Tomorrow is Thanksgiving which means that many of us are going to give thanks for our blessings by yanking on stretchy pants, shoving stale bread cubes up a dead turkey’s ass and roasting the entire corpse so that we can ultimately hack off its wings and legs and gorge on its flesh while pouring all the bodily fluids that seeped from its orifices all over mashed potatoes and stuffing and, if no one catches us, pie. Then we’ll rip one of its bones out of its carcass and tear it in two while making a wish, after which we will ask what the half-time score is, burp loud enough to wake the dead and immediately pass out in a drunken tryptophan stupor.
It’s so barbaric and neanderthal-ish. I can’t wait!
Some of us will even eat vegetables, including something called a green bean casserole which grosses me out to no end and makes me think of hot, steaming vomit in a dish. Is a green bean still considered a vegetable if it’s been molested by cream of mushroom soup, soy sauce and milk? Just mentioning those ingredients together makes me throw up in my mouth a little. Even though it’s covered with french fried onions, I still can’t get myself to consume this stuff. Are you aware of how much I love french fried onions? I’ve left instructions in my will that I am to be smothered under them in my casket. That’s how much I love them. That’s how much I hate green bean casserole.
Tomorrow, and every day if I can just get over myself already and remember that growing older sucks at times but it’s always preferable to the alternative, I will give thanks for the following:
- My husband, who is gainfully employed and whom I love, despite his whoring it up with his crackberry and the 47 inches of high definition ensconced in our living room.
- My husband’s incredibly dexterous thumbs, which are the best set of opposable digits ever, according to my aching feet.
- My daughters, who are healthy, smart, beautiful, funny and best of all, not yet dating.
- Knowing that I can list my husband’s thumbs before my children and they’ll understand, that’s how good his thumbs are.
- My not-yet completed refinished stairs which look like horrendous mistakes right now but, while in transition, are giving my quadriceps and hamstrings a wicked workout 357 times a day (photos coming soon to a monitor near you – of the stairs, not my legs. No need for eye bleach. You’re welcome.)
- My extended family, without whom I’d have no one to complain to, let alone complain about.
- My health, or to put it more specifically, the fact that I haven’t yet dropped dead for a myriad of reasons, not the least of which being that I have gone three months without a donut. Go me!
- Anderson Cooper, despite his fondness for restraining orders.
- My blog readers because without you guys, all this would be for naught and I’d simply be talking to myself and quite frankly, no one wants to talk to someone who doesn’t listen and couldn’t care less.
.Oh! I almost forgot!
11. A certain former disco dance instructor/hippy/slalom-skateboarder-turned-jewelry-designer hailing from San Francisco who intends to giveaway something on my blog this weekend which will make some lucky winner’s ears literally giddy with excitement.
So make sure you assign someone trustworthy to revive you from your tryptophan coma and then meet me back here tomorrow night.
Until then, Happy Gobble Gobble!