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22 November 2005 @ 12:31 pm
Take a little trip with me.  
Ahh, thanksgiving. I used to love thanksgiving. I mean, I loved it in a kind of "I will inevitably lose money and be thrown into a swimming pool" kind of way, but I loved it anyway. It was about my big huge crazy family all congregated in one room, completely unstoppable arguments about absolutely *nothing* at all, about 3/4 of the people there sneaking outside to smoke and covering it by saying "I - uh - have to get something. From my car." all of us from the fifteen year olds up to the fifty year olds. Most people probably wouldn't find that as endearing as I do, nor the amount of underaged people who sneak bloody marys from the communal pitcher, but I always have, and do. I mean, I get that it's all about the ongoing cycle of our family's dysfunction or whatever, but come on. Me, two uncles, my mother, three cousins and an aunt or two hiding outside smoking away and watching our feet so we don't have to see one another smoke and therefore have a very thin kind of plausible deniability talking about things like jogging so as to make up for the smoking we're doing right then -- that's family, man.


At thanksgiving, when I go home, a lot of the time I'm referred to by everyone present as the "together" one. Who wouldn't miss a place where that's true?

It's funny that I'm so close with my family and yet this thanksgiving, I'm going to be kind of putzing around my apartment more often than not while they're hundreds of miles away enjoying sunshine and bloody marys and pools without me.

Sometimes it seems like every year that goes by there's another holiday that loses its shine a little. If that's growing up, man, I want none of it. Especially if I'm ever going to lose a taste for Halloween, because that one is my favorite hands down. I always want to be running around like a ten year old on a sugar high grabbing at masks in Target and saying, "Ooh! No! You should get this one because it looks like your eyes are filled with blood!!" at the top of my lungs and be stared at by toddlers as I fill my arms with bag after bag of candy. Most of which I give away. Honestly. And pumpkin carving! It's gloopy and messy and I like to take the insides and wave them at people and say "Braaaaaaaiiiiiins!!!!" That better not ever stop being as cool as it is right now is all I'm sayin'. It's one of the very few things that's remained a consistent level of totally fucking cool since I was about five.

At home right now, it's in the mid eighties and my family is packing up their massive SUVs for the drive to my grandma's. Not that it's over a river and through the woods, more like across a swamp and over the ocean, and really, gators have got to be a cooler type of animal than anything lurking in woods. (Don't anyone even say bears. Seriously. Gators are way fucking cooler than bears. Bear v. Gator goes to GATOR!!!)

**

Slapstick Nifra moment of the day: It is pouring outside. Buckets of rain and all that, right? So I go outside in my little red hooded slicker, and the guy who lives in my apartment who thinks I'm hot and has used an interpreter to tell me this more than once, is standing by the steps to the sidewalk. We both nod, casually, and he says "hello" which I say back, and then the rain suddenly *worsens* and I'm walking down the stairs in slippery newish sneakers and then my arms are windmilling in the air and I've skidded down about three steps into a lack of a puddle and I'm staring up at his concerned face.

He says something in Portugeuse and my first thought is, "Oh God I'm so concussed I can't even understand English anymore." Which I was actually pretty calm about, until I realized that he *never* spoke English, and I *knew* that, and so I pretty much race upstairs and go inside and grab ice and put it on my head.

My roomate, who has just woken up, stumbles out of her room, stares at me all bleary eyed and says, "What did you do?" I tell her about the falling and the English thing and she just keeps looking at me, puts her hand on my forehead and says "Well, you don't have a fever" and stumbles back to her room.

So. Rest at ease. I don't have a fever. (I'm not concussed either, but really: no fever.)
 
 
Current Mood: nostalgicnostalgic
 
 
 
.: ain't that a kick in the head (spicedrumhackthis on November 22nd, 2005 07:30 pm (UTC)
He says something in Portugeuse and my first thought is, "Oh God I'm so concussed I can't even understand English anymore." Which I was actually pretty calm about, until I realized that he *never* spoke English, and I *knew* that, and so I pretty much race upstairs and go inside and grab ice and put it on my head.

Are you saving these to put in a book, because I will SOOOOOOOO buy it.