Tuesday, November 28, 2006

Thanksgiving Leftovers


I'm feeling squirrley! A few leftover words from the 2006 Thanksgiving holiday.....after all, Thanksgiving is all about the leftovers....

(Enjoy this now. I warn you: I’m going to return to talking about poop in the very near future. Between Poop and the holidays, I’m sure I’ll have lots to write about. My friend “Suzuki DiFranco” has assured me that “Colon Care” will get things moving faster than a speeding train. You KNOW I will have to talk about this…perhaps some photos….and my sister gave me a book called “The Truth about Poop,” so you know that will become blog fodder….)

The wife’s family had their traditional Thanksgiving dinner, complete with the 7-hour reflection of praise and thanks.

Praise the Baby Jesus!

The wife's family makes an amazing feast, fit for the most scrawny of Pilgrims. They make everything from scratch and make an over-the-top spread that borders on obscene. The food isn't the main event, tho....

See, the wife's family is an uber-religious group of folks, moved by the spirit and Jesus on the cross. God love them. Between prayer and praise, the Thanksgiving Thank-a-thon is almost an Olympic Event.

This year, the prayer and praise was unfortunately interrupted when a sister-in-law fell down the stairs, breaking two teeth and her jaw. I’m not kidding about this. She really did go tumbling. Something about her boot getting caught on the stair's carpeting. All I know is I heard the tumbling and crashing of an adult flying down the stairs.

As the injuries unfolded, the wife's youngest sister did an interpretive dance to some Christian Rap.

I.am.not.kidding.

I’ve never seen anything like the wife’s family—they cry when they are happy, they cry when they are grateful, they cry when the Packers win, they cry when the Packers lose, they cry when someone else is crying. They cry when someone does an interpretive dance to Christian Rap.

Interestingly to me, they do NOT cry when someone falls down the stairs. I was stymied by this. All that crying must be saved for everything except physical pain. It appears the wife's family has a “toughen up” mentality when injury or illness is involved. Since there was no blood spurting out of the sister-in-law's eyes, I guess they thought she was no worse for the wear. I vote that breaking your jaw and teeth is reason to shed tears. Heck, even the timing of hurting your mouth at the  Holiday known for eating should allow for tears. Alas, there was no sympathy to be found; in fact, I never heard her husband ask her directly if she was okay. The only first aid provided was by me and a brother-in-law, who brought her some frozen peas and carrots to use as an ice pack. One's gotta do what one's gotta do.

As for the interpretive dance, I am speechless.

Getting through the annual proclamation of “thanks” is like swimming in a pool of tears and snot. It is something to experience and cannot be accurately described in a mere blog entry. You have to be there to understand the volume the tears and snot. Just know that I’m the only one not crying. I don't cry while they cry and I don't understand why they are crying. I mean, I'm happy and grateful and all but I am not moved to tears.

I don't them much to work with in the thank you department. I keep it short and simple. It's safer that way. I am a woman of few words when it comes to the Thanksgiving Thank-a-thon. More time for them.

This year, I said I was thankful for antibiotics. I’ve been really sick and let me tell you, I am certainly praising Jesus that I finally started to feel better, thanks to medication. This proclamation seemed to really entertain the wife’s 4-year-old nephew—he liked that I was thankful for medication....

....He then added to my shamefully non-emotional proclamation of thanks: “and you’re thankful for Jesus, too?”

What else could I say but, “of course—Praise Jesus!”

As far as “my” family, we kept it short, sweet and simple. The only crying that was had was when I was laughing so hard I almost peed in my pants. (That’s the kind of crying that I like.) It’s a long story, but suffice it to say that the wife and I spent much time torturing Eldest Niece about her upcoming Confirmation in the Catholic Church.

What kind of Godmother am I, mocking the Holy Spirit?
  
I told her the Holy Spirit was going to swoop down upon her head and set her hair on fire...

....thus, she would have to wear curlers in her hair to protect her head.

Then, the Sponsor would put the fire out by patting it and pouring water on her head. 

The whole curler thing was inspired by some poor 12 year-old coming into the restaurant of which we were frequenting....she had curlers in her hair. I didn’t think they even made curlers any more. Poor thing. That is just so wrong making her go in public like that. Didn’t anyone ever tell her about the invention of the curling iron???

I told Eldest Niece that her confirmation name would thus be “Curly.” We also told her she would have to renew her baptism by going naked into the baptismal font.

Eldest niece was on the verge of tears. Not the kind the wife's family shed, but tears non-the-less. Who can blame her? No one wants to have hair on fire by a swooping spirit. No one wants to be called Curly.  No one wants to be a prancing naked teen in a baptismal font. I'm sure that 12 year old across the restaurant didn't want to be wearing curlers.

I’m not sure Eldest Niece wants to me to be her Confirmation Sponsor any more. I'm not sure the Baby Jesus will let me near her or her curlers. I'm not sure the wife's family will let me near anyone. One must not make fun of the Holiest of Spirits.


Maybe next year I can do an interpretive dance while wearing pink curlers. I think that will get me back in with the wife's family, my niece and the Baby Jesus.

Leftovers 2006:  Sacrilegious banter, yes. Tears, no. I'm lucky no one put a turkey carcass on my head.

Sunday, November 19, 2006

Jingle-all-the-turkey-trot-way


(the photo to the left--a photo of a photo--is provided for illustration purposes and to prove I actually did what I have claimed to have done in this bloggish story.)

Since my last entry was about Thanksgiving and as it is that time of year, I thought I’d share a few other Thanksgiving memories. (Wait til I get around to telling stories about Thanksgiving dinners with the wife's family!) For this blog entry, we’ll have to go back a few years for the “Turkey-trot-broken-ankle-christmas-tree-shopping-cart” story, so stuff that Turkey and hang on for the ride.

Back in the olden days (when I was still sporty and running oodles of miles per week—we’re talking 1989 here), I enjoyed nothing more than spending Thanksgiving morning participating in the “Turkey Trot.” This annual 5K romp was held in the woods/on the hills/across the tundra of a local park. (When I say hill, I mean mountain. It’s a grassy side to the dam, so picture a ridiculously steep incline.) My running partner Flash and I loved the Turkey Trot. We loved it almost as much as we loved eating Thanksgiving dinner (and, running a race the day of Thanksgiving allowed one to eat more without guilt). This year, the ground was snow covered and although it was beautifully sunny out, it was freezy and rather treacherous. Flash and I stood around at the starting line with our closest hundred running friends, huddled together for warmth. The starting gun went off and we jogged slowly away from the starting line. (We were not sprinters. We were joggers and proud of it.)

The course led us up the giant ice-covered slope of the dam and then into the woods. I mean forest, complete with snow covered path and hidden tree roots peeking out of the ground. (See where this is going?) The air was crisp, the chatter was friendly, the footing was…..unfortunately for Flash, the footing was not so good. After all, we were running in the woods on a snow-covered trail with evil tree roots here and there.

Flash caught her foot on one of the unseen roots and tumbled to the ground, like a tumbleweed rolling across the desert.

It was rather downhill at this part of the trail, so she literally rolled while I watched in horror. She came to a stop and didn’t move. As this was a “friendly” race, people actually stopped to help (in competitive races, people would have trampled her and kept going). She denied being hurt, but once helped up, we could tell she was in no shape to walk, let alone run. Being the tough runner that she was, Flash insisted that she was fine and that she would finish the race. (Besides, she didn’t have much of a choice—we were in the woods and there was no way a car could get to where she was.) I stayed with Flash as she limped slowly along. She didn’t look so good—she was green with pain. We made fun of our stupidity for running in the snow on a holiday, we talked about our plans for the holiday, we talked about anything besides the pain she was obviously in. A 25-minute race took us over 45 minutes. She couldn’t go any faster and that really pissed her off.

Once we got to the finish line, our runner friends helped her into a car. She refused to leave before the frozen turkey drawing was held. God love her, Flash’s name was drawn and she won a frozen turkey. Turkey in lap, she drove off to the nearest emergency room.

Turns out Flash had broken her ankle. When her husband chastised her about this, she simply said,

“but, I won a turkey!”

He was obviously NOT a runner.

As the next weekend was the big “Jingle Bells Run for Arthritis,” and as Flash and I had raised oodles of money for the run, and as we had already made our holiday costumes for the run, I could not participate in the run without her. We agreed to meet at the starting line—at the local Walmart--decked out in our best holiday costumes. I was dressed as a Christmas tree, complete with Star on my head and garland flowing in the breeze. (Wild Mama and Baby Sister helped create this tree. It was quite the running attire.) I felt miserable about having to leave Flash at the starting line. We had worked so hard to get ready for this run….

....so, in a bout of insanity or stupidity or brilliance, I came up with the idea of putting her in a shopping cart and PUSHING her for the 3.1 mile race. Crutches and all, our running friends lifted her into the cart and off we went. (see photo of photo above to grasp what I'm talking about.)

Okay, so the first part of the race was fine, as we were in a paved parking lot. This was soon not to be the case, as the race route veered off onto side streets, road shoulders, grassy patches. Let me tell you, pushing a grown woman in a shopping cart while running across grass is NOT an easy thing to do. It was hard enough pushing her along the paved streets. I was huffing, puffing, sweating, bending, even walking at times. Flash wasn’t having any fun, either—who woulda thunk how painful it would be to bounce around as a grown woman in a shopping cart?

By the time we reached the finish line (and, let me tell you, we were at the back of the pack), I was dripping with sweat, my ornaments were falling off my costume, the star had fallen off my hat and Flash was suicidal. At the end, we hugged each other and she professed her thanks to me for not leaving her behind. Come on, leaving her behind would be like leaving your injured comrade on the battle field. I couldn’t leave her behind. We vowed NEVER to make such an idiotic decision again and I assure you that I have never pushed a grown woman in a shopping cart since that day.

I must say that the shopping cart run has always been a favorite memory of mine and I think of Flash every Thanksgiving. I am thankful for the great memories and good laughs and the cold, crisp November air and the camaraderie of running with people like Flash, especially now when I am no longer able to run.

And so, I am grateful to Flash for a few of the wonderful reasons to be so thankful in life.

Isn’t that what Thanksgiving is all about?

Gobble Gobble.

Monday, November 13, 2006

The Great Turkey Disaster of 1996



As Thanksgiving is quickly approaching, I thought it best to share my “Great Turkey Disaster of 1996” story. That way, you can be VERY thankful I’m not having you over for Thanksgiving dinner this year.

It all started out so innocently. I had decided (for some very unknown reason) to invite my family to the house for a traditional Thanksgiving Dinner. This was in the day that I was still not welcomed at the wife’s family dinner, so I must have thought it a good idea to have my family of origin over for the day.

As I am not known for my cooking prowess, this should have struck all of us as a bad idea.

The wife traveled off in the wee hours toward Cheddarland, leaving me behind to create the perfect culinary delight of thanks. It was a horrible, miserable day—wind howling, dark grey clouds hovering, garbage blowing by in the cold November breeze. I was a bit worried about the wife driving on such a lousy day, but I had a dinner to worry about, so I put her out of my mind and turned to the stove.

First things first—I stared at the turkey, looked at the belly button, read the directions, stared at the turkey. I knew enough to pull the giblets out of the inside of the bird, so I had a moment of pride in the kitchen. I plopped those frozen goodies into the sink and returned to staring at the bird. I took out one of those turkey baggies—you know, one of those plastic cooking bags—and wrapped ol’ Tom Turkey in the bag. (I think I wiped him down with some butter before wrapping him up, but I can’t say for sure.) I tied up the bag, shoved the bagged bird into the giant aluminum pan and turned on the oven. I am all puffed up because I am on schedule and I am in charge of my turkey!

Then….30 minutes later…..

….the power goes out.

No oven. Can’t open the refrigerator. No heat. No microwave.

I don’t panic because there are four hours before anything needs to happen, as it’s four hours before my family will arrive. Still, I get a bit nervous….the turkey has only been cooking for 30 minutes. Everything I need besides the corn is in the refrigerator and I certainly can ‘t open that door. I pace.

I realized it was going to get mighty cold in the house without heat.
So, I decided to make a fire in the fireplace as means of heating the house and giving it a warm, cozy holiday feel.

Words of wisdom: DO NOT make a fire in the fireplace on the windiest day of the year.

I start the fire even though I hear the wind whipping down the chimney and into the fireplace. It doesn’t dawn on me this might not be a good thing. I get that puppy burning and then wind whips in and FILLS the house with smoke and soot and ashes and embers. I’m not kidding. Soot everywhere! I look at the what used to be white lampshade and think OH SHIT! This is SO not good. I’m trying to put the fire out, I’m trying to stop the soot, I’m dumb enough to close the flue in an effort to keep the wind from howling in, but this only means ALL the smoke now comes into the house. I reopen the flue, choking through the dust.

Insult to injury, the fire alarms start going off, so I now have to open the windows and doors. And, I thought it was cold before all this nonsense started.

I am in sheer panic. It’s been two hours without electricity, the house is freezing and smoking, the turkey is rotting in the oven and there is nothing I can do….

….so I call the wife, who is just sitting down to a delicious home-made dinner with her family. Like she can do anything.

Three and a half hours later, the power comes on. I leap up in joy, crank the heat, crank the oven, start opening cans and boxes like mad, put the pie in the oven next to the turkey.....

I figure turning the oven WAY up will make everything cook faster.

I’m serious.

The family shows up and I explain what has happened and my father, who has been in the food service business his entire life, gives a skeptical-we-are-all-going-to-die-if-we-eat-that-turkey look to me, but I prevail. We have to wait several hours for dinner, as the turkey needed time. Of course, I forget about the pie and burn the PISS out of it. (Black crust. Mmmm. Tasty.) In the meantime, I’m heating canned corn and mashing potatoes. I peek in at the turkey and notice….

….hey! I can’t see the belly button!

Where did it go? I know it was in there when I started cooking this thing. I call my father over and point out that I can’t see the belly button anymore. We decide it must have popped out and thus the turkey must be done.

He helps take the bird out of the oven and I ask for his assistance with the carving of the turkey. We look at the bird and kind of have quizzical looks—something is wrong here, but I can’t put my finger on it. He goes to start carving….and nothing. There is like NO meat. I FREAK. This is like a 20-zillion pound turkey and he’s carving bones. He looks at me, looks at the turkey, gives me that smirk look he has and then turns the turkey over.

I have cooked it upside down.

When he flips it over, we can see the belly button. Go figure.

Suffice it to say, the turkey was like eating a hockey puck, the pie was black, the corn was cold and the potatoes were lumpy. Well, at least the Stove top Stuffing wasn't a complete loss. It was a nightmare of a meal. My father, always one to have the last word, says, “no one ever said you could cook.”

Touche.

I’ve been a vegetarian ever since.

Gobble Gobble!

Wednesday, November 08, 2006

(Keep reading to learn about my new baby iPod!! I'm in love!)
Faith No More
The winner... Carrie-I'm-so-grateful....
...the loser....whaddaya-mean-I-lost-to-that-12 year-old--Faith Hill.

In case you are one of the three people left on the planet who didn't see Faith Hill be a VERY sore loser at the Country Music Awards Monday night, click here and watch her face when she loses to Carrie Underwood"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J2WLYYonzx4

Hmmm. Looks like she thought she was a shoo in, eh?!! That's gonna take a lot of PR to put that naughty behavior to rest.


*****If you want to see the whole female vocalist award thingy as it was seen on TV, click here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w3o27sqPmSU&NR *****

Of course, that's what her manager is busy doing right this very minute. In fact, the word being put out is:

"The country music superstar says she was just joking
when cameras showed her screaming "WHAT?"
"The idea that I would act disrespectful towards a
fellow musician is unimaginable to me," Hill said in a
statement. "For this to become a focus of attention
given the talent gathered is utterly ridiculous. Carrie
is a talented and deserving Female Vocalist of The
Year."


Gimmie a break! Who screws around like that on TV when a zillion fans are watching? You be the judge! So, click on that link if you haven't already.

(By the way: I love Carrie Underwood and her album kicks ass....but, I don't think she should have won the big female award. She isn't the most talented in the bunch--in fact, ALL those ladies nominated are better singers than young thang Carrie. She is still learning how to carry a tune while singing live. She does have nice legs, don't you think? woof! Anyway, Carrie just happens to have a HUGE selling album and plenty of young fans, which is a good thing and that gave her lots of momentum to win. Being said, she deserved a lot more than ol' poopy pants. Faith, what WERE you thinking?) (I dedicate that last line to Governor Blagovich. If you're from Illinois & own a TV, you'll understand.)


Finally, on a much happy front, I just received my new iPod Shuffle in the mail today!It is TEENY WEENY and I'm destined to lose it....it's so small and cute and fabulous and inscribed with my name (Addi Warrior Princess, of course)! I don't know how I talked the wife into using the charge card....it was a weak moment...I really need (well, okay--want) some new shoes but this was too cute to pass up and I love music and my last iPod died (rest in pieces).

Huh. Wonder if I'll put any Faith Hill music on it?

Of course I will! She can still sing. She's still married to that cutie Tim McGraw. She's still hot. Faith will just be relegated to the back seat, behind all those Carrie Underwood songs....

Tuesday, November 07, 2006

God Bless America
Well, I certainly have never seen a picture of Uncle Sam giving the finger before, so I thought I'd include it in my very patriotic-let's-get-out-there-and-vote blog.

There I was, trying to vote for my Green boyfiend Rich Whitley when I thought a fight was going to break out at the polling place. Voting has never been so exciting! Seems the elections board or whoever is responsible for the whole this-is-where-you-go-to-vote people screwed up and sent a bunch of letters to voters to go to the wrong polling place. I usually vote at a Baptist church, of all places. But, since the church is having some kind of big shin-dig, the wife and I got letters telling directing us to a local hotel to vote....

Unfortunately, for some voters, they too got the letter but weren't supposed to...and, this hotel is in the boonies of our town. Thus, angry voting man became irate when finding out he was definitely in the wrong place despite the letter sent to his house. Those little old ladies (and I do mean old--the average age of the polling place people was about 105) were in a tizzy. Here's this guy, frothing at the mouth, screaming at them (like they had anything to do with it), demanding this and that. I thought he was going to hit someone he was so hopping mad.

I guess he must be VERY passionate about this whole voting thing. 

Those little old ladies were on the phone, shaking while trying to dial the number of someone to help them with this man. He's yelling about how all these people are going to start showing up because of these @!##@% letters and they are going to be VERY MAD. I was never so glad to vote and get out of there.

Speaking of voting, I got to fill out a paper ballot. None of this computer-fraud-crashing thing for my polling place. I was glad to know my vote for Mr. Green Party would be counted.

Green party? Yes. It allowed me the glory of not having to vote for the guy who was doing drugs with his male prostitute friend. Oh wait, that was a different state. I hope that wasn't actually on our ballot. Not that that wouldn't be true in this great state of ours. Our governors are more likely to end up in prison than anywhere else.

I think I'm much more excited that those stupid campaign commercials will be over than I am over voting. One more negative ad and I might have exploded. The governor and his opponent are both morons, slinging mud like it's going out of style. Like I want to vote for either one of them. I don't understand the whole mud slinging thing. Why? why must they do this?

Green Party. It's definitely better than picking between two evils....those two big politics politians can sling mud from here to eternity. I'm getting out of the way. Go Green Party!

I'm sad to report that I forgot to pick up "I voted" sticker to wear today, so you'll just have to take my word for it that I fulfilled my patriotic obligation. Hope you did, too....

....and, hope you ended up at the right polling facility, be it a church, hotel or brothel.