2 more days

In addition to things I'm truly thankful for, having my house spared from the San Diego fire storm, my wonderful boyfriend, my kitty, money in the bank, the fact that I'm not 6 feet under, yada yada I'm going nuts. Starting with the food.

We might have gotten a little overzealous with the size of turkey we thought we'd need. It really didn't look that big all wrapped up in its shiny white straight jacket. But after being tenderly caressed with herbs and spices, roasted in the oven for 5 hours and lovingly placed on a pretty platter, that thing was FUCKING HUGE.

19 pounds. Who thought we needed a 19 pound bird for 5 people? What boob brain decided having a dead hunk of poultry bigger than 4 chihuahuas put together was necessary?

Um...

That would be me.

Did I think we'd all chow down like the Donner party after they'd run out of tasty man thighs to gnaw on? Was I anticipating turkey sandwiches, for what, the next 6 months? Or maybe I'm really smart and knew in order to consume that much left-over turkey we'd need at least a ratio of 2 to 1 for gravy with means there'd have to be at least a gallon of that to go with the meat.

Man, I'm smart.

And if you're wondering, yes, I'm surviving, but barely. My brother the wunderkin can do no wrong showed up this morning and it was just SO AWESOME to watch my mothers entire demeanor change as he lumbered through my door. She was all full of "reallys" and "you don't say, you had to drive in traffic, you poor boy" and "I've heard that too, breathing is necessary" when I get "you suck" and "you don't know what you're talking about" and "I hate you."

OK, maybe she's not that severe with me but she sure is encouraging to someone who hasn't held a steady job for more than 9 months IN THE LAST 10 YEARS when he comes up with yet another hair-brained idea to make money like oh, become the next Marlboro man just because he's tall and smokes a pack and a half a day. Jesus on a day glow cross. If I even suggest that the pie crust isn't thawed all the way I get the mouth noise of disdain and a grimace followed by a snotty, "it'll be FINE and a WHATEVER." Whatever? My mother whatever'd me!

My mom doesn't just have her picture in the dictionary next to passive-aggressive, she's has a lifetime membership to Anal-Retentive Quarterly and is in the PA hall of fame with a giant mural painted in her honor on a wall of the Sigmund Freud Institute for Backhanded Comments and Maternal Manipulation.

It never, ever goes the way I hope it to, these family visits. In fact, I stopped hoping and started gearing up for what I was going to endure, which I'm still not used to. It still upsets me and I found myself in tears once today already. I have to get to that place where it doesn't bother me at all, I ignore every single comment, even the ones where she purposefully screws up what I just told her 10 seconds ago ("Oh, I thought you told me to throw the brand new can of whipped cream away when in actuality you asked me to pass it to you") and not reply back. Better yet, I don't want to feel anything but calm coursing through my veins.

Either that or Vodka laced with Ativan. And don't think I didn't do that today already.

Gah.