Happy Not-So-New Year

Have you noticed winter kicks my ass much? As soon as the temperature drops, my brain seems to freeze along with the pipes, and it becomes a struggle just to roll my unmotivated and generally winter-blah’d self off the futon first thing in the morning. It’s dark when I get up, it’s dark when I get off work; it’s cold, slushy, and all around miserable. Fuck winter, man. Fuck it.

The only good thing about winter so far was that I flew south to spend Christmas with Josh. Unfortunately, that merriment ended as soon as my return flight touched down in Buffalo – in the middle of a blizzard. But wait, it gets better.

One delayed hour on the frozen tarmac later, I shoved my way past throngs of snowbirding elderly (who should NOT be allowed to travel with ‘carry-ons’ they can’t lift out of the overhead compartments without assistance), ELEVEN people blocking the aisles waiting for wheelchairs, three screaming toddlers and a fat guy with a cat. My luggage took even longer. I was also starving, having only brought ten dollars for travel-food without realizing that a 9am airport breakfast of yogurt and O.J. would cost eight bucks (you’d think I’d have this figured out by now, it being my third trip), or that all the delays would bring me well past 4pm before I could get to a bank machine. Said bank machine promptly rejected my card. Turns out the last machine I had used before my vacation was of the sketchy variety, and my card had been frozen as protection against card copying fraud. In retrospect, I’m quite grateful – but try telling that to me when I’m starving, tired, and pissed.

Good thing my mom was there to pick me up, or I might have kicked something and broken toes again. She had agreed to drive me to/from Buffalo since it’s loads cheaper to fly within the U.S. than across the Can-Am border. It’s also not that long of a drive, and we’ve got fun family along the way, so she was happy to oblige. She’s also got better luck with technology – her bank card worked just fine, so off we left with a few extra bucks and the intent of stopping for a quick bite to eat before hitting the border.

And then we got outside. Ohhhh, the outside.

I’m not going to describe the outside. But it looked something like this:

static snowstorm

got snow?

And sounded something like this:

What exit do we take? Nine, nine, the map says nine. Yeah, but where is nine? I don’t know, I can hardly see anything! Oh my god, it’s getting worse! This isn’t safe, we need to pull over! I can’t see the road! There is no over to pull to! Just watch the signs, can you see them!? I’ll lean my head out the window – ack, blargh, spit, cough! – I think that’s exit…three! Exit three! So we still have…crap, a long ass way to go. Shit, this is a total white out, I can’t even see the car in front of me! From now on trips to Buffalo are only for good weather! This is so not safe, this is SO! NOT! SAFE! I think that’s a truck up there, careful. Is that a truck? I think that’s a truck. Oh fuck, that’s a truck! It’s on it’s side, it’s flipped! Swerve, swerve!!!! AHHHHHH!!!!

Soooo, yeah. That sucked. By the time I got home and into bed I was already counting down until my next vacation.

On the plus side, Southwest Airlines gave me a spiffy credit for the whole ordeal, enough to cover a flight! Totally worth the hassle, I’d say, especially since within-US flights not around Christmas are pretty reasonably priced, so as soon as I’ve got time saved up at work again I’m getting my ass back on a plane.

In the meantime, here’s some highlights from the holidays:

kiss love woot!

Lovin' up on my man.

manly construction

Josh being manly with his tools. Haha. Tools.

dogs rage against the removal of the carpet

The dogs were less than thrilled with the decision to reno out the carpeting.

dog wood flooring

New wood floors are confusing!

rad kitchen friends

Visiting rad friends in their rad kitchen

the puppy and the boyfriend

Not our puppy ūüė¶

hockey night in...NC

My dad sent a Leafs jersey down as a Christmas gift - woot!

Scrapbook

Josh took me out to choose a scrapbook for our photos...

scrapbook

...and even helped me put it together!

cute shirts much?

I got us matching paw-holding otter shirts! (Which other than this one photo op, will not be worn simultaneously - because there's cute and then there's revolting.)

What’s the deal with the otter shirts? I saw them on icanhascheezburger as a shirt-of-the-day just before I left Toronto and HAD to have them. So I bought them on the spot and had them shipped down to us to arrive just before Christmas as a surprise! Why otters? Because Josh had sent me this video a while earlier to make me smile:

Rocky Horror at the Body Shop

I do refer to ‘The Holidays’ instead of Christmas sometimes. It’s somewhat PC, since my environment surrounds me with many different strokes of folks and when the season is upon us I like to hope everyone enjoys whatever the hell they’re doing. But this is only half the motivation. Since my birthday is slightly before Christmas, a month prior to be precise, and since ‘Christmas’ starts earlier and earlier every year, I have come to refer to my own¬†fete¬†as part of ‘the holidays’. Yes, I am fantastic enough to look at all the glittery lights and snowflakes and assume that they are there in celebration of me. I think someone, somewhere once (probably in University) got offended by that, but where I come from Christmas is nothing more than a reminder to spend money. So fuck it, it’s my damn birthday.

Anyways, I tend to get much in the way of gift cards and the like throughout the holidays. I’m not the kind of person to be offended by the “it’s so impersonal” approach. I do¬†enjoy a random¬†thoughtful gift, something small and inexpensive that demonstrates a close knowledge of my life and loves, a reminder that I’m liked. A surprise Starbucks on a bad day, a nice pen or other desktop knick-knack.¬†But for the mandatory gift-giving seasons, where I feel we do no more than exchange money instead of time, hit me up with gift cards. I’m all over that. I’m sure you’ve got enough people in your own life that are difficult enough to buy for and I’m not going to be one of them. I don’t need stuff.

This year the cards were Winners, Lululemon, and the Body Shop. They procured, respectively,¬†the Mom Purse (seriously, when the fuck did I start carrying around a big-ass, doubles-as-a-laptop-case, knocks over old people behemoth of a purse?), a yoga dvd (as yet unopened…) and some Mandarin Orange Orchid perfume.

Let me tell you about the perfume. It’s not much, simple and fun. I don’t love it, I don’t hate it. I do wish I had been able to actually shop around and purchase something I really wanted, but I unfortunately got sucked into the consumerism mind trick that says “YOU HAVE ENTERED A STORE. YOU MAY NOT LEAVE UNLESS YOU PURCHASE SOMETHING. YOU HAVE A GIFT CARD, WHY CAN’T YOU JUST MAKE UP YOUR STUPID MIND???”

I really wish I had just turned on my heels and left the store. My poor dad who was with me just shook his head and stayed out by the fountain¬†– no way in hell kiddo, you’re on your own in there.

Tell me, what comes to mind when you think of ‘The Body Shop,’ hmm?

It Used To Be For Hippies

Do you, much like myself, still think of ‘non-animal testing’ and ‘natural’ and ‘fresh’ and other familiar, somewhat hippie terms? Oatmeal scrubs and raspberry soaps? Body butters, surely!

Natural Looking Faces - A Good Thing!

Well. I’m sorry if I haven’t made a trek into one of these little hovels of hippiedom anytime recently. I now live in an area of the city in which it is far easier to go to the indie natural store up the street whenever I have the urge to buy something environmentally friendly. So yes, it has been a while since my presence has graced this formerly fresh-faced facility, I will admit. However, given that the last time I checked they’re still all yay-environment, I was a little surprised to be not just greeted, but accosted, by this face:

What. The. Ass.

 

When did The Body Shop start competing with MAC and failing terribly? Have you never heard of image branding? What the hell? If I wanted to be blind sided by glaring liner and oonksha-oonksha-oonksha-wikki-wikki-whiirrr music I would have gone into Stitches or wherever the hell young skinny people shop for saran-wrap pants these days. I want earthy! I want clear skin and cotton shirts! I sure as hell don’t want some Kelly Osbourne sans-rehab done up a la Rocky Horror getting between me and the shelving within thirty seconds of my crossing the threshold!

After telling Body Shop Barrista #1 that I’m more than capable of browsing without having my upper lip waxed, I did a quick circle of the premises to investigate the sale items, the new items, the smelliest items. It seems we’ve lost the way of the granola, but at least the place still smells fantastic – perhaps all is not lost. This may be why I ended up at the perfume section in the first place, it’s not like I’m an otherwise frequent user.

This is where Barrista #2 showed up.

YOU MUST BUY THE GIFT SET!!!

My hand had not yet touched a sample bottle or even reached for the little paper tabs intended for test sprays when a glaring flowery head accessory came dashing towards me, all in a flurry about gift sets. Don’t buy the single bottle! My name is Anna and we’ve got gift sets! Yes, oh yes, you can get not just a bottle of the scent you need to live, but powders and creams and matching little boxes that will go gloriously moldy in that unvented bathroom of yours! Oh, but not in that scent. Or that scent. How about the lavender? I know you seem to be interested in Mandarin Orange Orchid, but if you simply decide to like what I like, you can get more of what I like!

Hey Anna? Fuck off.

So this is probably why I grabbed the Mandarin Orange Orchid, to show Anna that I was so intent on my desired purchase that I would forgo all offers of extras in order to claim my prize. I covet this little bottle, and not you or Dr. Frankenberry Lipliner who got me at the door will stop me! Get out of my way, I’m headed for the cash!

I got my perfume. I went back into the mall, shaking the music and lights and anger from my head. My dad greeted me at the Starbucks, marvelled over the noise I¬†had just faced (remember, a year ago I¬†probably would have cried)¬†and waited patiently while I poured enough honey into my rooibos tea to sugar-shock myself into a nice daze for the ride home. It took me a week to bust out with the first spray, and if it hadn’t been at least remotely pleasant I probably would have just bombed someone with it out my back window instead of making the return trek to have it exchanged.

The perfume was about $20. The gift card was $25. I won’t be spending the remainder any time soon, so uh…yeah. Let me know if you want $5 in Body Shop Bucks.

 Stupid Body Shop.

Winter Wonderland

Okay, it’s not *quite* Wonderland out there, especially because to us Southern Ontarians, Wonderland is a place with a lot of fun rides and over priced chili fries.

This would suck covered in ice

This would suck covered in ice

But somehow, I’m not super pissed about the snow this year. I’m actually sort of….well I’m afraid that if I say I’m enjoying it I’ll get skewered by a foot long icicle – ’tis the way of the winter justice. I am surprised, however, by how minimally pissed I am at this most recent dumping of chilly, frozen flaked water all over my city.

It could be for a number of reasons:

– I have purchased, for the first time in many years, a ‘sensible’ pair of boots. Wedge heel. Fuzzy. Muklukish without being ugly. On sale. None of this ‘winter heel’ business for me anymore.

Fashionable, yet not retarded

– I have a nice coat. Not just a warm coat, but a nice, long, extremely¬†pretty and in-style¬†coat that makes me feel like I’m in Casablanca. Except, you know, with ice.

coat

Not this nice, but pretty close

РUp until this morning when I had to take a $5 taxi ride two blocks to the subway station, I had the transit schedule all figured out. This one might take some readjusting, but generally speaking I am able to leave my apartment right before the bus pulls up to the stop just across the street. Less than five minutes outside in the mornings? I can dig it.

Boourns!

– Indoor shopping. Toronto is used to the cold, and so there are a myriad of ways to get your shopping done, even grocery shopping, without ever having to step foot outside. Malls connect to the subway system, and once you get right into the core of the city, the PATH winds through most of the major buildings and transit, all without even looking towards the doors outside. Now if I can just find an indoor laundromat…

This is indoors, suckers! Mahahaha!

Toronto's PATH system: because the outdoors is for losers

– In the event that I do not find an indoor laundromat, I have discovered one that is even closer to my apartment than the one I’ve been using hitherto. I don’t even have to cross any intersections, which can be kind of dicey on my street. It’s a little more expensive and frankly not as nice, but it’s smaller, not as busy, plays classical music, and has no attendant. You’d think that would be a downside, but I prefer to not have people around when I’m out running errands or washing my undergarments.

– Toronto does have some rad winter stuff going on. And by the time I’m back here I’ll have someone who’ll actually be excited to attend such events even though we do, as Josh puts it, “turn everything into some weird abstract art thing.”

Cavalcade of Lights

Weird abstract art - still pretty!

¬†– I have a new weapon against the frozen, treacherous tundra that will be my sidewalks within a few weeks. It’s a phone number. You call it and tattle on all the lazy fucktards that didn’t shovel their snow, letting it instead be compounded into frozen footprints that are out to break my ankles every year. Seriously, I have developed this ridiculous fear of breaking my ankles. I will call that number fifteen times a day if I have to. I’ll call it on my own damn landlords. My ankles are grateful for my city’s well-spent tax dollars.

OW MY ANKLES!!! AND POSSIBLY KNEES!!!

– It’s a white Christmas! Surprisingly enough, we almost never get snow in time for Christmas. It shows up right at the beginning of January and clobbers our asses until Easter. And given that with a little luck this should be my last Canadian Christmas for a couple of years, I’m very pleased that the weather is going all storybook for me this time around.

My place does not look like this...but up the street it does!

– Money has been okay this year. I didn’t have to carefully plan each and every¬†gift according to how many groceries I’d have to knock off the list. I was able to go out and buy exactly what I wanted without a second thought. Which does wonders for those last minute items, especially when Christmas is distressingly close to the rent cheque.

Damn expensive holiday!

And now the big reason:

– I told the Family to fuck off this year. Well not really, but I’ve never enjoyed the whole family holiday thing. And this year I said so.

Last year was a big deal. It was the last year my grandparents would be around before moving to Quebec, and my long lost cousin flew in with his fiancee from Vancouver. So for the first time in….possibly ever, that entire side of the family was together for Christmas. I went, even though I was ridiculously medicated and probably an embarassment. It was a big deal to me, and I went out of my way to get a little something for everybody, even the fiancee I’d never met. This year, I’m doing my own thing.

This year, I am going to a friends house for a Christmas Eve visit with her and the wee ones. I’ll wake up by myself – seriously, how is this some kind of tragedy? I don’t get it. I’m going to make sure I have a super clean kitchen the night before, and will make myself a really nice breakfast with mimosas and eggs florentine. I’ll say Merry Christmas to Josh if he’s around, and then make my way to the same friends house for a big gathering with her and her awesomely Greek family for what she is dubbing “Orphan Christmas.” There will be food, drink, and a related assortment of merriment. And since they’re Greek there will be more festivities for Orthodox Christmas later on. I’ll see my actual family in small, quiet doses on Boxing Day.

It’s not that I don’t like my family. I just don’t understand why every year we all rush through our Christmas mornings to haul our asses out to the suburbs in ridiculous holiday traffic to get¬†to The Big Family Event¬†by 2pm. Everyone bitches every year because the same aunt/uncle always show up late. I adore this aunt/uncle because they do their holidays their way. They open their gifts slowly and take the time to appreciate them,¬†and show up to The Big Family Event when it suits them. The rest of us are usually in mid-crisis by this point. There is screaming and frantic organizing, paper thrown to and fro, gifts exchanged between cousins who don’t even know each other in ‘real life’. Food shovelled onto plates. I usually fill up on carrots and potatos. Every year I leave exhausted, cranky, shaky, carrying buckets of stuff that someone less fortunate could use far more than I, and I usually don’t remember who got me what. Then we all drive further into the frozen suburbs to visit even more extended family and stand around awkwardly. Everyone else seems to know how to do this, but I’m still lacking the ability to care about people I only see once a year. So I leave even more cranky, sleep deprived, with the general feeling of having been poked and prodded unpleasantly, and the lingering fear of “am I the only one who doesn’t know how to do this shit?”¬†I do not enjoy these excursions.

Like this but with more panic and no Cousin Eddie

Also,¬†I know you don’t really have to be religious these days, but what is this need to cram ourselves together in a room to celebrate what amounts to not much more than a giant shopping spree?

a christmas exegesis

As far as I’m concerned, if you’re not into the¬†religious aspect of it, then the spirit of Christmas is more about little kids. Seeing them get all excited, hear stories about reindeer and gingerbread things. I’ve got one¬†age-appropriate cousin that I never see, and all other cousins/siblings/etc. are well past the age of Santa. So I don’t see the point, especially when the little one has no idea who I am. My friends kids, on the other hand, run to the door when I visit! “Auntie Em, yaaaaay!!!” I am so all about that this year.

So!

I’m thinking that Christmas and winter in general is stressing me out far less this year because I finally feel like a grown up. I’ve got my shit together, I know what I’m doing, and I’m not overly concerned with how I’m expected to celebrate. I’ve got awesome friends this year and an awesome boyfriend next year (and this year, but especially next year.) The coming¬†months are¬†already filled with plans of adventure and I’m really looking forward to it. 2008 started off a bit rough but is ending fantastically. 2009 should kick even further ass.

I’ll see y’all there! And until then, I’m going to keep doing it my way.

Holiday Hootenanny

Ok, so we weren’t supposed to have any kind of¬†‘Holiday’ gathering at the office this year, over-PC’d or otherwise. Economy blah blah blah. It’s not as huge a deal as one might think¬†– the nature of our business requires a very small staff. The majority of those around us are clients renting space. So while you’d be miffed if your roommates didn’t invite you to a Christmas party, it’s no big deal if your landlord skimps on the Seasons Greetings, dig?

Still, I was having none of it. To hell with my clients, I want a day or two to revel in my emerging domestic tendencies. I do a little breakfast thing once a month for the office. Its generally a thankless job but it provides a creative outlet and a break from the humdrum of complaints and photocopying. So I convinced the Boss Man and his cohort Talea to let me spend a little more of the company cash this month and holiday it up, yo!

So yeah, I slaved over an oven for a few thank yous, but I also got to take a day off work and bake all day. That means sampling all day.

Peep what I can do!

Sugar Cookies - Almost There

Sugar Cookies - Almost There

Sugar Cookies - Done!

Sugar Cookies - Done!

Sugar Cookies - Lots!

Sugar Cookies - Lots!

I made several dozen Sugar and Brown Sugar Cookies and used up the last of my sprinkles on the plain sugar ones for decoration.¬† They’re colourful and¬†take up space – and who doesn’t love eating cookie bears head first?

Lemon Squares

Lemon Squares

My lemon squares are awesome if I do say so myself. I got basic recipe on AllRecipes.com somewhere, and made a few adjustments by adding tons of vanilla and almond. I’m starting to think I can spike them with rum too, but I’d like to remember Christmas this year. These are addictive.

By this point I’d been baking for about four hours. Break time!

chillin1

Chilling with my sexy man

Yeah, this is how Josh and I spend quality time together. Over MSN with a not-always-functioning webcam. Stupid technology. Thankfully the cams were working well on this particular night so I could chat with him while being able to actually step away and use my hands for baking instead of typing.

Here’s my other recreational activity:

Eventually, they approved of the cranberries

Eventually, they approved of the cranberries

The bunnies! They turned their wiggly noses up at the dried¬†cranberries at first, but eventually when I wasn’t looking they decided to like them.

Back to work!

I spent all of Wednesday running back and forth between my kitchen, Honest Ed’s for bakeware, and the local Metro for a ridiculous amount of baking ingredients. I lugged so much sugar and flour up my ridiculous winding stairs that my ass literally hurts. I’m baking, and my ass hurts. Fantastic.

These are the last two pictures I managed to take before I fell into a sugar-based daze that I’m only now coming out of:

mmmmmmm delicious...

mmmmmmm delicious...

mmmmmmm delicious side view

mmmmmmm delicious side view

These. Are.¬†SO good. I’m not quite sure of their name, but they shall henceforth be known as Fantasmic. Fantasmic in bar form. Super buttery shortbread on the bottom, brown sugary caramel ooey gooey oh-fuck-its-melting-everywhere-gimme-a-spoon deliciousness in the middle, and chocolate-peanut-butter-cranberry goodness on top. You can’t eat more than two of these. Well, you can eat as many as you want, but chances are the paramedics will find you twenty minutes later huddled in a corner with drool and butter all over your silly face.

And um, yeah. I ate several. Not to mention I was under a bit of a time constraint, because everything always takes three times longer than you think it will. So I spaced out at this point and forgot to document the shortbread topped with hand whipped cream and berries. As well as the cranberry walnut cookies and the rice krispie squares.

Anyways, it was a magnificent spread. I threw it all in the boardroom and topped it off with a nice assortment of fruit and cheese to lighten the sugar-shock a bit.¬†I wanted to throw on a Christmas movie at the last minute, but Shoppers across the street with those $9.99 dvd’s didn’t have anything even remotely holiday-oriented. Littlest Hobo something or other, and that just wouldn’t do.¬†So the shindig was held to the soundtrack of “Oooh, yes I’ll try one of those, I – oh wow. These are SOOOOOO good!” Which was the only thing I needed to hear amidst the occasional “What, no wine?”¬† (“Um, it’s noon.”) and “Where’s the burgers?” to keep me happy.

Also, my uber boss showed up. He’s quite nice but very nerve wracking because while being¬† nice he’ll discretely brush up against a wall and judge you based on its cleanliness. If he picks up a piece of marketing propaganda placed on a table and asks “Why is this here?” the answer is always “It’s not!” *toss*¬†You know the type. So I was out to impress and impress I did. He ate enough of those Fantasmic things that the sugar sent him into the most hilarious state I’ve ever seen. Very concerned with his appearance he rarely indulges in sugar – hadn’t, he confessed, for about six months. That he took seconds, thirds, and then some for the road was a compliment indeed. I’m pretty sure that by the end of the day he thought he was a hummingbird.

And now, at the end of a week long stretch of prepping, baking, hauling and coordinating, after being up until 1am Thursday/Friday to get the last of the shortbread done and spending all¬†of Friday¬†fussing and organizing (eating various forms of sugar because I forgot to feed myself real food) rushing and cleaning, and then attending an impromptu family-friend art event (What? Where the hell did that come from? That was this week? Who am I? What’s a hypotenuse?) followed by a Stitch n’ Bitch today, I am finally home and I’m starting to think that I’m the hummingbird.

I.

Am.

Pooped!

I go now. I go to the couch and the tv and the bed. I sleep. Then I wake up and clean like a madwoman – but I shall pay that no mind tonight! Tonight I kick my feet up with some reheated pizza, and I don’t want to see any more shortbread for a good long time.

By which I mean probably tomorrow night.

Ugh. Thanksgiving.

Okay, so for those of you south of the ol’ US – Canada border, we Canucks celebrate our Thanksgiving in October, not November. Reason being is that it’s very clearly based around the harvest, and ours comes much earlier than our southern neighbours. It’s cold up here, you know.

Here’s the thing – I don’t like Thanksgiving. Sure, I have plenty to be thankful for, and at least once a day I stop and think for a few minutes about how lucky I am to have a job, (I job I actually really like! Even though I’m still surrounded by morons…) some great friends, an AMAZING boyfriend, and yes even a relatively non-dysfunctional family. In fact, I’m probably the most dysfunctional one in the family. So yes, I have much to be thankful for.

I’m plenty grateful. I just don’t see why I have to express this gratitude by spending four days with my family, in a car, driving to a different province, to be poked and prodded and heaped under miles of awkward silences and forced conversation.

https://i0.wp.com/www.hypeful.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/11/thanksgiving.jpg

I don’t even like phone calls, or spending more than an hour or two with my family. What the hell made anyone think I would enjoy a family car trip? Did I mention I’m vegetarian?

Well there’s my grandmother, first and foremost. She’s overall an incredible woman, and very awesome. If you cross her, she will crucify you and everyone you love. She’s fought a hard life and I would say she won. You couldn’t even guess her age, she looks that great. She is, however, very draining at times. You don’t get an invitation to these family events, you get an informational phone call telling you what time you’re expected.

There’s my grandfather too. He has Parkinson’s and is getting more frail and confused, which I’m sure is going to be upsetting because he really is quite wonderful, and when the time comes I will miss him terribly. But the way I try to look at it, in his mind it’s 1947 again and I’m sure by the end he’s going to be back in a very happy place. He turns to my grandmother once in a while and says “You know, I married the most beautiful woman in the world. You would have just loved her.” She doesn’t bother to correct him, but instead laughs and takes the compliment he doesn’t know he’s giving her (which is the most sincere way, I guess.)

My grandparents are awesome, I’m glad to be seeing them.

As for the rest of my family. Well, of course I love them too. I just don’t like spending a lot of time with others in my immediate vicinity. And with the family, of course, you have to suck it up and put up with all those little annoyances, those little annoyances that would be my swift exit from any other such situation. You can’t say “Wow, and you manage to tie your shoes?” or “Hey, can we not discuss my finances?” at the dinner table – at least not without hearing about it for the next six months. There is an increased level of inhibition, and I hate the shit out of it. I hate pretending to care about other people’s day, I hate pretending to listen, I hate pretending like I have anything to talk about, I hate pretending that I wouldn’t rather be at home on my couch with my boyfriend, my weed, my bunnies, and a family that loves me from the other side of the city. https://i0.wp.com/www.pastdeadline.com/images/sesame_street_thanksgiving.jpgWhen did ‘giving thanks’ turn into flooding the stores for the biggest pre-stuffed bird, jamming up the highways trying to get somewhere that will still be there next weekend, and exhausting ourselves putting on game faces? Ugh. Maybe it’s just me – it usually is.

When Josh and I are together, I’m all about spending Thanksgiving making out in the kitchen amongst food that may or may not get finished.

I’ll stop complaining now, before I bring some instant-karma whoop-ass on myself. I’m just saying that I’ll be giving my thanks when I arrive safely back home.

And really, does ANYONE like the idea of spending four days in close quarters with immediate family? Yeeeesh.