haapp..zzz...y Than...zzz...ksgiving.....

Thanksgiving for me means work. Last week I worked on Tuesday from 8:30 am to 11:30 pm. The Friday before last I arrived at work at 4:30 am. I also arrived for work at 4:30 am on Thanksgiving Day. So, everything goes fine for Thanksgiving. At our workplace, the huge event goes well. My job in the community/media relations area goes really well- In fact, the Mary Tyler Moore coat has a brief moment on TV news!

So, Thanksgiving Day I get up at 3:00 am to be to work at 4:30 am. I work until 2:00 pm and take a nap to head over to a friend's house at 4:30 pm. These are lovely, lovely friends. I have sheepishly brought over a store bought pumpkin pie, because I really didn't have time to fix something nice. K, our hostess, a wonderful cook, and all around terrific person has of course laid out the most fabulous homemade Thanksgiving meal with all the trimmings. I feel horribly guilty, because we are the friends bringing clunky store bought foods to mar this perfect spread.

Also, K&J have a group of friends over and I'm sure they must think I'm the friend who is mildly retarded or stoned. I'm so tired I try to keep my eyes open, and I try to keep up with the conversation and laugh at witty remarks. I end up laughing long after it is appropriate because my mind takes so long to process the information. Also, a fair amount of Bush-bashing is going on at this all Democrat Thanksgiving. Normally, I would be the first on this bandwagon, because I too am continually appalled by President Chimpy McIdiot. All I can muster the strength to do is wobbily nod in agreement. If I said something it wouldn't come out smart and well-informed, it would be a Frankensteinian "Ug, aahh, Bush bad....ahhh"

I'm sure I caught a few people staring at me quite perplexed. It might because I had to concentrate so hard to retrieve a few nuts from a bowl. They were all charming people, and I'm sure normally I would get on with them like a house afire, but as we left I'm sure everyone said goodbye to me with a look of pity and concern.

I've slept a lot this weekend. My ability to speak in complete sentences is restored. I'm back to being able to make the cogent and easy argument as to why Bush is so bad for the country. But still, "Ug, aaahh, Bush bad...ahhh" just about says it all.

Bad thoughts

What I find really great about being a mother is getting to experience life and discover things again with your child. My daughter has proven to be a really great person to experience things with...mainly because she's willing to share and she's always got a unique take on things.

Last night, a few great things. First, I ask how school was...usually nothing new to report unless something out of the ordinary happens- like a substitute teacher, a new kid, a spectacular injury, a special assembly or that sort of thing.

So, I ask "How was school today?"

"Fine, but I had some bad thoughts"

Really... now I'm intrigued.

The story started out with BJ. BJ is a boy in Allie's class that she cannot stand. He sits by her. The first week of school he showed her this blister on his hand that he promptly popped with his protractor. Allie was extremely grossed out. Occasionally, Allie will related how loud, inappropriate and obnoxious BJ is in general. Her assessment of BJ: "Even weirder than regular boys"

Also, Allie even though she's only 11 will come out with these very adult phrases for instance: "I have to tell BJ all the time to stay out of my personal space."

Anyway, yesterday Allie and her class were divided into teams for a quiz competition. BJ and Allie were on the same team and BJ shouted out an answer without being called on causing their team to lose the competition.

At this point in the story Allie becomes very animated, and says "That was it! I'm so sick of BJ!! So all the rest of the time I just thought about stabbing BJ with my pencil! Just leaning over and stabbing him!!" She even makes a stabbing motion as she's talking!

Then she says, "That was my bad thought for the day."

Her calm and cheerful countenance is then restored. I know she won't actually stab BJ with a pencil, but clearly she's maxing out on BJ patience. She's out of school for the rest of the week for the holidays, which is good. My husband takes BJ's behavior to mean that he may have a bit of a crush on Allie, which if true, would drive Allie to who knows what other kinds of "bad thoughts."

She also let me in on the storyline of her new creative writing project. The main character is a girl named Sasha Fizzypiper. Sasha doesn't have very many friends and people make fun of her last name. She doesn't get along well with her mother, a former model/actress who is obsessed with a soap opera called "Ordeals on Main Street." Lonely Sasha starts following an old man around, and they become friends and Sasha discovers he is blind. She hasn't decided where the story will go from there. The working title is "Uncovering the blind"

I can't wait to read it.

car pix

Here is a picture of my car damage from my wreck a little over a week ago- Oh, and Mr. Liar McLiarpants, the person responsible for the accident, who said I hit him, thereby making an "investigation" necessary was caught out in his lie when his insurance co. received the pictures of my damage. His story was I was travelling at a high rate of speed and hit him, crunching in the front bumper and grill of his car. Although I'm sure the Kia Spectra is at the leading edge of Korean automotive technology, it cannot yet defy the laws of physics.

20 random things about me...

I was going to make an angry post with some pictures of my smashed car--I was in a car accident last Wednesday, I am fine, and my car is smashed but still drive-able. However, what is just making me livid with rage, is the guy who hit me who was all about accountability and smiles at the site of the accident - is now lying and completely fabricating a story about the accident that is not true. So, now I'm enduring an insurance rig-a-ma-role that is really pissing me off. Fortunately, he is a very poor liar, so unless my vehicle can defy the laws of physics, his scenario just isn't possible.

Look, I wasn't going to write an angry rant, but I did anyway....well, on to more positive things- inspired by Diana, I'm writing 20 random things about me:

1. I hate raisins. They make me dry heave, especially on cinnamon rolls with icing- I cannot bear to look at them. There is a very disgusting story as to why I hate raisins, but I don't want to make anyone reading this horribly ill.

2. I have an amazing memory for artists, songs, and lyrics from the '80s. This is not a skill I cultivated, nor do I want precious brain space used for this knowledge. I can't help it. I just have instant recall for this stuff. I would gladly lose this ability for continual knowledge of where my keys and umbrella are at.

3. I once swam in the Pacific ocean in November at 2:00 am in my underwear. And there are pictures- somewhere- so, a career in elective office is out (although, this is seeming pretty mild in comparison to the contents of many politician's closets)

4. I am very plain- Janey everywoman looking. People always say they have seen me somewhere, think they know me from someplace etc. I'm not tall, not short, not big, not small. Plain brownish-blond hair-- In a word: unremarkable.

5. In addition to my plain Janey-ness, I must be pretty non-threatening. Anytime I go around downtown people ask me for directions, how to operate the parking meters (Portland has new and somewhat baffling meters now) what the MAX schedule is, where Powell's bookstore is, etc.

6. I had natural childbirth when I had my daughter. BIG mistake- nightmare, barbaric. Ladies, don't ever do this- forget what your crunchy granola birth instructor says- get drugs as soon and as much as you can, pronto-tonto.

7. I'm adopted. My parents adopted me at three days old. Truthfully not a big deal to me but continues to be a big deal to others. No, I don't want to find my "REAL" parents. I know my real parents- they raised me, loved me, fed me vegetables, came to my band concerts and junior high basketball games. They always told me they loved me and they still do. It doesn't get anymore "real" than that.

8. I hate fruit canned in syrup, like the raisins it makes me want to hurl. I can only eat fruit fresh.

9. I have a quick temper. Most people who know me probably would describe me as "laid back" which I am, but if something ticks me off- watch out!

10. I spend a lot of time daydreaming and making up stories about people I see on the street or encounter. This provides me with a lot of entertainment.

11. My favorite color is blue. It hasn't changed since I was a little kid. Every car I've owned has been blue.

12. My interest in history started very young. My grandma gave me a juvenile biography of Eleanor Roosevelt when I was 9. I was hooked- still am.

13. I like to sleep with my socks on, and I like to wrap my blanket around me- my husband calls this my "cacoon"

14. Speaking of sleeping, I LOVE to sleep. Especially naps.

15. I am a choco-holic- I have no desire to overcome this addiction.

16. I love the movies at the theater. I don't get out to them as much as I'd like due to money and time.

17. I'm sarcastic. I constantly must tame my sarcasm so that I don't offend or hurt people, because for as much as I am a smart-ass extraordinaire, I'm not mean and I'm completely mortified if I hurt a person's feelings.

18. I still get crushes on movie stars- currently lusting after Viggo Mortenson. Sooo sexy!

19. I'm getting old, but there is still a wide gap between who I am and who I want to be.

20. I'm always on a quest for comfortable bras, shoes, and perfect hair.

In bed with "The King"

Despite the salacious title, this post is about a mundane topic: commercials. Commercials that bother me.

1. Morgan Stanley financial advisors: You may have seen these, they've been going on quite a while. Woman frentically cheers at a kid's soccer game - kid's mom? No! naturally, it's the family's Morgan Stanley advisor, who has nothing better to do with her Saturday than to attend her client's kid's soccer game. Also, a misty-eyed toast at a young woman's wedding- Dad? no, financial advisor. Also, your financial advisor gives a long-winded toast at your 5oth birthday party, which looks to be an intimate dinner.

I know the high level of dedication is supposed to inspire confidence, but this isn't working for me. I don't want financial advice from someone who I will have awkward phone calls with, like, "Gee, you know, this Thanksgiving, we are having close family only." Or I may potentially need to take out a restraining order against.

2. Chaser: The product alone is very disturbing- its a pill to combat a major hangover if you get completely hammered. The current one isn't very interesting, its a hockey game theme. But the previous two were quite disturbing. The first one featured a couple. The husband, visibly hung over sitting at a kitchen table, in bops his wife ready for work. He says, with very thinly veiled hostility "Why are you so cheerful?"- The wife in a snarky tone, "I took Chaser" and proceeds line out the benefits of Chaser in a belittling tone of voice to hostile, hungover hubby. I kind of picture the previous night to be full of angry, drunken recriminations between the two, reminescent of Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton in "Who's afraid of Virginia Woolf"- my husband got the same vibe, and we spent time kind of thinking about the whole sordid backstory of this couple- angry fights, drunken dish-breaking screaming matches and hours of fruitless marriage counseling.

The second Chaser spokesperson was a hangdog, sad looking man in his mid-thirties. He also outlined the benefits of Chaser in a depressed manner. One invisions a sad night of drinking alone, drunk-dialing an ex-girlfriend and driving by her home, and weeping curled up on the bathroom floor. I hope he has gone on to better things- given his lonely life, he may be an ideal fit for a career as a Morgan Stanley financial advisor.

3. Burger King's "The King" series - Perhaps the creepiest commercials of all time. If you don't know "The King"- he is a guy dressed up like a king, except with a very disturbing plastic mask for a face. Currently, The King is playing football in classic football matches. Also the King is creeping around the forest giving sandwiches to lumberjacks. In the even more bizarre previous installments of the King's adventures, a man opens a windowshade to see the King standing motionless on his lawn. Or a man opens his door to find the King there standwich in hand. One of the many freakish aspects of the King is that he is mute. The King never tells these shocked people, "Here, enjoy this great whopper with cheese!"

The all time freakfest of the King commercials thus far, is a guy wakes up in bed and there is the King under the covers righ next to him, silently proffering the shocked man a breakfast sandwich. This means the King snuck into this man's home while he was sleeping and slipped into bed with him, waiting for him to wake up to enjoy a breakfast sandwich. No matter how good the King's intentions are, I think this is illegal.

We have discussed the King here at work and all agree there is something quite sinister about the King. Sandwich or not the consensus among my co-workers and I is to run like hell or call the police if ever confronted by the King and his sandwiches at our door, in a football game, in the forest or heaven forbid in our bed!

Broken Bottom

My daughter confronted me with some startling information this morning. Despite bopping around as she usually does and getting her OJ and muffin for breakfast, she said:

"Mom, my butt is broken"

"Whaaaa?"

"Yesterday, I was playing on the playground and jumped up and fell down on the ground with my leg like this (she twists her leg pretzel like in a demostration) and hit the ground hard. I think my butt is broken. I think we need to go get x-rays."

I'm no doctor, but I felt confident in telling her that an x-ray would not be necessary. She then proceeded to quiz me on my bum-related crashes and if I EVER possibly could understand her pain. The underlying message was clear (being subtle is not her strong suit) I did not know the seriousness of the situation, as I have not had substantial bum trauma.

"Mom, I think we need to go get x-rays"

"Uh, no we don't need to get x-rays. You need to get ready for school."

She missed the bus, so I ended up driving her to school with bed-head and in my pink and grey sheep pajamas.

As she hopped out of the car she said in a very accusatory tone, "Do you feel good about dropping me off at school without getting me x-rays to see if my butt is broken?"

After thinking for half a nano-second, I said, "Yes, yes I do feel very good about dropping you off here at school without determining the nature of your butt injury with unnecessary and expensive x-rays."

Glaring at me and letting out a world-weary huff of exasperation- she grabbed her backpack, viola, and in spite of the crushing pain of her severe booty injury, ran to the school doors and up the steps.