my mother would be so proud

What’s your biggest phobia? Everyone’s got a few. One of mine? Getting caught in a crowd-gone-crazy and being trampled to death. I know, completely random and irrational. To me, laying naked in a coffin full of spiders crawling all over my skin sounds more enjoyable than going anywhere jam-packed and crowded. Tight spaces? Fine. Spiders on my face? Okay, I can deal. Going to the State Fair? No way in hell. Concert? I might start crying. Parents: be careful you aren’t forever traumatizing your children with Where’s Waldo books. That’s the shit nightmares are made of.

spiderbox

So, yesterday when I decided to go shopping on Black Friday for the first time, it was a big deal. I’ve always been one of those people who thought holiday shoppers were just a bunch of rabid crazies, but…I have to admit — it was kind of fun. I got to shove, elbow, and trip a few people. Throw up the bird here and there. All while saving a few dollars. (My mother, and Joe Rogan, would be so proud.) Plus, it gave me the chance to escape family and be alone for a little bit. It was a holiday win for me. Not so much for the people I took out, though. Those poor shmucks. 

I went into Thanksgiving a bit cautious after the whole stuffing fiasco with my mother-in-law. It went pretty well.  I was pumped full of so much wine I could barely move and pretty oblivious to anything going on. Until dessert rolled around, and she neatly laid all of the choices out on the table. All of them except the one I brought. Which was left alone and covered on an empty table in another room. I think it was on purpose. Alex thinks I’m being paranoid. Which one of us is right?  Only time will tell.

dear Google: i am not dying

How many times have you plugged your medical symptoms into Google in an attempt to figure out what the hell was going on with your body? If you haven’t ever done this, for the love of god, don’t start. Unless you think it’s fun to read the numerous ways you might die by the time dinner rolls around. You sick fuck. Just leave it to the professionals, guys. Google is a rude bitch who will try to convince naive teenage girls they can pregnant from gobbling the turkey. (I’ve actually seen girls think this — what the hell, parents? Talk to your kids.) It’s shady and you don’t want to trust it with easing your paranoia.

selfdiagnosis

Speaking of turkey — today is Thanksgiving prep day. For the past few years, I’ve been in charge of the same foods: stuffing, mashed potatoes, and apple crisp. This time around, my mother-in-law basically begged me to not make the stuffing. She told me, with a forced smile, that she bought the ingredients to make stuffing weeks ago. Apparently mine has been so bad in the past she had to plan a month in advance. What the hell? Thanks, Karen. That didn’t sting like a bitch or anything. 

Have fun cooking today, y’all. Hope everyone who is traveling is doing so safely. To all non-Americans who are going about their day like every other Wednesday: happy humping. (It is hump day, after all. Get to it.)