUCKING NAP LEAVING ME WITH ALL THE HOUSEGUESTS, which included THREE TEENAGED GIRLS WHO TALKED NOTHING BUT BOOBS FOR A SOLID 24 HOURS, that is, whose were bigger, showing each other their brassieres, even comparing their nipples! Granted, this was before everyone else arrived, BUT STILL. My poor little penguino was ENRAPT. I did feel some evil glee when I found out that little p did not go to bed until 11 p.m. last night while mom lie peacefully in her bed. But I got up with her at 7:30 this morning and we have BEEN JOINED AT THE HIP EVER SINCE. I found out my very BFF from graduate school – the boy I made out with on Cinco de Mayo in 1991 – was here from St. Paul with his wife and 18 mo. old adopted son, and I was sitting in Fantastic Mr. Fox. I love him and missed him and he and his family stayed and visited with Mr. P for TWO HOURS and I have never met baby Isaac! I want to run through the streets screaming WHAT ABOUT ME? WHAT ABOUT ME? And, and, and, I hate Christmas and the constant turmoil of being approached by people who assume I celebrate it and whether or not to tell I’m Jewish, which inevitably leads to that $64,000 question of how can I be a “MacDougall” and be Jewish and then I end up feeling like I spend all my time explaining myself to other people – people I don’t even know and who don’t even COUNT and then I finally end up with that feeling that I’ve always had at Christmas – the one where your fucking father never bothers to visit or send a present (at a time in your life when you could be said to be christian because you willingly accept gifts on 12/25) – and sometimes you don’t even know where he is, but the worst – THE ABSOLUTE WORST – is when you DO know where he is and you actually have to visit him and then he and his new wife/girlfriend/family give you something like a SOAP ON A ROPE (true story – I was about 8 or 9 yrs old). Everything about Christmas screams DEPRESSION and SADNESS and PEOPLE LIVING ON THE STREETS WITHOUT FOOD, SHELTER, MEDICINE and so I – the lone Jew in my office – organize the annual Christmas charity and even though I’ve been doing it for about 5-6 years, one Jesus freak in my office sent an e-mail to the secretary who occasionally assists me saying that we couldn’t celebrate Christmas in the office because of “THAT ONE IN THE CORNER OFFICE EAST OF THE BOSS.” Yes, she called me “that one.” Never mind she’s never given fuck-all to the kids we sponsor every year. One of these days I’m going to leave a pink message slip in her in-box that says, “Jesus called. He wants to know why you’re such a bitch.”
Thanks for listening. I feel better.
@Mama P: “THREE TEENAGED GIRLS WHO TALKED NOTHING BUT BOOBS FOR A SOLID 24 HOURS, that is, whose were bigger, showing each other their brassieres, even comparing their nipples!”
And you didn’t invite me, why??
Take heart. At least your coworker didn’t refer to you as “that Christ Killer east of the boss.”
@ChillBear, wherever you are: Please, please award Mama P something for this!
@MamaP: Whew! Good thing you’re getting that out of your system. Yeah, the holidays create so much stress and we’re right in the middle of it. As far as the nosy people about your personal life, sometimes a terse reply or “I don’t want to have to explain that” is enough to at least shut them up. Some people might find it rude, but who cares – you find them to be rude as well.
Keep venting if it helps.
@Rene: Three 14 yr old girls. That’s not Barely Legal, that’s straight-up Decidedly Illegal. As for the JF (jesus freak), she’s pissed because I advised my boss to avoid an overtly Christian Christmas at the office for obvious reasons and she wanted her husband – who sings gospel songs – to come perform.
@Vox: Thanks so much. I actually wrote another long rant on the Dead Bird Derby piece and it disappeared after I hit “Submit Comment.” Probably a good thing!
Thank God for Wordsmoker.
MP: Never been happier to be an ex-Midwesterner. I mean they are nice in stores, but fuck all…
I loved that rant, Mama P. I’m sorry your Holiday Hellscape is something you had/have to endure, but you yourself can’t help but make it an entertaining read. Sympathies!
Nina Simone’s wonderfully angry, “Break Down And Let It All Out” was my mental soundtrack reading it… a recommended song for those moments!
(Or “Mississippi Goddamn”, but I don’t think your vexations have to do directly with the Movement..still..)
I hope despite my poor syntax that everyone understands that it was ME who cooked and cleaned, and NOT MR. PENGUINO who seems to get a full night’s sleep each and every day of his miserable life! And can I say, too, that the thing that sparked my interest on the Dead Bird Derby piece was the idea about being uncharitable and fat and rich and you know, Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday and this year my uncle and his partner brought three friends: one very fat writer lady who was so fucking funny I laid in bed last night and giggled remembering some of her hilarious comments, and a married couple consisting of a “professional” high jumper lady who was tall, gorgeous, unbelievably fit, and as dumb as a post and her former rock star husband who was one of those silver-haired dudes in Ray-Bans and their poor child named after a major European city where they apparently conceived her during a track meet (well, probably after the actual meet), and Track Star kept talking endlessly about how dear Rome (not her real name) was so advanced and was allowed 10 minutes per day on the computer on an educational site, blah blah blah, and I wanted to mention Little Penguino often sits on the computer for an hour on Nick Jr. or PBS Kids and eats Trix and spongebob macaroni & cheese and can write a complete sentence and read words in her Harry Potter books and WTF with ten minutes a day, it takes that long to log on, and really – people – please, if you are exceedingly attractive and/or talented, you really owe it to the rest of the world to develop your goddamn personality. My uncle’s partner’s son is a sheriff’s deputy and Track Star went on ad nauseum about how dumb cops are (never mind my own sheriff grandfather and detective uncle), but the guy (sheriff’s dep) is sitting right across from Track Star and he has the good manners to ignore her and I just want to come up behind her and pull her fucking hair and say, Don’t you have some sticks to jump over? except I really do love Thanksgiving. And the very large writer lady. I’m already trying to figure out how to wrangle an invitation to see her again. Is anyone else at this place in their life? Where they just want to be around fun, interesting people and who gives a @$# what they look like? I guess so – I mean, Wordsmokers, right?
I hope no one reads the above and thinks that I’ve been someone who judged her friends by the way they looked, because I really haven’t. But I can remember a time when I might have thought being a “professional” track star was so cool and in my quest to learn all about her life, I might have missed meeting someone who was actually interesting. I was reading the post on The Biggest Loser on Alan’s website and it was reminding me why I no longer get into the whole fitness scene – and it always reminds me of one of Chillbear’s great 20 Things where he says he does not want to hear about your work-out, and how I could not agree any more. Is there anything more insanely dull than listening to people talk about their caloric intake and how many miles they ran? It reminded me of how I used to leave the gym and get in my car and I kept this little notebook and I’d immediately start writing every fucking thing I did, down to the nth degree, and then I’d write down what I ate – a protein bar, or a PB sandwich – DULL DULL DULL. That isn’t conversation, it’s STATISTICS. How did I keep friends or stay married during that time period? I showered and washed my hair TWICE A DAY. Almost FOUR YEARS of my life, wasted, and now I have a supremely fucked-up knee to show for it. ARGH.
Mama P: That’s like after Christmas, when we have to drive all the way to the hellhole that is Northeast PA (Kingston/WilkesBarre), where nothing new has been built since 1935 and the skies are always gray and disgusting, and my husband takes our son and leaves for the day to the Eagles game down in Philadelphia, and leaves me with his parents, who have never liked or approved of me, and plans to take our car so I can’t even escape up the mountain to the pathetic excuse for a mall and can’t understand why I’m so fucking pissed and why I refuse to let him use our car and make him use his mom’s. Insensitive assfuck. And it’s not as if he has ever shopped for or wrapped a present for his family (his siblings like to breed) or noted that I am the one who decorated the whole house, cooked the big meal on Christmas day and did all the shopping and wrapping and cleaning, then cleaning up so he could sit on his ass all day watching football. In between beers and eating. Then I get to clean all that up and spend the next day getting Ian and me packed for the trip, and the dogs out to the hunt club (hour round trip) after getting them all packed up, then spend seven hours in a fucking car where my arthritis makes my joints gel up and fibromyalgia just about kills me and when we do stop, I can barely get out and walk and did I mention I’m old and my bladder needs to pee a lot? And I was raised here at sea level, and driving through the Poconos makes me sick. I love the holidays! And when we get home? I get to unpack, drive back out to get the dogs, do loads of laundry, find places to put all the shit we got up there, take down Christmas shit and try not to kill someone from the pain my body is now in and I usually end up in bed crying because my meds only take the edge off and don’t really make me feel too much better. Sometimes I yell at him to make him do stuff, which is when he simply “must” go into the office and get some work done. Which is about the time that Ian and his buddies run into the house, tracking mud, and declare they’re hungry and need some lunch, and I think about how grateful I am that school will soon be back in session.
@Gerbils: YES! YES! YES! I’ll be taking that trip, too, to the in-laws, who do approve of me, but think I’M A LEGAL SECRETARY! They simply cannot fathom that I make more money or have more responsibility than their sonny! Oh, God, your Christmas is making me so tired and sore that I’m going to have to get my Ibuprofen PM soon. Hey, I know you’re a special fan of Tylenol PM, but would you ever consider the blessedly wonderful effects of Ibuprofen PM? I wonder if it wouldn’t help your tired old bones? Oh, you poor dear. I will now worry incessantly about you until after Christmas!
Mama P: Well, I’m the second wife of their sainted first born son, you know. And Harry was separated when we met, and as a good Catholic, they just know he would have gotten back with her (never in a million years), and I ruined it! And now he lives in the South! And, I have never had a problem saying exactly what I mean and I do NOT put up with his mother’s overbearing shit. Oh, the stories I could tell. I may have to switch to the ibuprofen, but I’m not sure if it would interact with my Celebrex, which I’m out of because I let Harry have it when he sprained his ankle so badly a few weeks ago and he hasn’t bothered to bring me some samples packs from his office yet and I will.kill.him.soon if he doesn’t as the script is $100 a month. Also, have you not informed his parents that you are, in fact, a bona fide lawyer yet? The best time I had at Christmas was when I got to inform his mother, who was absolutely snide about the fact that I had not been able to produce a child after 2 1/2 years, that the reason was actually because her perfect son had little to no sperm and he was our hold-up. A few months later, one measly sperm managed to do its job and Ian was concieved, which of course meant that I must have been wrong, dontcha know? and all those tests (including two sperm count tests) were wrong all along because Harry is perfect afterall!! Fuckitall!
@Gerbs: I so wanted to tell Mr. P’s folks that it was my opinion that the reason i didn’t get pregnant in all those years of unprotected sex was due to the fact that their son smoked enough weed to keep marijuana dealers in a six-state area in business. I’m happy to report that his parents started taking my side in everything about five years ago. Little Penguino sealed the deal b/c they think that I had to push him a bit – but he was totally on board. I think they get it now – about me being a real lawyer and all – but it still tips their world off its axis that I’m more successful than sonny only because they are old school all the way. These days, Mr. P’s mom usually slips me fifty bucks for my trouble – or calls me to see if I need money or clothes or anything at all for their darling granddaughter. I’m still uncomfortable enough with them that I always say no even when I could use the help. God, I love bitching. I’m off to take my I-PM. Good night, sweetheart, good night, wordsmokers all!
Goodnight, love!! Harry’s parents love Ian because of all their grandkids, he is the prettiest, smartest, and god knows, the best behaved and has the loveliest manners. Unlike the monsters that are my nieces and nephews.
Sweetest dreams! I love a good bitchfest!
You gals each sound like you need to take long runs. Why I ran about 4 miles Thanksgiving morning. Then for Thanksgiving dinner, I ate white meat turkey (with no skin or fat), green beans, broccoli (that I steamed myself, because the rest of it had butter on it), and plenty of water. I’m going to get in about 6 or so miles in the morning. Toodles!
Happy Thanksgiving?
@BJ I didn’t get shot…or brained by a golf club… so all and all it was pretty good.
@Captain: The deputy sheriff made these peanut butter things dipped in chocolate called “buckeyes” and I have about a dozen of them still in my fridge. I’m going downstairs right this minute and shoving five of them in my mouth in your honor! Then I’m going to pick up Little P from her cousin’s birthday party and sit and eat a big effing piece of cake. THEN, I’m going to see New Moon (oh, how I cannot wait to write this review) with my cousin and we’re already talking concessions: popcorn, candy, pop, the whole deal. I forgive you your taut sexy body and low heart rate because you are one of the most wonderful men I know. xxoo
@Bell: Well, that’s good!
Mama- I am going to see New Moon tonight too!
CF: I shun you.
Captain NoFun: You suck. I just finished off the last of the cheesecake, and my husband and son just got back from their NC trip and Ian brought me a giant Tootsie Roll, because he is my favorite (only) son who loves me like no other and knows how I love a Tootsie Roll and I just ate that, too! Tomorrow, I will eat the giant piece of apple pie I brought home, that is, if I can wait that long.
Okay. I did eat only white meat on Thanksgiving and filled my plate mostly with the fresh crudite I brought. But only so I could fill up on pumpkin bread and whipped cream! WOOOT! Today I did spend 2 1/2 hours walking at the Christmas Craft/Artisan Show and another three hours at the mall shopping non-stop, and my feet are now so bad I can barely manage a waddle, but I did have pizza for lunch and that junk up there for dessert. What? I deserved it. Don’t you have somewhere to run or something?
@ NH I have always admired that you can do so much with just a few words. Would you had been saying “grace” at dinner the other day.
One of the other guests at the Thanksgiving dinner I attended had recently undergone gastric bypass surgery. I hadn’t met him before, but those who had said he looked terrific and was like a new man. Problem was, he couldn’t stop talking about the procedure, his new, severe dietary restrictions, and what happens if he doesn’t follow the regimen to the letter. He’d quiz the hostess on the grams of sugar in every dish, announce loudly when he couldn’t eat something, and then treat us to a description of what the consequences would be if he did. All as we were trying to eat. Mention was made of something called “dumping syndrome,” and while I can probably intuit what that means, I can’t bring myself to google it.
I know my story isn’t as heart-rending as Mama P’s or Gerbils’, but do I get any props at all?
RS: Oh yes – props for listening. We move to NY so we don’t have to listen, you know.
The only truth in my previous comment was that I ran Thanksgiving morn. Later that afternoon, I stuffed my face with butter and cream infused food and relatively healthy food (turkey) doused in gravy. In addition to dinner leftovers, we brought home half a pecan pie, half an apple pie, half a pumpkin pie, and a piece of chocolate cake. On friday, a friend brought over an entire cheesecake. Last night, we had Tex-Mex for dinner and not the healthy kind (is there any?).
P.S. Any time I use ‘gals,’ I’m just trying to rile somebody up.
FWIW, Captain, I knew you were joshing us. I didn’t really stuff five buckeyes in my mouth (just two – they’re too rich), and I got back to the b-day party too late to have cake. At the movie? I was still queasy from the buckeyes, so I had about half of a small plain popcorn with a diet coke and that was it for the night.
Rene? You win. That is the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard. I can’t believe someone didn’t just shout, “Stop already!” I know I would have.
@MamaP: Buckeyes are amazing! I think they’re an Ohio thing. At least that’s the only place I’ve seen them before and it is the Buckeye State, after all.
Rene: That’s just gross. Grody, even. You win.