25

Nov

10 Things to Avoid During Thanksgiving

Louis C.K., the sage of our time.

Louis C.K., the sage of our time.

Here are ten things to avoid during Thanksgiving, the first holiday that sets the tone for all other impending holidays. DO IT RIGHT OR NOT AT ALL.

 

1) DON’T drink before embarking on the adventure that is a new recipe. 

Put the wine glass DOWN. I have learned the hard way: just because it’s a holiday doesn’t mean that the Food Network gods have suddenly graced you with culinary gifts. You still have to read the directions like a literate adult and if you have wine in your bloodstream, the ability to read is quickly ripped away like so many appetites upon viewing turkey gizzards.

Case in point: Last year, I tried making a pumpkin pie. I put in baking soda when the recipe called for baking flour… This resulted in an absolutely heinous salty pumpkin cake and also a salty discharge from my tear ducts.

Obviously not a picture of the horrible monstrosity I created. It was truly the Frankenstein of holiday desserts.

Obviously not a picture of the horrible monstrosity I created. It was truly the Frankenstein of holiday desserts.

2) DON’T make homemade cranberry sauce. 

That’s cute and all, but guys, can we all just agree that that canned stuff is AMAZING and King of All Things Cranberry & Delicious? Just because it comes out in the form of a gelatinous cranberry can does not mean it is not both mighty and majestic. It even has ridges to show you where to cut each serving.

Me: “How helpful you are, Canned Cranberry! With your evenly-spaced ridges and Jello-like consistency, I can never go wrong.”

Canned Cranberry: “You’re welcome.”

Mmmmm.

Mmmmm. Can.

3) DON’T exercise. 

Are you serious? That’s what New Year’s resolutions are for, dummy! Why start a habit now when your Old Year’s resolution should be to become a giant sea cow? Actually, sea cows are too healthy – they eat marine vegetation. Try for something larger, like a planet. Become a planet. Mercury, maybe?

750px-1e7m_comparison_Uranus_Neptune_Sirius_B_Earth_Venus

4) DON’T spend three-hundred hours blessing the food. 

WHAT IS THIS, DAY 1 OF THE PILGRIMS LANDING ON AMERICA?* Please, for the love of all things holy and unholy, this is not the time to list all six million saints in the Catholic canon. Take the time to say your thanks, give the sky a thumbs up, pat your friends and family on the head, and then eat! If you do spend three-hundred hours on something, make sure it is spent being grateful for Kimye and realizing what is truly important in this world: the existence of North West.

Calm down, everyone.

Calm down, everyone. The saints will still be here tomorrow.

5) DON’T eat at all except for dinner. 

I play a game every year called how-hungry-can-I-get-before-I-pass-out and this year is no different. Time to fast. It’s like a trendy juice cleanse except the juice is air.

I do love a good painted cheese.

I do love a good painted cheese.

6) DON’T send a mass Thanksgiving text. 

If you could opt-out of mass texts, then maaaaybe it would make them slightly more tolerable. But inevitably, your phone buzzes nonstop with the tangential side conversations mass texts tend to cultivate: “Who is 454-444-0456 number?” Just send a personal text or tweet. And by tweet, I mean, send a message to your loved ones by carrier pigeon.

7) DON’T talk about Black Friday or lament about the holiday season.

WE KNOW. WE ALL LIVE ON PLANET EARTH IN A CITY CALLED OBVIOUSTOWN, USA.

Black Friday Logic.

Black Friday Logic.

8) DON’T talk politics.

Uncle Bob, put down the butter knife and channel your political enthusiasm into aggressively washing the dishes or something.

“We. Are. Trying. To. Have. A. Nice. Day,” said hosts and hostesses through gritted teeth all throughout the land.

9) DON’T be ignorant of American history. 

You guys, Thanksgiving can hardly be boiled down to a bunch of white people high-fiving the native population.

10) DON’T be a cynical killjoy.

Wait a second…

26e871ff25dc7b7ca24804a0aeb09194 (1)

– M

* I am aware that Thanksgiving was not Day 1 of Pilgrims landing on America.

10 years ago Short URL 3 Comments

Fail/Family/Humor

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07

Oct

I Guess I’m Not Rich

checkbook

Yesterday was a quiet Sunday morning, and before I entered the maelstrom of afternoon Men’s League soccer refereeing (it’s a war out there), I treated myself to a quiet cup of expensive foo-foo coffee.  Everyone else in the house was either still sleeping or otherwise occupied and couldn’t be bothered to join me.

Just as well.

I grabbed my cup and retreated to the outside patio, which offered a perfect vantage to watch a local, in-progress 100-mile bike race.  I use the word “race” very loosely, as it was distinctly clear to me that many of the participants very rarely biked or even exercised, for that matter.  More than a few stopped at the intersection in front of me, got off their rides, and pretended that they were adjusting some critical component on their ride.

They weren’t fooling me.  I knew they were exhausted and thinking, “How can I possibly get up another hill?” and “Why am I here?”

Their torment made me feel a bit better about myself, since when I sat down and observed the spectacle before me, my first instinct was to beat myself up thusly:  “I should be out there with them, working hard, breaking a sweat, making myself stronger.”

Then when I saw how many people were barely locomoting their bedraggled asses butts along the route, I figured:  “Actually, I’m pretty happy sitting here in the sun watching these guys kill themselves.”

Thoughts (and dispositions) can be fickle.

I then turned my attention to catching up on things via the latest on-line news articles, and more out of sheer government shutdown fatigue than anything else, I clicked on a link that described the four main habits or characteristics of “wealthy” people.

“Hmmm,” I thought.  “Let’s see how bad off I really am.”

There was good news and bad news.

According to the link (I guess I should reference it, but all I can remember is that it was somewhere buried on msn.com), I’m actually in fairly decent shape regarding three of the primary points.  That is to say, Wealthy Muggles:

1)  Tend to stay married/in a relationship with one person for a long period of time.

Check.  Approaching twenty-eight years on this one.

I’m thinking if you marry and divorce a lot (whatever that means), it’s a detriment to one’s overall financial health.

2)  Tend to stay in one house/dwelling for a long period of time.

Check.  Approaching fourteen years in this ramshackle modest suburban box, in which something is always broken and needs fixing.

3)  Tend to not spend a lot on expensive cars and things, while saving approximately 20% of what they earn.

Sort of.  I’m not sure about the percentage we save or the other tendencies, which leads me to the Bad News of Point Number Four.

4)  Compared to most everyone else in this country, tend to dedicate three to four times as much energy and time to budgeting, tracking spending, and knowing exactly where all the money is going each month.

Nope.

Oh, I guess we have a general idea, really.

Most of the money around here seems to go to food, gas, and the kids, and not necessarily in that order.

And I think that’s how we’re going to leave it.

Rather than worry about the Habits of the Wealthy, the article made me think of the definition of Wealth itself.  For instance, there was no discussion about whether these sample people with their sample characteristics were happier than any of us Dog Scientists.  Or if they had pets, or watched Downton Freaking Abbey, or gave up watching Major League Baseball in the 1990s.

As my twelve-year-old would say, “Hmmmmm?”

And at the end of the day, you can’t take any of the money with you anyway.  You can spend it while you’re alive or leave it to others, but as my grandmother supposedly used to say, “There are no pockets in shrouds.”

In fact, I began to reminisce about the movie “It’s A Wonderful Life,” and I thought there was a line in there somewhere about happiness and wealth.

After an exhausting Google search, I found the quote: “Dear George, remember no man is a failure who has friends. Thanks for the wings, Love Clarence.” Clarence the Angel wrote that inscription in the book (Tom Sawyer) he gave to George Bailey.

I may not be wealthy but I’m not a failure, at least by the definition above.  At least two of the cats in this house are friendly to me just about dinnertime.

– Dad

11 years ago Short URL Comments

Family/Humor/Laugh at My Expense/The Daily Trip

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24

Jul

CA Road Trip, Part I

In case you haven’t noticed, a lot of my posts lately have been in a series format. Apparently, I am constantly going on trips to everywhere. (This is news to me? Yes.) I drove to Sacramento this past weekend for a friend’s wedding. I totally thought it was in San Francisco and went out of my way to tell people it was there, but it wasn’t. I was simply confused. When I get stressed out by travel plans I usually get confused. It must be the panic that seeps into my common sense and colors everything I do with a tint of insanity and confusion. My dad will never let me live this down but I don’t really feel that bad about my major geography mistake because, well, I know I will be watching my dad with the utmost vigilance waiting for him to make an error of some kind. (I won’t be waiting for too long.)

So, the road trip. I can tell you this, you do not know if you are friends with somebody until you travel with him or her. I was apprehensive going on this car trip because I was worried my two friends and I would start off as pals but end up with a Capulet-Montague feud on our hands. Luckily, we are all still friends and going strong!  Nobody died!

Part of our getting-along success was due to our creation of a safe word. This safe word was to be used when any of us were verging on an argument or other heated interaction. It was “seabass”. Of course, it was completely abused:

Friend 1: “So, I was talking to so-and-so the other day and…”

Me: “SEEEEEEEABASS!!!!!!!!!!!”

We took a route that was supposed to take around 8 hours. However, a friend – who, ironically, was asleep during the “scenic” part – advised us to go up a certain way along the coast because it was prettier than the direct route. Well, yes, she had that part right – it was gorgeous. The trees and mountains juxtaposed with the coastline was a beautiful sight to see. It made me feel like I was in a music video. The kind of music video that ends with a car careening off a narrow mountain road into the rocks and sea below. Sort of like an updated ending to the original Grimm brothers retelling of The Little Mermaid where Ariel falls into the sea and dies instead of the Disneyfied version where she bags the man and a nice gang of servants and a cool house. I digress.

I could have lived without the hairpin turns and the motorcyclists weaving in and out of lanes like it was their job though on this scenic route. I hate motorcyclists. Conditionally, that is. I hate the ones that are a few inches from crashing into you just because they want to get wherever they are going NOW – no, not even now – YESTERDAY.  Who goes into the oncoming lane around a blind curve to get ahead of me? MOTORCYCLISTS. Who almost rams into me after deciding they didn’t want to pass me yet? MOTORCYCLISTS. Who killed JFK? MOTORCYCLISTS.

My artistic re-interpretation of the scenic route. Not shown: almost driving off cliffs and kamikaze motorcyclists.

Anyway, we stopped here and there along the way and played lots of throwback CDs. We didn’t notice somehow that 11 hours had elapsed when we finally arrived at a friend’s house for the night. I don’t know how we added on those three extra hours. It must have been driving up and down the mountain roads at 10 mph. But that still doesn’t explain how it took that much time. My theory is that we passed through some sort of other dimension and when we came back into our dimension, time had passed. I watched a show on PBS about it – I can’t explain it to you plebeians though – it’s all very complex and science-y.

The 11 hours went by pretty fast, I have to say. A lot of it was taken up by dancing and blasting music. These were my go-to moves:

Everybody else on the road:

There were many parts of Day 1 where my friends and I made casual educational references that sort of made me proud. For example, we noticed that the terrifying bridges we crossed were all built in the early 30’s (not super confidence-inspiring driving over bridges that are 80 years old, however) which maybe were Public Works projects during the Great Depression (?). And, as we passed through the Salinas Valley, I remembered that East of Eden was set there. I pat myself on the back when I remembered that one – you done good, California education system! I haz a smart. I just don’t know California geography. Whatever.

– Daughter

 

11 years ago Short URL Comments

Humor/Road Trip

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03

Apr

Bad Mood

I don’t know if it’s just because I’m stressed out and my stress has been spreading like some sort of grumpy bird flu but my relationships have been… tense lately.

 

It started this Tuesday when my friend and I yelled our way through carpentry class. Even our professor was a little shocked at the way we worked together. Our M.O. is to criticize each other to get things done. And we do get our projects done and they happen to look amazing, it just takes splinters, frustration, and screaming to get there. Class is an hour and a half of this:

Me: “That’s straight.”

Friend: “That’s not straight.”

Me: “Fine, you do it.”

Friend: “Fine. See? It’s straight now.”

Me: “Now it’s straight but it’s the wrong angle and you chopped off my finger.”

I’ve also, admittedly, been absolutely miserable this week. And miserable to be around. Sorry. Public apology for being a Debbie Downer. And a Sour Sally. And a Negative Nancy. And a Dour Delilah. And a Grumpy Gertrude. And a Horrible Helga. And a Terrible Tina. And a Lame Lizzie. And…. we’re done here.

I guess I like to think I am a bubbly, glittery ball of sunshine that spreads happiness and fairy dust every waking moment. But, apparently, lack of sleep and pressure from school have chipped away at my sparkling personality until I became this horrible shrew. And not in some fun, Shakespeare-y way à la Taming of the Shrew, just someone you don’t want to be around.

I’m hoping that I still have friends after this week. And if not, that’s what crying was invented for: when you feel sad about having no friends. Crying also burns calories!* So, if I cry hard enough, it’s just like going to the gym. Positive thinking!!!

– Daughter

* This statement has not been evaluated by the FDA.

 

 

11 years ago Short URL Comments

College/Social Dysfunction

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30

Jan

Making Friends! Sort of.

It was really easy making friends in grade school because all you have to do is run up to a kid and say, “Hey, wanna be friends?” And then, he or she says, “Yes!” And then you go off and read Twilight and listen to One Direction or whatever the children are into these days.

Fwends.

In college, things get more complicated. There is a ten minute period when students are filing into class and waiting for the professor to come that could hypothetically be used to make friends. It is a special time – a magical time – when you can interact with people on a level that isn’t academic. Instead of shutting down the person next to you by pointing out the logical fallacy of his latest ridiculous theory or vehemently disagreeing over Oxford commas or making a blood sacrifice of a freshman to appease an angry professor, you have the chance to ask him how his day is going or some such question.

Unless, of course, you have an eccentric professor who is dedicated to “icebreakers” and forcing his students to socialize for the duration of class time.

"Are we friends yet?

“Are we friends yet?”

I’m not even going to pretend I didn’t have the best time ever during these icebreakers because I love to embarrass myself hearing other people’s life stories. So, the class was divided into small groups and then we went around answering questions out of a hat and subtly trying to one-up each other with the coolest autobiographical details we could muster (obviously, I fared poorly).

One of the questions we each had to answer was, “Are you a morning or night person?” And then we each took a turn explaining our propensities for mornings or evenings. Except I was not satisfied with answering in a sane manner. My turn came and this is what I said, “I’m basically nocturnal. I like to go to bed in the wee hours of the morning. I’m half-vampire.” The other people in my group were amused but also exchanged looks of uncertainty.

Then, another question was asked, “What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever eaten?” The guy next to me said some boring answer because he’s vegetarian. And so, in order to prompt him to say something more interesting  I said, “Well, have you eaten leaves from the rainforest or something? Anything exotic like that?” Everybody was weirded out. But I felt, in my heart of hearts, that this weirdness could be the seeds of friendship.

– Daughter

11 years ago Short URL 2 Comments

College/Humor

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07

Jan

See Puppy Run, See Seam Run

Clothes-rippers.

Clothes-rippers. Or Jack the Rippers.

My best friends adopted a stray dog because they’re good humans with beating organs that pump blood throughout their respective circulatory systems. Unbeknownst to them, this dog was pregnant and dispensed some puppies like some sort of real-life Pe(t)z dispenser within a few weeks of her adoption. Suddenly, they were the owners of four dogs instead of one.

Words fail me.

Words fail me. *Dies from a-cute heart failure* 

The mother is a mouth-breather who prefers snorting over barking. She bit me on the hand once when I accidentally came too close to her puppies when they had just been born, so I defriended her on Facebook and we’ve been on the outs since. The three puppies, unofficially named PorkButt, Sewer Rat, and Scooter, enjoy luxuries like chewing what they please and peeing where they please. I consider myself the godparent – aka tnerapdog – to these pups and have watched them grow from tiny, furry caterpillars to slightly larger, more dog-like creatures.

When I am around these pups, a part of me knows I should be calm and stoic so as not to upset their delicate dispositions. They are puppies after all: easily excitable. Being me, I do the opposite and flail around like a Jim Henson muppet (?). I make loud noises and wrestle them. The price I pay for this amusement and my lack of self-control around animals is perma-snagged/ripped clothes. There have been times when I have debated cuddling a puppy – knowing that I am wearing a delicate fabric vulnerable to runs or holes – but cuddling always, always wins out. At this point, I consider the runs on my seams and loose strings falling from my clothes like straw from a scarecrow (WHAT SORT OF SIMILE IS THAT?) to be small reminders of the pups’ love for me where I go. They like me better than my dog does.

My dog never puts holes in my clothes or runs in my seams because he can’t even stand to look at me much less get close enough to damage my clothing. Probably because I’m constantly doing things like this to him:

"I'm so disgusted that I can't even look at your face right now."

“I’m so disgusted that I can’t even look at your face right now.”

Whatever, at least I have the puppies. I mean, just look at PorkButt (who is the most corpulent and rotund of the puppies), how can you say no to that face? CONTINUE TO RIP MY CLOTHES, PORKBUTT! I DON’T EVEN CARE.

photo

I can haz run in your seam?

– Daughter

11 years ago Short URL 3 Comments

Humor/Laugh at My Dog

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27

Dec

Things I Say in Bars: Part Deux

Dont tread on me

I made the mistake of going to a bar again. My experience there made me realize I have not provided enough bar survival tips for emergency-type situations like yesterday night.

My friends and I were enjoying ourselves and catching up at a bar, occasionally pausing to clean up errant wine spittle – the usual.  Of course, you cannot have a nice night without grumpy, arrogant persons bursting your happy bubble. That night, he came in the form of a tall brunette wearing a typical black-button up shirt that as some guys wear. He was with his friend who was wearing an arcade shirt… ace. Anyway, ArrogancePersonified* (A.I.) made a big show of offering his bar seat to my friends who were standing – a nice gesture on the surface, but really a practiced “Nice Guy” move that belied his true intentions: an opportunity to talk to insult us while his very nice, polite friend cringed in horror (rightly so, good man).  A.I. systematically offended each of us on every level: politically, personally, professionally, anything that started with a ‘p’ basically. Philosophically, patrilineally, patriotically, phonetically, paleogeographically, and pantheistically… I could go but I choose to spare you.

He started his tirade by insulting one of the girls for being Mormon. I’m all for equal-opportunity humor: no race, creed, sexual orientation or religion should be safe from humorous jabs, but it seemed a little over the top – and that’s ME saying something was over the top. I would have appreciated it more if he inserted some Hamlet in there but even Shakespeare wouldn’t want to be associated with his witless remarks.

Then, he attacked another friend because she is getting credentialed to be an elementary teacher, her lifelong goal. He went on to disparage her career like she was in charge of murdering the hopes and dreams of all Americans. (That’s probably his job, actually.) Seriously? Lawyers? Okay. Investment bankers? Okay. Teachers? Come on. Do you hate puppies too? Do you purposely step on sidewalk cracks? Do you like grape-flavored anything?

He generally passed over my friend who wore a sweatshirt to the bar. Not because she was in a sweatshirt (well… maybe) but because she didn’t say anything  worthy of his scorn. (BRO HIGH-FIVE!)

Then, when he got to me, he tried to tear down my major. It was the same unsolicited comments I’ve heard before: “liberal arts degrees are useless yadda, yadda, yadda”. He could have come up with something more original. I’ve found things in my bellybutton that were more interesting than what he had to say. My hackles had been raised. I engaged Phase III (which is really serious because it completely skips over Phase I and Phase II – and they don’t even exist). I interrupted him, ripped him down, called him out on his behavior, and then cursed him with black magic (he doesn’t know that part, unless he’s reading this, and in that case, “GO AWAY”.)

Moral of the story: don’t go to bars be ready for anything.

How to Deal with a Bar Patron as Mean as You Are

Occasionally, you will meet your nemesis at a bar like I did. When this happens, I want you to be prepared. Expect the worst, prepare for the worstest.

1) Defensive Maneuvering: Even if the person is of an attractive sort of creature, it doesn’t matter. Shut. Him. Down. If he is attractive, he probably knows it. Let him know that his pretty will not trick you; no, you will not be swayed. You are a bastion of strength and self-control. DO NOT GO TOWARD THE SHINY, PRETTY THING. IT’S A TRAP!

2) Out-Mean Him: A conversation with this person is a ticking time bomb – one of you will be reduced to a mess of tears, you must strike first to avoid this possibility. And when you strike, you must use snake-like proficiency. Only when blood is drawn do you know it’s over. Even then, there is a possibility this person is a Hydra and once beheaded (metaphorically), four heads will sprout in its place. But remember, you are the Hercules of insults, you will defeat the Hydra.

3) Interrupt Him: He doesn’t deserve to be talking to you, make sure he knows your time is money. If possible, interrupt him while talking and yell, “SHOW ME THE MONEY!!!” And then make a Tom Cruise face. (?)

4) Make Him Question Everything: If he asks for your name, just don’t answer. Stare quizzically at him. He will probably be weirded out. This is good. You are winning.

5) Mine Information: While he is blabbering, mine the information he freely provides. Look for a weakness in his armor. Once you find his vulnerability, leave him with a zinger: “You’re just like your father.” (Not that that’s a bad thing, Dad.)

* Names have been changed to reflect the truth.

– Daughter

11 years ago Short URL 2 Comments

Humor/Social Dysfunction

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24

Nov

Post-Black Friday Post

Black Friday wasn’t too bad despite a few surly customers. The concept of a line was once again lost on most people but yelling and shaming seemed to herd them into a more linear shape. I think next Black Friday we should have a sheep dog nipping at people’s heels until they get into the proper formation.

After my long Black Friday shift, I went out with some best friends for drinks who were back in town this week. I tend to stay away from bars because there are people there but I just followed my advice for staying single and survived. Despite the presence of other people, I was elated to be with my friends after being separated for so long because of that stupid thing people do where they go away for a college education.

No, but really, I was very happy.

The whole night, I constantly hugged my friends because I felt like the only way I could truly believe they were really there and not extremely detailed hallucinations created by the Matrix was when I was crushing them into a reluctant bear-hug. I’m a hugger… is that even okay to admit on the internet?

Me, alllll night.

– Daughter

11 years ago Short URL Comments

Humor/Retail Fail

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