The Seventy-Two Hours of Thanksgiving

At Seventy-Two Hours 'til Thanksgiving
my True Love said to me,

Don't worry, we've got lots of time.

At Forty-Eight Hours 'til Thanksgiving
my True Love said to me,

We'll just stay up all night, but
Don't worry, we've got lots of time.

At Thirty-Six Hours 'til Thanksgiving
my True Love said to me,

We don't have a turkey,
We'll just stay up all night, but
Don't worry, we've got lots of time.

At Twenty-Four Hours 'til Thanksgiving
my True Love said to me,

We should have hired a cleaner.
We don't have a turkey.
We'll just stay up all night, but
Don't worry, we've got lots of time.

At Twenty Hours 'til Thanksgiving
my True Love said to me,

NOBODY PANIC!
We should have hired a cleaner.
At least we have a turkey.
We'll just stay up all night, but
Don't worry, we've got lots of time.

At Twelve Hours 'til Thanksgiving
my True Love said to me,

Is anything still open?
NOBODY PANIC!
We should have hired a cleaner.
At least we have a turkey.
We'll just stay up all night, but
Don't worry, we've got lots of time.

At Ten Hours 'til Thanksgiving
my True Love said to me,

Cat puke doesn't stain, right?
Is anything still open?
NOBODY PANIC!
We should have hired a cleaner.
At least we have a turkey.
We just stayed up all night, but
Don't worry, we've got lots of time.

At Four Hours 'til Thanksgiving
my True Love said to me,

Just stuff the rest in bags now.
Cat puke stains like Satan.
Nothing is still open.
NOBODY PANIC!
We should have hired a cleaner.
At least we have a turkey.
We just stayed up all night, but
Don't worry, we've got lots of time.

At One Hour 'til Thanksgiving
my True Love said to me,

Oh, who needs potatoes.
Shove those bags in closets.
Cover up that puke stain.
Nothing is still open.
NOBODY PANIC!
We should have hired a cleaner.
At least we have a turkey.
We just stayed up all night, but
The doorbell's ringing - we are out of time.

At Ten Minutes 'til Thanksgiving
my True Love said to me,

Who are all these people?
Oh, who needs potatoes.
The salt is somehow missing.
Your mom just found the puke stain.
I wish the bar was open.
I'M TOO DAMN TIRED TO PANIC.
Next year, hire a cleaner.
At least we have a turkey.
We just sat down to dinner, and
The dog just laid a huge turd in the hall.

****

So if next year your True Love uses any of these words,
Book yourself a spa trip. Tell him,

Babe, I promise, you've got lots of time.

:: happy hour begins at 9:09 PM [+] ::

...

Disturbing

Part of being an Atkins convert is swearing off sugar for the rest of our lives. In theory, this undertaking marks the end of civilization as we know it.

What IS life, if not a giant chocolate orgy with 7-Eleven-related intermissions?

But in practice, there are Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, York Peppermint Patties, Hershey bars, vanilla caramels... These manufacturers sure know where the money is.

And the money is in "sugar alcohols", which are LIKE sugar, but AREN'T sugar. In what way I'm not sure, but I don't care.

Because oh, my God, they work.

They also inflict gastric distress on certain members of the sugar-busting population, but not us. Oh, no.

So last week, when we embarked on a 12-hour car trip, we included some sugar-free chocolates for snacks.

And since we rarely eat them, this was quite the treat.

We indulged.

To our great consternation, within 20 minutes of consuming these Satanic bits of yummyness we were forced to roll down the windows, but it was cold and rainy, so that wasn't practical.

Pretty soon we were just rolling down the window on the offender's side for the few moments before, during and immediately following the disturbance. But that made us laugh and the disturbances were scared back in, only to cause greater disturbances later on.

Eventually we settled on disturbing first, THEN opening the window, and this system got us through Ohio.

All of this would have been great, except when we made a pit stop it became clear that all that window-rolling-down didn't really do much good and the whole car smelled like disturbance.

Which still would have been fine, except I had an armful of coffee on re-entry and a very nice stranger opened the car door for me.

His face looked like that scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark.

I don't think there's a hijacking mass-murderer anywhere in the world who would have gotten into that car with us.

Everybody has their level.

In the end, I had to Febreeze my coat when we got to our destination, just to be sure nothing disturbing would whoosh out of the poly-filled arms at an inopportune moment. Like anytime at a hospital.

But God, that chocolate was good.

Juliet

:: happy hour begins at 7:55 PM [+] ::

...

Tempting the Wrath of the Whatever from High Atop the Thing*

Stunning how well the first half of this year went, as opposed to the pestilence 'n famine 'n plague 'n stuff that has befallen my house in the second.

We bought a home and it wasn't haunted, though it might be now that' I've said that. And I finally started to get in shape.

Then, July.

And heartache followed heartache.

Just this past month I made a second trip to Las Vegas, marked by the passing of my dear grandfather on the front end, and the sudden illness of my father-in-law at the back. I spent many days crying and shuffling in circles, muttering about the fucked-up-edness of specific incidents and my life in general. (There was also a spectacular tantrum that resulted in mayonnaise being smeared on the inside of the windshield of Speaksy's Expedition and a part of said truck being left at a Speedway station in Xenia, Ohio, but we won't talk about that.)

But then, on Sunday, my friends R and L welcomed their son Ty into the world.

And yesterday an occupational therapist kicked my father-in-law's ass. ("What's wrong with your finger? Nothing? Then you can just turn the damned TV off yourself.")

And things seem to be looking up a little.

Now that I've said that I have to run outside, turn around three times and curse and/or spit*, so I'm going to do that now. But here's hoping I can return to some sort of regular posting schedule.

Also that I can finally stay home long enough to avoid pooping at Bally's or a Hampton Inn.

Much love to you all,
Juliet


*Long live Aaron Sorkin.


:: happy hour begins at 8:25 PM [+] ::

...