Janie is slaving away, making a super special secret recipe known only as “pink salad” because it’s pink, and in my family, if it’s in a bowl, it’s a salad.

We’re having Thanksgiving dinner at our house tomorrow, and this is the first holiday meal that we’ve hosted. If Janie has her way, it will also be the last. Because who needs the stress? Not Janie. No way. She doesn’t have time for this…because she has so much more to do, like sleep and each goat cheese and watch football and then maybe sleep some more.

After she makes the pink salad, I’m going to make cranberry sauce. Then I’m going to peel carrots and potatoes in preparation for tomorrow. Then I’m going to go upstairs and knock on my neighbors door. When they answer I’m going to tie their legs together so they have to crawl around their house because I can’t take the stomping around up there. The stomping! OH THE STOMPING!

It’s getting to me. I actually wished in my mind that they might die because then - no stomping. I’m not proud of that. I took it back real quick. But maybe I wish their little dog would eat their feet. I don’t feel bad about that - because the stomping would stop and then the dog would likely be given away and that would eliminate the howling. The howling only happens when the stomping has stopped because the stompers have gone away. When the stompers go away, the howler gets to howling. ALL. FUCKING. DAY.

Shh…listen. STOMP. STOMP. STOMP.

God damn!

Anyhoo. Thanksgiving.

I’m grateful for many things. For the days off. For sleeping in. For my wife who lies about bringing me take-out.

You know what I’m not grateful for? THOSE MOTHERFUCKING STOMPERS UPSTAIRS.

Love,

Linsey

I know how unoriginal that sounds, but damn if it isn’t true! Here I am on vacation, if by vacation you mean darting from house to house, and standing up one person after the other, then yes that is where I am and one of my so called friends, whom I did NOT stand up, though I’m not sure why, is having me do her homework! Yes, I know this is what YOU are supposed to be doing right now not me. I just want a god damn cigarette.

Love all ways,

Shaelah

One of my bestest friends is in town for the holiday, so I don’t have time to post tonight, but I have to, or so Linsey has told me. So here’s a picture of The Upside Down Elephant:

This is a church in Lyon, France, close to where my American-in-France boyfriend (I know) went to school.  You have to take the funicular up the hill to get there, and everyone calls it the Upside Down Elephant because… well… it looks like a damned upside down elephant! It’s beautiful inside, though.

 Thank you for your time.

The holidays are upon us, and I’m having mixed feelings about them.

I come from a very small family, just my parents, me and my Grandma. When I grew older, my parents preferred to leave town to avoid the whole Holiday Stress Mess, and I usually spent the holidays with my Grandma or friends. And this was ok with me, because that’s just how my family works. We see each other once every two or three months, we keep the visits short and go back to our separate lives. It works for us.

My family is not what you would call typical. I’m an only child, and had to learn to act in an adult world from an early age. When you’re an only child, you tend to be fascinated with the whole concept of “siblings” growing up (or was this just me?). I watched my friends interact with their siblings, for better or for worse, and had this nagging feeling that I was missing out on something major. I loved all of those Ann M. Martin books that featured families with six, eight, ten kids and wished I could have just one freakin’ sibling. Dear Santa, I wrote each year, Please bring me a brother or sister this year. I know how babies are made, but if you could please do something to facilitate this process, I’d really appreciate it. Alas, it was not to be.

Since I’ve been in this relationship, holidays have been different. For the past six years I have spent most of the major holidays with my wife’s family. This has proven to be a great lesson in how families work. I’ve observed this family and its inner-workings like an anthropologist studying a foreign culture, and I find it all fascinating and new. It’s been a great experience, because from the beginning I felt welcomed into the fold. Linsey’s family is very close, and they have taught me a lesson in the importance of supporting your family. It’s a little against my nature, spending all this time with the family, but I must admit that it’s fun. On the rare occasions that my family and Linsey’s come together for the holidays, I feel lucky to be a part of this extended family and am glad that my children will know what it’s like to be surrounded by a large family that loves and supports them. And I hope they understand when we drop them off at their grandparents’ door on Christmas Eve and don’t pick them up until late the next day. Moms need a holiday too, you know.

I’m too tired to come up with a post of my own, so here’s a link to a post that I think many of us can relate to. Right now my balls of fur are staring down the “Other One” and are surely plotting an assault that will take place the second I fall asleep. The hussies.

This is my official hospital picture after I was born. My mother had toxemia and was hospitalized for the last couple of months of her pregnancy. She was told that she had a 10% chance of living and I had a 5% chance. Her due date was in late November, but I had to be delivered in September. I weighted 3 lbs and was pretty tiny. I had to stay in the hospital for a month after birth and they shaved my head to access the only vein big enough for an IV. I was about 3 weeks old in this picture, and look like I’ve been through a lot in my short life. I’m sure I was thinking, This is bullshit.

Despite my troubled beginning, I turned out ok:

I must have decided life was pretty good after all.

Today sucked ass.

Note to self: do NOT drink three Starbucks hot chocolates in one day. In fact, don’t drink Starbucks hot chocolate at all because there is probably gluten in it. It fucks you up hardcore.

I’m going to watch The First 48 and cuddle my kitties and my lady. Not necessarily in that order.

UPDATE: My TV decided it’s too cool to carry channel 52, the bastard. So no First 48. Damnfuckwhore.

Today I visited a branch that I worked at for four years in an… interesting… part of town. I was never bored there, because the patrons made things interesting and suppiled me with endless stories to pass on to my grandchildren. Like the time that guy walked into the foyer, vomitted wildly, then proceeded to browse the videos as if nothing had happened. Or that other guy who told me all about his scabies. It’s a fun place.

Being back in this enviornment brought it all back, and as I waited for my friend to get of work found myself looking around the branch fondly. I was at a computer, trying to find some of my ancestors on Ancestry.com, when I noticed a familiar figure on a computer one row ahead of me. I looked closely to see if I was seeing things, but no. There she was. I wish I could tell you her name, but that wouldn’t be proper, so let’s call her PC.

I’ve known PC for years now, but only on a I-see-you-every-day-because-I-work-here-and-can’t-escape basis. She cracked me up, because she was super paranoid, and would randomly walk up to my coworkers and demand to know why they were staring at her. My poor coworkers would look at her blankly and say, “Uh, what?” She would glare at them with a knowing look. “I know you were staring at me.” How do you respond to that? No, I wasn’t staring at you, crazy. The ironic part was that her accusations would ensure that she was watched from then on, because come on, who wouldn’t stare at her after that? She never accused me of staring, but she would look at books right next to where I was shelving, and when I happen to glance at her would give me this look. Like I was gonna turn her in to the Feds.

After I recognized her, I tried very hard not to look at her, but I didn’t do a very good job. First I stared to make sure it was her; it had been four years, and her back was to me, so who knows? Maybe it was someone else. Once I knew it was her, I stared because it was her. She must have felt my eyes, because she suddenly turned around. I lowered my head just in time. First she glanced at the clock behind me, then she saw me and did this double-take. I focused on my screen and struggled not to smile or laugh. I felt her stare and could only imagine the paranoid delusions that were running through her head. She turned back around, her body noticably stiffer.

I left the building to wait for my friend outside, making sure my back was to the door when PC left at closing. I couldn’t help glancing at her, and the look on her face: priceless. I smiled to myself, amused that some people never change, and happy that I have such weird memories to sustain me when I’m old and gray.

What’s Your Poo Telling You?

Stacy (click on the image to get the whole title)

Why Mommy is a Democrat

Breaking Up: He’s Just Not That Into God

Top 5 Movies:

Much Ado About Nothing

The Commitments

Les Visiteurs

The Killing of Sister George

Cry Baby

Top 5 Places:

Bordeaux, France

Cairo, Egypt

Bora Bora, Tahiti

Ephesus, Turkey

Azteca Mexican Restaurant, Seattle

Top 5 Books:

Lonesome Dove

No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency Series

Valencia

King of the Wind

The Stories of Eva Luna

Top 5 Shows I’m Embarrassed to Admit I Love:

Xena: Warrior Princess

America’s Next Top Model

I Love New York 2

COPS!

Jeopardy!