Turkey and Twilight

Whew. The long Thanksgiving weekend is almost a wrap. It was, and it was not, what I'd thought it would be. Dinner at M's was a complete delight. Great company, delicious food, with an Argentinian flair (M's native country).
Even though work consumed the majority of my weekend, there was still time for a couple of fun events. Teenzilla dragged me to see the new Twilight movie. Let me start the review by saying I have had no desire to read the books. The vampires contained within the pages have been completely bastardized, in my opinion. But it gets even worse in the movie. I missed the first one, but based on the second installment, I think I'm pretty much done, thanks anyway.
If you're not familiar with the story line here goes:
There's Bella and Edward. Bella's human, Edward is the vampire who falls for her. He's a vampire who glitters when he's out during the daytime. I have no idea as to why...silly me, I thought vampires were supposed to be tucked snugly away in their coffins during the day. Bella and Edward live in the gloomy Northwest, lots of rain and ominous weather, apparently. Then there's a hot young werewolf who lives on an Native American reservation. He's under some genetic, tribal curse and his fate is that he turns into this oversized, angry wolf when he gets upset...or something along those lines. He also loves Bella (wish I could remember the poor kid's name, but I think my mind went blank when he ripped off  his shirt, gave the over-hormonized teen girls a gander at his six pack abs, and wiped blood from Bella's head after a motorcycle crash) but of course must vie for her attention from the handsome, pasty, brooding Edward.
There's lots and lots of deep and meaningful looks at one another, screaming from bad dreams, semi-passionate hugging and kissing, lame reasons for hot young men to remove their shirts, and enough bad dialogue to make your eardrums want to pack a bag and march out of  your ear canals.
And yet, women eat this crapola up bigtime. I don't get it.
I know some diehard Twilight fan will bust me for leaving out what they perceive is the heart and soul of a beautiful storyline. Sorry, it simply wasn't for me. I like my vampires pure and simple, and really, really bloodthirsty. Give me Bela Lugosi or Vlad the Impaler any day, thank you.
The rest of the weekend, I managed to get in a craft show or two. Caught up on some sleep. And sadly, no leftover turkey sandwiches.
The only bad thing about being the Thanksgiving hostess. There's always next year, I guess.

Just Like the Pilgrims Didn't Do It

Honestly, I had my Thanksgiving day plans set in stone weeks ago. It was going to be at my house, and I was finally going to have the chance to make the meal I wanted to make with recipes carefully picked from my favorite cooking magazines: Bon Appetit, Food and Wine, Cooking Light. The turkey would have been lovingly rubbed with the herbs and oils of my choice, and the sweet potatoes would have been in a casserole, the more butter and brown sugar, the better. For dessert, I would have had something involving pumpkin, but not pie.I hate pumpkin pie, and like I said, it would have been my Thanksgiving dinner.

The gameplan always looks good on paper, doesn't it?
As it now turns out, I have to work on Thanksgiving and most of the weekend that follows. My brother and his family normally make the ten hour drive to see us, but this year they have a new puppy and it's too young to leave behind or take along for the ride. Which is just as well since I really won't have much time to spend with them.
So this Thanksgiving, we'll be at M's house, my dear friend who I had originally invited to my home so she could have enjoyed a relaxing day.
"Don't worry, we'll keep it small and low-key," she reassured me, after I'd apologized several times for the agenda change. "When you're done with work, head on over."
As I've stated before, it always appears under control on paper.
The festivities now include eighteen people, two turkeys, and not enough dishes, chairs, or flatware. M tells me it will all be taken care of by the time the guests arrive tomorrow afternoon.
"What can I bring?" I asked. "Please let me do the sides or a dessert."  I felt terrible.  I'd completely shirked my hostess responsibilities and heaved the entire load on M.
"Bring wine," she said. "Lots of wine."
I called my favorite little wine shop earlier today. They're filling my order as I write this, loading up two dozen bottles of the perfect blends to accompany a Thanksgiving feast.
Maybe I can save those cooking magazines for Christmas...

I Just Want Me!

I had to chuckle over my brother's latest Facebook status update. He's been keeping everyone up to date on the new baby, his youngest daughter. The original youngest daughter has now been granted that dubious position in the sibling world, the middle-child. At the age of four, she's already proving to be perfect for the role.
My brother's comment went something like this: "My 'Little Miss Sunshine" just announced she doesn't want a baby sister or an older brother, I just want me!"
It's going to be an interesting few months, he predicts.
Just for the record, he was the youngest of the three children in our family, and as the oldest child, his big sister, I can attest that he covered just about every stereotype associated with the youngest child. Spoiled, indulged, lazy. But maybe I'm remembering all that through the jaded eye of the oldest sibling, the one typically saddled with the most responsibility. Or maybe I'm bitter because I was the one who had to wipe his butt while he was toilet-training (if that doesn't scar an adolescent girl, I don't know what will).
But back to my poor little niece, knocked off the Princess pedestal even before starting kindergarten.
It's all about the drop in  attention she already understands is coming her way.
My daughter and I will be visiting them for several days over the Christmas holidays. We can't wait to get our hands on her. Oh don't get me wrong, we can't wait to cuddle with the new baby, or roughhouse a bit with my seven year old nephew. I love them all equally. But it's the middle one who is going to prove to be the most entertaining. Or as my brother refers to her, The Evil One.
"You're going to give her a complex," I told him over the phone the other night. "That whole evil thing can really leave it's mark on a kid."
"Are you kidding me," he said. "She's proud of it!"

I have a feeling she's going to be my favorite...but don't tell anyone.

Children: The New and the Old(er).

Congrats and much love to my brother and sister-in-law on the newest addition to our family. A new niece has been added to the fold, and like all newborns she is absolutely precious. I love babies because, to me, their needs are so simple; feed me, change me, hold me. Life at it's easiest and most basic, as far as I'm concerned.
And then, they start growing and eventually learn to talk and think.
At some point, if we parents are lucky, they will learn some common sense and understand there are so many ways to make their lives easier, not more difficult. Sadly, for some children, this takes years, and years, and years to comprehend.
Let's take my little darling, for example. I love the girl, and lately I've been trying like heck to figure out her mindset, aside from the fact that she's in the throes of the teenage years.
Last night, she handed me some paperwork from her Geometry teacher that needed my signature. Two dismal quiz grades. Not the end of the world, but her teacher noted that my darling daughter had not been coming in for any extra help in order to improve her grade.

"Do you know when Ms. N is available to help you?" I asked.
"Yes, she has free time after school," said daughter.
"Why aren't you getting help?"
"I was going to go this afternoon," she said, "but I have detention."

HUH???
"Why...?" I could feel a cluster headache simmering in the back of my brain.
"I wasn't wearing my nametag. It's broken."
"Well for the love of God, go buy a new tag." If I'm lucky, I thought, maybe this headache will segue into an aneurysm and kill me before she graduates.
"You know, I thought about doing that but I didn't feel like climbing all those stairs to the third floor office."
GAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!

Give me a drooling baby with a stinky diaper any day. Much easier.

Merry $*&#%@* Christmas

This could really be the Christmas season where I decide to bag it and drop out of the entire festive scene. Thanksgiving is less than two weeks away and I can't work up even an ounce of enthusiasm for what's coming.
Teenzilla and I have already received an invitation to a Mother/Daughter Christmas cookie exchange. I don't want to go...there, I admitted it. Christmas cookie swaps are a pain in the butt. I don't need the added aggravation of having to make eight dozen cookies that I will swap with an undetermined amount of other people who I probably don't even know. The outcome will be more than enough mediocre cookies to last until the Easter season.
Wow. I really am bitter. I've even managed to outbitter my usual quasi-grouchy, sarcastic personality.
Right now, and I know there are still several weeks to deal with this, but the thought of dragging out the Christmas decorations, buying presents (although that's pretty much limited to the children in my life), buying a tree, and going to parties is something I could easily do without this year.
The worst part of decorating, for me, is putting those freaking lights on the tree. In our house, we have very high ceilings and could go as high as ten to fifteen feet for a tree. But guess who usually gets stuck stringing the lights? Yep, that would be me, so I prefer nothing higher than seven or eight feet.
And one year, should my mood about these things improve, I would love to have a Martha Stewart-esque, themed tree. A tree that screams, 'look, I have a matching color scheme, I have some rhyme, some reason.' Instead, the typical Christmas tree in our house usually looks like a mad dash to see how many ornaments can be crammed onto the branches. Sometimes most of the lights actually work. The angel on top is always leaning at a 45 degree angle. I'm waiting for the year it finally decides to end it's agony and take a freefall to the hardwood floor.
But I seem to be getting off topic here...I really just wanted to bitch about the cookie exchange. Look, here's the thing, I guess making eight dozen cookies isn't the major complaint...I don't want to bring home the dozens of other cookies provided by the other guests. There is no need for all of those empty calories. If I'm going to be bad, let me be bad with a nice, buttery Chardonnay, thank you!
Maybe this will be the year I kick off the Christmas Booze Exchange. Just a thought.

Is It strange That I Like Jury Duty?

I served jury duty the past couple of days. Despite how some people feel, I actually don't mind going in when they summons me every couple of years. It's the perfect spot to people watch and, I'll be honest, to  be a catty, evil person...only in my mind, of course.
For starters, I always wonder if some of my fellow citizens save their absolutely worst outfits for jury duty. There was one woman this morning who honestly looked like she was ready to go scrub floors. C'mon, we all know you don't want to be there, lady, but how about a clean pair of jeans and tee shirt minus the logo?
A kindly, older gentlemen was in the chair to my left (he was a Vietnam vet, his baseball cap told me so) and while he was dressed plainly but neatly, a shower or some deodorant wouldn't have killed him. He exuded an interesting aromatic mix of dust and rancid cologne. Fortunately, he met another juror, also a military vet (yes, I eavesdrop on other people's conversations, so sue me) and they went to another corner of the room for a quiet chat.
And of course, there is always that one pissed off human being who can't believe that yet again, they've been called in to possibly serve on a jury, and they are apparently the only one in the room who has better things they could be doing, and for the love of God, do they really have to fill out one more piece of paperwork? Yes, yes you do, lady. Just shut up, fill out the form, and deal with it!

As it turned out, after two days of sitting alone from the rest of the world, we were politely dismissed, obviously the overflow gang on standby in case the other jurors didn't pan out for the defense and prosecution. We were told to not discuss any of the proceedings with anyone after we left. This will not be a problem, I think. I can't vouch for the rest of my contingency, but during the two days, no one in any official capacity shared anything with me that anyone on the outside world would care to hear. Basically, I sat on by butt and enjoyed a good book. The jury commission even gave me fifteen dollars a day. Best of all, jury duty allowed me to sleep in two extra hours in the morning. All in all, not a bad deal.
They can summon me anytime they want.

It Was Nothing Special, Apparenlty

Dear_______,

I will leave this as cryptic as possible because you've made it more than clear that you would prefer to not be associated with my online ramblings, be it blogs or Facebook, or whatever. Okay, that's fine...I understand.
However, I think you know that yesterday could have been a happy day, a day of celebration. Instead, it was day of nothing. No sadness, no hate, no love, no joy. Nothing.
And that's the most pathetic thing of all.

Firsts and Seconds

It's real gift to have the opportunity to watch young people grow into responsible adults. My daughter is still navigating her way through the teenage years, and yes, it's not been easy for either of us. Sometimes she's to blame for the issues that come between us. Too many times, I'm ashamed to say, I'm the one at fault. But we'll make it through, I'm sure of that.
But before she was born, I had two other young women that came into my life, courtesy of my husband. They're my step-daughters, if we have to put a label on it, but really, they're my friends. They have a mother, a truly wonderful woman, who I consider a friend.
My oldest step-daughter, "J" is now older than I was when I met her father. She's happily married with a young son of her own, and she lets me know that I'm his grandma, too.
Today is my youngest step-daughter's birthday. "K" is now thirty-one years old. She was fifteen when I first met her. When her dad and I married, with a baby soon to be on the way, K took it in good stride. But she let her feelings be known on her vanishing status as the baby of the family.
"I'd like to be known as youngest child, first marriage," she said.
I don't know if she even remembers saying that, but I still remember, and it makes me chuckle every time I think about it.
Happy birthday, K. May you have many more.

Ho Ho Ho...Not!

It's the second day of November and I'm seriously not ready to start thinking about the upcoming holiday festivities. I've learned to accept the melding of the Thanksgiving/Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanza holiday season, but as I sit here eating leftover Halloween candy (not one kid stopped by the house the other night), I have to get myself into a festive frame of mind for some related items I need to finish for work. If the people I'll be pitching this to are anything like me, they don't want to hear about getting ready for the holidays either.
While running errands this afternoon, I had to drive through our city's downtown harbor area and what appeared before my wondering eyes...Santa's house! The tradition in our town is a big Thanksgiving parade the weekend before Thanksgiving. It's a pretty big deal and brings in hundreds of people who line the main parade route. The big finish, bringing up the rear, is a firetruck with Santa and Mrs. Santa sitting up top. It's usually the same couple every year, although one year, the Mrs. was absent, not really sure why. Was she sick or mad at Santa?
Anyway, after the parade ends and the throng of attendees thinks it's time to wrap it up and head back to the suburbs, heading back up the one way street is a police escort taking Santa and the firetruck to his house so he can start setting the kiddies on his lap and listen to their Christmas wishes. I may be wrong, but it seems the past couple of years, that house of his has been erected earlier and earlier. It spends most of November empty so I can't understand what the rush is all about. It's not a terribly convoluted structure so I'm not sure why city officials feel the need to assemble at the start of November.
My bowl of Halloween candy is almost empty. I'm betting the CVS down the street has a whole rack of sale candy available...right next to the chocolate snowmen and Santa's decked in their red and green tin foil.
A little empty calorie therapy is just the ticket to get me through the next two months.

Falling Back

Set the clock back before I went to sleep last night, just like I was supposed to do. Managed to get in a full eight hours of sleep, so why do I feel like someone poured cement in my head overnight?

Not one kid showed up at my door for Halloween. This morning, my co-workers are enjoying the two bags of leftover treats...I'm down sixteen pounds, so there was no way they were staying in my house!

We used to have children show up on our street for Halloween's past. The four youngsters who live on our block, my daughter included, are now teenagers and doing their own thing for Halloween festivities. We have several new, young couples who have moved in the past few years, and I suppose it would be rude of me to suggest to them to start procreating so I can enjoy handing out candy again!

Halloween night, in my neighborhood is mainly geared to adults, anyway. It's an old historic part of town, too many bars shoved into a matter of a few blocks. Last night, some friends asked me to join them on the parade of the drunken idiots. Thanks, but no thanks. I am so done with that. No interest in dressing up anymore. Just give me some cute little ones in costume.
I spent the evening trying to drown out the hooting and hollering on the streets below my house, and settled back with a great book about a vampire hunt; The Historian.
All in all, not a bad way to spend a wet, gloomy evening.