I resent the fact that I’m socially obligated to gorge myself silly once a year. What if I’m not hungry? What if I just don’t feel like it? Screw you guys.
However, this morning I discovered that I weigh five pounds less than I thought I did. Which means that I have five pounds to spare, so I won’t wake up tomorrow feeling fat. I’ll wake up feeling the same as I did yesterday. So today is a good day.
Last night I picked up my prescriptions from the store. I also grabbed a bottle of wine to bring to dinner, and while I was there I figured hell, I’ll grab a couple bottles of rum for the weekend parties, too.
While I was waiting in line, I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was my old friend Eric, who I used to party with in high school.
“So, what have you been up to?” he asked…
… before spotting the nice pile of booze and birth control I had laying on the conveyor.
I just had brunch with Grandma, which was awesome as usual, and I’m taking advantage of the big empty house right now because my parents get home from Vegas tomorrow. In a few hours I get to party with the Guilfoys, which means this will probably be one of my top three Thanksgivings ever.
Also in my top three is the 75th Annual Thanksgiving Ultimate Frisbee Extravaganza that the Jersey Boys, Jen, Ron, Kevin, Ian and I experienced while in London.
The game was Pilgrims vs. Indians, which meant that in the weeks leading up to Thanksgiving, there was a lot of inappropriate trash talk:
“We’re going to scalp your buckle-wearing asses.”
“We’re going to stone you like it’s Plymouth Rock.”
“I hope you choke on my corn.”
“Yeah, well, I hope you like smallpox.”
It was a muddy, rowdy, and we probably scared the shit out of the Brits in the park. Afterwards we had to suffer through the “feast” that the Refectory provided for us. If you’re going to celebrate Thanksgiving outside of the country, I don’t much recommend that you celebrate it with English cafeteria food. But whatever. It was worth it.
And btw, the Pilgrims can Eat It. I demand a rematch.
Also, this has nothing to do with Thanksgiving, but Kevin once wrote a paper in London about euthanasia titled “Suicide or Cake?” It was mainly just a giant love letter about double German chocolate fudge, but it was fantastic paper and totally worth more than the C- and the “Kevin, please see me after class” note that he received. So the blog title is a shout-out to Kev’s paper.
The most INTERESTING Thanksgiving I experienced was two years ago, when The Secretary General of Cool and I first started dating.
TSGoC lived in the most scandalous apartment complex in Webster Groves, and a lot of his neighbors were pretty rowdy. He lived two doors down from a couple that had a cute little baby girl, but eventually they broke up and the dad, who I’ll call “Bill”, moved out.
Bill had a lot of problems, but TSGoC is so laid back and chill that he didn’t care, and he’d let Bill come over and hang out sometimes.
We went on a date the night before Thanksgiving, and just as we were about to go to bed, there was a knock on the door. It was Bill’s babymomma and another couple.
“Um… has Bill called you yet?” they asked.
“Oh, good. Maybe he’ll talk to you. Can you call him?”
Bill was apparently wasted, and had been driving around, calling everyone he knew and threatening to kill himself. His friends had called the cops, but no one could find him.
TSGoC, being The Man, got a hold of Bill and talked to him for a couple of hours, calming him down and convincing Bill to meet him at the Fuel Man across the street.
TSGoC and the other guy took off, and I was stuck on the balcony with two babymommas and all their drama. Awkward.
“Umm… nice to meet you”? “Happy Thansgiving”? I mean, what the hell are you supposed to say in that situation?
We saw a car pull up and screech to a stop, we heard lots of yelling and screaming, and then a bunch of cop cars appeared out of nowhere.
The babymommas were stressed and out of cigarettes, and I was feeling a little out of my element, so I offered to go for a run. When I pulled out of the complex, I saw about six cop cars, and TSGoC was standing there, like “WTF?”
When I got back, I heard the whole story: Bill got out of his car and started walking towards TSGoC, but he spotted a cop car in the distance and freaked out. He pulled out a knife and tried to cut himself. TSGoC knew that if the cops saw Bill with a knife he’d get shot, so he jumped on Bill. Bill tried to stab him, but TSGoC wrestled the knife away and hid it in the bushes, and basically saved Bill’s life in more ways than one, even though Bill just tried to kill him and just kind of sucks in general.
This is one of the reasons that I love TSGoC.
(I totally cracked up as I typed the paragraph above. I mean, this is really a holiday story for the grandkids. Yikes.)
So anyway, after we calmed down the babymommas, TSGoC and I went back to his place and watched a movie. It was about 4am when the phone started ringing, although we missed the calls. Bill was apparently pissed off that his plan was thwarted, and had called TSGoC from the mental ward to yell at him.
“I kinda feel like a dick.” TSGoC said. “Should I try to talk to him?”
TSGoC called the mental hospital, and they put him on hold. He paced across the room, but then he stopped and gave me a weird look.
He put it on speakerphone… and I heard Berlin’s “Take My Breath Away”. Haaa ha.
Edited to say: I realize that I may have just bummed you out with that story, so to lighten the mood, I’ll tell you what happened about ten seconds after I posted this:
I was putting on my shoes, and as I lifted my left leg to adjust the heel, I straight-up dropped on my ass. Like, for no reason.
Josh asked me the other day if I laugh when people fall. When I write him back, I suppose I’ll tell him yes. Because I sure as hell did. Man, I wish someone else saw that.
I hope you all have a great Thanksgiving with people you love. I hope it is fun and exciting and interesting. Just not TOO interesting.
And to answer the question: stuffing. Lots of stuffing. Like, five pounds worth. Gobble gobble!