And what would an all-American Thanksgiving family visit be without some soul-searching on one's religious practices?

I was up early on Thursday morning to help cook. My Nanny and I decided not to wait on everyone else for breakfast, and as we were preparing to sit down to eat, she asked me to bless the food (this is considered a big honor in my family). I was caught totally off-guard - 1) I'd never been asked before, and 2) I haven't prayed publicly since, uh, my God-Is-Great, God-Is-Good days of preschool. As I was mentally scrambling to come up with something appropriate, reverent, and coherent pre-coffee, the only thing that popped in my head was, "Dearly Beloved...we are gathered here today to get through this thing called Life...". At this I came very close to cracking myself up - it was all I could do to hold it together, and eventually the expected "blessthisfoodtothenourishmentofourbodiesourbodiestoYourserviceinHisnameAmen" sort of tumbled out, and (shockingly) God did not strike me dead on the spot for trying to speak to Him through Prince lyrics. All through breakfast I was perturbed (guess I still am, since I'm posting about it 2 days later) - what does it say about me that I don't know how to pray anymore?

Let me clarify: I still pray often, almost every day. But my words aren't flowery, or the stoic prose I've heard from my elderly uncles my whole life, nor the 10-minute monologue I've sat through in countless church services. It's quick, not even spoken - just a thought, or a feeling. "Please watch over J today"; "Please let the cat's foot feel better". It's not offered as a lowly request, but it's not flippant (although I admit, my gut reaction was to end the breakfast blessing "Peace out. Love, Me", which is stupid, I know).

In a way, it made me feel uncomfortable beyond just being put on the spot - I consider my prayer kind of a private thing, but I think that since my heathen non-churchgoing ways can be a sore spot, I'm probably overthinking it. But it made me curious how other people feel about it:

Do you pray often? How/where/when do you pray?

Shoo-Shoo, Gobble Gobble Diddle-Ip!

This morning, we are off to Mississippi to visit my beloved Nanny and various aunts, uncles, cousins, and kin, and partake of many delicious home-cooked goodies in celebration of Thanksgiving. Last year’s feast consisted of three different kinds of turkey (including Cajun fried!), ham, chicken & dumplings (my favorite!), as well as a dozen sides and a dessert table filled with all manner of sweet treats and pies with 4 inches of fluffy meringue goodness floating atop. YUM!

I look forward to this holiday and visit every year not just for the gluttony, but because as I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned to appreciate time with my family so much more. But I’m not gonna lie, the food is pretty awesome.

Since I’ll be un-posty for a few days, I’ll leave you with a list:

I Am Thankful For
1. My awesome and ever-patient husband
2. My crazy but lovable family, who never fail to remind me that this apple did not fall that far from the koo-koo tree
3. The kitties, whose frequent disdain for my presence reminds me that I am not as important as I think I am
4. My amazing(ly stressful at times) job
5. That I have made it through nearly the whole year without tearing my hair out, due to said job
6. That I will see my Jamie in less than a month!

…and a song.



Have a Safe and Happy Thanksgiving, my chickens!

A few weeks ago, I ran out of mascara and went in to Sephora to pick some up. They didn’t have my usual brand (damn!), so I asked for assistance and decided to try the recommended Dior Blackout in the waterproof formula. I always have issues with the blackage underneath my eyes, so I only use waterproof/ water resistant. I like the texture – smooth and unclumpy – but I still had the raccoon effect after a couple of hours. I held on to the tube long enough to feel like I got my money’s worth, and went back to my old faithful this weekend. Ahhhh, it feels good to be home – Too Faced Lash Injection, I will never stray from thee again.

Screw the economy – what are your necessary luxuries?

11-20-04

Four years ago today, I promised to love and honor (but not obey).

Here's to a hundred more years of wifely disobedience.

Oh my!

Is it warm in here?

Wondering...

...what's the kindest, most loving way to tell one's mother, "Your old-people church functions are not my bag. Your friends are creepy and entirely too huggy. Unless there is an open bar, I am not interested in attending a Christmas barbecue 'banquet' with a Christian comedian who compares his comedy stylings to that of Ray Stevens as the night's entertainment. Peace out."?

Bad sign: I go on autopilot while composing an email, and find that I keep typing "shit" in place of "shot". My fingers are trying to tell me to go the eff home.

So, obviously, I'm not having the greatest day. In an effort to keep my consternation to a minimum, I'm limiting my face-to-face interaction, keeping my mp3 on high volume, and trying to keep my nose to the grindstone.

But damn this phone. I haven't figured out how to program such that I can send people directly to voicemail, and I can't let it ring off the hook, so I have to pick up the fucking thing and pretending like I am So Glad! To Finally Speak To You! Since I've Been Trying To Reach You For Two Weeks!

I can hear that those forced happy notes in my voice totally do not ring true, and The Pleaser in me feels guilty for not being able to fake it as well as I was brought up to (ha). But the other part of me is all I Don't Give Two Shits, Suck It.

I see a large glass of wine and a heating pad in my future.

Dear Boss,
Thanks for chastising me in the middle of my cube in front of my coworkers. After I'd admitted that I could have handled a situation better, but didn't know how to at the time. That was awesome. Humiliation is always the best way to kick off the week. Please be careful not to choke on the large piece you just cut from the awesome homemade cake I brought in.

Love,
Gin

I watched SNL last night (which I haven't done in...well, I did watch when Jon Hamm hosted a couple of weeks ago). Beyonce was the musical guest, and she performed "Single Ladies (Put A Ring On It)", and I was totally hypnotized.




First: those are some fierce fucking shoes. I think my ankle is sprained just looking at them.

Second: much like the booty action in her "Crazy In Love" video, if I were able to gyrate my hips in such a fashion, I would just dance around like this all the time, much to my co-workers' chagrin (and J's delight).

This afternoon, two months after Hurricane Ike stomped through Southeast Texas, we finally got a vist from our insurance adjustor to assess the damage to our property. Since the damage was mainly to J's shop, and he's since made the repairs reusing the undamaged materials, we we're not expecting much in terms of reimubursement. We almost didn't file a claim because we didn't believe we'd have enough to make the deductible.

The dude left 2 hours ago, leaving behind a check that will make us $6,500 richer. I realize in the grand scheme of things, that is not that large an amount of money, but J and I have been sitting around dumbfounded. What to do with such a windfall? Go nuts and splurge on takeout? Or pay some bills, whee!

I think the thought of such a settlement has made J a bit heady (or ill?), because he just gave me the greenlight to pay someone else to clean our house. On a regular basis. For an indefinite period of time.

I don't even know what to do with myself. It's like the whole world has gone crazy.

This week, I hate my job. Raising goats on a commune looks more appealing every day. I'd be poor, but goats can be much easier to goad into submission than people.

Hmmm...

I really miss having girlfriends nearby.

Sigh.

Sounds I Love

(Because it's been a while since I've done a list)

• Rain on the window (because it usually means I am cozily snuggled up inside)
• Bacon frying (because it means I will probably get a piece)
• Beer bottles clanking together (because it means I am out chilling somewhere, and I've likely had a drink or two of my own)
• J singing Johnny Cash in the bathtub (just 'cause)
• A nice slow, walking bass line (because it's mellow)
• Soft music in the next room (because it means I'm not alone)
• A coffee pot percolating (because it reminds me of hanging out in my Nanny's kitchen)
• Being out shopping, and hearing someone sing along under their breath to the piped-in music (because it means I'm not the only one)
• The dryer running in the laundry room (because it's homey)
• The opening drums to Foo Fighters "My Hero" (because it's awesome)
• Three-part harmony (because I'm ever a choir nerd)

What sounds do you love?

Who needs some rockin' xylophone?

Major, humongo mega props to The Electric Monk for bringing back from Japan my personal Holy Grail of sweet treats; behold, the Green Tea Kit Kat:


It's fair to say that when I was presented with this delicacy this morning, I squealed with glee. Thanks, C - you rock.

Considering…

...cutting my hair off again. (Yes, Jamie, I know.)

Two weeks from today, at 7 p.m., J and I will celebrate our fourth wedding anniversary. And just as I have done every November for the past three years, I am panicked and at a loss for what to give him as a gift to show him just how much I love the thought of washing his underwear for the rest of my life. Apparently the traditional gift for the four-year mark is fruit or flowers; the “modern” gift is an appliance. Nothing says thoughtful and romantic like a blender or a Salad Shooter (though I would probably set the feminist movement back 20 years by how excited I would get if I received a Dyson). Last year, my homeboy The Electric Monk suggested a remote control toy – I bought J a helicopter, and it went over like gangbusters. I am open to anything, though I am under time constraints, and also have a budget of ~$150.

So now I turn to you, dear readers – What should I get my greasemonkey hubby?

Thinking…

…maybe I would like to hear some funky Dixieland.

Ooh!

Anyone in the generous Christmas spirit already?

From Boden USA

Here's my girl again

Have you ever heard that story (legend?) about how George Washington campaigned for presidency by essentially showing up to meetings in his General’s uniform in an effort to look capable and experienced? Sometimes I feel like that’s how I ended up where I am – show up, look concerned (furrowed brows and nodding of the head and all that), don’t say anything ridiculous, and Voila! Competence by association.

My mom has sent J two emails in the past week, each with P.S. of “Don’t forget to vote!”

She’s sent me notes too, but with no such reminder tacked on – maybe because she’s trying to thwart my leftward leanings? Although I acknowledge that the power of my vote is very likely lost in such a red state, I’ll still make the statement. Go O!

----------------------------------------------------------------------

About 5 ½ years ago, during the construction of our house, J decided that he needed to buy a truck. Instead of the used, late-model vehicle of reasonable gas mileage we’d discussed, he bought a 1968 Ford pickup of dubious reliability. Because that’s practical.

I hated that truck. It was ugly as sin (two different colors), got shitty mileage (15 mpg), and died on the side of the highway at least twice a month. I ranted and raved about what a waste of money and time it was. J’s answer was, “But I like a project!” And I retorted, “You have one! It’s called OUR HOME!”

A couple of years pass. J inherits my old Ranger pickup when I got my new car, and the old Ford sat in the shop for months and months. About a month ago, J decides to put the truck up for sale. He places an ad on Craigslist, and (surprisingly) immediately gets a call. Some 16 y/o kid needs a first car. So the kid comes out to look at the truck, all excited at the loud, ugly masculinity it exudes. He promises that he’ll have the cash the next day, and not to sell it before then (ha). I am doubtful. Until the next morning, when I return from an early Saturday morning shopping trip to discover the boy at our house with his mom, handing over the cash for the truck.

J shows the kid the secrets of the old truck, signs over the title, and we watch him as he takes off down the street, his girlfriend sidled up next to him on the bench seat, like we’d ridden so many times before. I’ll admit to being a little sad, remembering what our life was like when J first bought the truck, but I was kind of glad to see it go. I look over at J, and he is actually misty-eyed. In the seven years we’ve been together, this marks only about the third time I have ever seen him tear up – the other times being on our wedding day, and during a big wicked fight in the first months of our marriage. It broke my heart a little bit – J is not one to get emotional, but I guess the truck was like a friend to him. At the same, I’m not that wild about the fact that I’m held in the same level of esteem as a 40 y/o piece of shit vehicle. But I guess it says a lot about the kind of man I married. Love you too, babe.