Here's hoping your turkey day was as steeped in tradition as mine. On Thanksgiving Eve, Jason and I like to watch Thankskilling, a fabulous little film about a killer turkey, to put us in the holiday mood. We prefer to spend our Thanksgiving morning bickering (in my defense, he tried to talk to me before my first cup of coffee, which is never, ever, advisable). Then we head over to my mother's house to share our testy attitudes with family.
The house was about 100 degrees, which is, of course, tradition. I've learned long ago to wear a summer t-shirt under my sweater for Thanksgiving Day at my parents' home. Besides Mom's tendency to keep the house balmy, she also has two ovens and six stove burners going all day for this holiday, so it's to be expected. Dinner was late, which was also to be expected. If the year ever comes that we actually eat at the time my mother suggests we're going to sit down to dinner, the whole family would be worried that something was wrong with her. In the meantime, we ate appetizers, visited, I made my sister give me a haircut in Mom's bathroom, my sister's sister-in-law's two-year-old performed a rousing rendition of "Baa, Baa, Black Sheep," and Dad gave us a detailed description of how, exactly, to shoot, pluck, boil and stuff a wild turkey. Good times. We left Mom's after the meal to head over to my sister-in-law's for dessert. Though I was stuffed to the gills, I managed to make room for two slices of pie, cookies, and a cupcake. I didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings by not sampling all of the desserts, of course. It was altruistic of me, really. We visited some more, then my sister-in-law, her sisters-in-law, Cousin Carrie, and I started fighting over the Black Friday flyers. As you know, gentle reader, most of my gifts are specially handmade this year, but it's still fun to look at the good deals. This, of course, was a bad idea. Jason and I spotted pillows for only $2.99 each at JC Penney. For some reason, Jason's pillows are all lumpy and deformed, something we'd discussed only yesterday. Why was this happening to only his pillows? More importantly, how could we resist such a deal? Plus, the mall was practically on our way home. Would it really hurt to pop in, pick up some pillows, and leave? The answer is yes. Yes it would. Something we should have remembered from our last Thanksgiving evening shopping excursion two years ago, when a complete stranger threatened our lives after we snagged the last can of holiday pine-scented Febreze off the shelf at Walmart. However, memories fade over time, and we stood in line at Penney's wondering why, exactly, we'd thought this was a good idea. Of course, since we were already at the mall, we agreed that it made perfect sense to shoot over to Target for their amazing pre-Black Friday sale on cat litter (30% off! How could we go wrong?) Four hours later, we'd made friends with the couple behind us in line, fended off a rather ballsy line-cutter, wept, flossed our teeth after the Target employees forced the checkout line to wind down the dental care aisle, and watched Thankskilling on Jason's iPhone when the lady four people ahead of us demanded a price check on her coordinated flannel jammie set. We crawled through the front door, tired and bedraggled from our day, at about midnight. Overall, it was a long day, filled with family, food, and poor shopping choices, much as our Thanksgiving Day goes every year. I was just happy that we got home in time for me to get a good three hours of sleep before I go out shopping on Black Friday with my mother and sister. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! We don't have a lot of money this Christmas. By "not a lot of money," I mean I'm actually rinsing out our used paper towels and hanging them over the shower curtain to dry so we can re-use them. This holiday season, I decided I'd be making most of our gifts for friends and family. How hard could it be, right? I found a book on homemade Christmas gifts, which Better Homes and Gardens put out in 1972, making it officially older than me. I decided to pass on the "groovy headbands" that were sure to please any gal, but looked for other, more helpful tips. BH & G mentioned that "baked treats make for a super nifty gift for all ages." My sister-in-law had once mentioned my snickerdoodles. I can't remember quite what she said about them, but I decided it was probably positive as I don't recall her throwing them at me, so I worked on baking her a plate of them for the holidays. I bake these cookies from scratch, and there's some trial and error involved. I have to taste the dough, add more sugar, taste the dough, add more cinnamon, taste the dough, have a sip of coffee to offset my palate, taste the dough . . . you understand. After baking, I let the snickerdoodles cool and looked for a festive plate. All I had was a paper plate that looked like a football. That would have to do. Some of the cookies were burned on the bottom, so I ate them. Then I arranged what was left into a pretty holiday cookie display. Won't my sister-in-law be surprised to get this lovely platter of cookie this Christmas? Next up, my handy BH & G book mentioned sewing. I can sew. I've mended socks and even sewed a button onto a sweater once, officially making me a professional seamstress. I decided that the heart-shaped pillows the book mentioned would be perfect for our friends' two daughters, who are both under the age of 5. The book had a pattern to follow, but I decided I didn't need it. It's a heart, for goodness sake. How hard could it be to cut out a heart shape? As it turns out, pretty hard. I'm not sure how Amy and Jim are going to feel when their kids receive pillows which kind of look less like a heart and more like a pool of blood. And, given the number of times I stabbed my fingers while sewing them, that's kind of fitting. It's the thought that counts, right? My stupid book suggested that potting a houseplant in a creative and groovy new planter would make for a good gift. That sounded perfect for my mother. The only houseplant I've been able to keep alive is an aloe, only because those suckers are hard to kill. Perfect for Mom, from whom I inherited my black thumb. It took me a while to locate the aloe, because I'd apparently stored it in the attic last spring by accident, but I eventually found it and put it in a cool new planter for Mom. She's my mother. She'll understand. Finally, BH & G had something to useful to offer: namely, a recipe for baker's clay, which could be used to make your own ornaments. I'd been going nuts trying to figure out what to give my nephews, ages 13 and 10 (almost 11). Salvation! My problems were solved! I didn't want to get too creative with my first batch, so I just cut out some round ornaments, figuring I could make them into eyeballs or skulls or something else equally as cheery. They came out okay, but I started to feel bad. They weren't really holiday season type ornaments, unless that holiday was Halloween. I made a second batch, taking care to design a festive Santa, with round cheeks and laughing eyes, and I even fashioned a red hat out of bright red yarn. Won't Nathan and Evan be surprised to see this little number on Christmas Day? There you have it. The holidays need not break the bank if you just put a little time and care into creating your own homemade gifts. It also helps if you have a really, really understanding extended family. I don't like watching the news. It's depressing, and I don't enjoy doing anything that consistently makes me feel worse about life after doing it. Because of this, I tend to get most of my news from Facebook. And you people post some weird things. Let's take a look at what's going on this week, shall we? 1. Is Andy Kaufman Alive? Earlier in the week, at the Andy Kaufman awards, a woman announced that comedian Kaufman was alive and well, and also her father. Can it be? I'm a huge fan of early Saturday Night Live and remember Kaufman's performance of the Mighty Mouse theme as pretty funny. However, I also read a biography of him and quickly realized the man was nuts. So it's plausible that he might have faked his own death. The most compelling evidence I ever saw on this matter was this picture to the right. There's Andy, bald from chemo, yet with eyebrows and a full chest of hair. However, one photograph proves nothing. So I did a little research. By this, I mean I went to snopes.com and read one article: http://www.snopes.com/inboxer/hoaxes/kaufman.asp Sorry, folks. Looks like he's dead again. 2. Man Forced to Dig Up Wife's Body in Yard WFSB (Channel 3 Eyewitness News in Connecticut) is reporting that an Alabama man is being forced to dig up his wife's cremains, which he planted in his front yard in 2009. http://www.wfsb.com/story/23978925/man-forced-to-dig-up-wifes-body-from-front-yard People cremate their loved ones all the time. This guy's mistake was plopping down a big old tombstone in his yard, which I'm sure the neighbors found a little creepy and gruesome. However, one neighbor stated that this guy's house was definitely the most popular on Halloween. I'm disappointed that this guy cremated his wife. Personally, I'm all for people burying fully-intact bodies in the yard. It's kind of like a fun puzzle, when the dog brings home a human jawbone and the family has to figure out where or who it came from. Cremation is just a waste of a good scavenger hunt opportunity. 3. Toronto City Council Strips Mayor of Some Powers http://www.cnn.com/2013/11/15/world/toronto-mayor-rob-ford/index.html?hpt=hp_t2 Who is this guy? How does his drunken crack-smoking affect me, my loved ones, or the U.S. economy? Not at all? Moving on. 4. New Photographic Evidence: Andy Kaufman Lives Close inspection of a seemingly innocuous photo that appeared on http://sfrunningguy.blogspot.com revealed startling proof that Andy Kaufman is, in fact, alive and well and living in San Francisco. Wait, wait. This just in. Looks like it was a hoax after all: http://www.nydailynews.com/entertainment/tv-movies/andy-kaufman-alive-daughter-claims-article-1.1516707 Never mind. 5. Vaguebooking: I Hate You. In other Facebook news, K. is going somewhere exciting, but can't say where; L. had a late-night phone call that was really great, but won't say from who; B. has big, big news, but isn't allowed to say what is just yet. You people are annoying. If you can't give us all the details, don't say anything at all. And if you're a repeat Vaguebook offender, rest assured, I have blocked you from my feed and just don't care anymore. There you have it: all the news that's fit to blog about. Tune in next week, when I pitch my new show idea to Animal Planet. Finding Andy Kaufman: More Elusive Than Bigfoot. Dear Female Human That Lives In My House,
Pugsley the Cat here. You foolishly left your laptop open while taking a shower (and who do you think you are, anyway? Too good to lick yourself all over like the rest of us?) which has allowed me this opportunity to get a few things off my chest. Let me remind you that I am gracious enough to let you live in this house with me. I don't even charge rent. All I ask for in return is complete run of the house, food on demand, and the understanding that if there's a lap available, it's my God-given right to jump on it. Which brings me to Abuse #1: How dare you insist on shutting the bathroom door every time you use it, even though you know darn well that you're denying me a perfectly good lap to jump on whenever you sit on the toilet? The nerve! No matter how loudly I meow at the door and swat my paw underneath it to remind you that I'm supposed to be in there with you, you ignore me. This is exactly the reason why I've been chewing on all of the electrical cords in the house--frustration at being locked out of the bathroom. It's your fault, really. Second on the list is the stupid pet names. I'm getting pretty tired of being called "puddin' face" or "fuzzy britches" when you come home. As in "Get out from under my feet, fuzzy britches!" I find it demeaning and rude. My name is Pugsley, thank you very much, and I will walk wherever I please. If you don't like it, go move in with a dog person. Like your friend Kathy. You think I can't smell her dog on your pants leg every time you come home from visiting her? I bet you even pet that dog, too. I guess what my mother told me is true: once a cheater, always a cheater. I also didn't appreciate your reaction the first time my sister, Wednesday, went into heat. She's the one who came on to me. Sure, hump your sister just once, and it's off to the vet for both of you! It's going to take a few more cans of tuna before I forgive you for that very unpleasant visit. Just a side note: when in bed, I prefer to jump on the purple fleece blanket. Please stop using the Holstein-print microfiber blanket. It itches my whiskers. I would also like to address the issue of television. Just because I don't have opposable thumbs, it seems like you don't think I should have any say in what we watch on TV at night. Quite frankly, I'm a little tired of Survivor and The Walking Dead. Both of these shows are extremely prejudicial against cats. How can you possibly have a whole show about life after the zombie apocalypse without mentioning once how cats will ultimately save the day with a zombie-crippling bout of cat scratch fever? Not one person on your stupid show has even referred to that. Plus, if you mention one more time how cool it was to meet Richard Hatch, I'm going to vomit into your slippers. Your taste in television sucks. Would it kill you to throw on Shark Week once in a while? Finally, if I am staring at you with wide eyes and mewling softly while nibbling on your eyelid, would it be too much to ask that you maybe pet me for an hour? Honestly, I just want to be loved. How am I supposed to know that it's 2:30 in the morning? I really feel that your threat to feed me to the coyotes was unnecessary. I want you to remember this when you discover that I've been piddling behind the couch for months now. Well, I can hear you downstairs on the phone telling your mother about meeting your favorite Survivor, so it's time for me to go barf up a hairball into your slippers. You were warned. Pugsley I've met a lot of famous people over the years, for which I'm thankful. These encounters don't always go as planned. Here are some real-life encounters I've had, how I'd hoped they would go, and how they really went.
Christopher Walken I had the opportunity about 10 years ago to deliver a Fedex package to Christopher Walken. Here's how I imagined it would go: Me: Mr. Walken, it's an honor to meet you. I know you're more famous for movies like The Deer Hunter, but I have to say your comedic timing is spot-on. I thought you were brilliant on the Saturday Night Live 25th anniversary special. Christopher Walken: You're brilliant. Let's have dinner. That's not exactly how it went in real life. Here's what happened when I pulled into his driveway: Christopher Walken: Who are you? You're not the regular FedEx driver. I'm calling the cops. Me: No, wait! The Fedex guy got a flat tire and I'm his wife. Here! (Thrusts package into his chest, causing him to fall backwards.) Christopher Walken: Thanks, I guess. Go away now. Me (beaming like an idiot): No, thank you! (Runs for the car to call sister and brag about meeting Christopher Walken.) Tom Brady The famous Patriots quarterback once vacationed on Block Island. Here's how I thought it would go: Me: Hey, I know you. Did we go to high school together or something? Tom Brady: You mean you have no idea who I am? How refreshing! Let me dump my supermodel girlfriend and we'll have dinner. The reality was a little different. First of all, I watched this jerk refuse to sign an autograph for an 8-year-old because he was on vacation and "didn't want to draw attention" to himself. Then he proceeded to take off his shirt and toss a football with his supermodel girlfriend right in the center of New Harbor. So here's how our meeting went: Tom Brady (flexing and posing shirtless): Please, I just want to enjoy my vacation. (Spikes a football at the edge of Payne's Dock.) Me (driving by in a pickup truck with unidentifiable plates): You throw like a girl! Nick Rhodes of Duran Duran This was the man of my dreams for many, many years. When my sister won backstage passes to meet Duran Duran in 2007, it was the highlight of my life. Here's how I imagined it would go: Me: Nick! Can you please pose for a picture with me? Nick Rhodes: Of course I can. Me: This is so exciting. You don't understand. I was going to be the mother of your children. Nick Rhodes: Yes, I can see you're clearly the woman of my dreams. Screw dinner; let's get married. Here's what actually happened: Me: Nick! Can you please pose for a picture with me? Nick Rhodes: Of course I can. Me: This is so exciting. You don't understand. I was going to be the mother of your children. Nick Rhodes: Security! So you see, you can plan and plan for your famous celebrity interaction, but you really never know how it will go. This weekend, I'll be at Rhode Island Comicon, where my teenage crush, C. Thomas "Tommy" Howell will also be. Will I be running off to Hollywood with Ponyboy? Probably not. But a girl can dream, can't she? |
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