30: Posts completed (however worthlessly) in the name of NaBloWhatever
5,476: Times I swore that I would “give up the damn ghost, already” and stop posting every day because it was a gigantic pain in the puckered pooper.
0: Times I actually didn’t publish something of some worth, and without (I proudly add) using the cop-out Post Pictures of my Kids posts that I do so badly
1: “Awards” won last year during NaBloWhatever
1: Day blog was down last year during same month due to some technological problems I don’t pretend to understand or care about.
0: “Awards” received despite having won one last year thanks to blog breakage
2: Thanksgivings celebrated, with or without requisite good cheer.
0: Times people mentioned caring about lack of good cheer, leading me to believe that Chubby and Surly is the way to handle all holidays.
1: Thanksgiving celebration canceled due to inclimate weather.
357: Meatballs consumed happily by yours truly during our White Trash Thanksgiving
5: Different doctors seen this month, thereby rendering me a Freakshow of Epic Proportions
89: mg/DL result of glucose tolerance test suffered through at 29 weeks pregnant.
12: donuts consumed within a 36 hour period, that had I not had a mouth available for that purpose, I might have rubbed all over my body, which makes the results of my GTT even more amazing.
5: bloody noses that nearly sent my pathetic-y freakshow ass to the ER for cauterization.
2: shirts that I have left that cover my huge self, leading me to actually have to purchase additional clothing despite the fact that barely have 2 months left of my pregnancy and don’t plan on requiring them again.
1: time I had to Mark All As Read on my Google Reader in order to regain my sanity.
2,377,976: approximate amount of spam messages that I had to moderate before tossing them ruthlessly to wherever deleted blog spam goes. Blog Spam Heaven?
Thoroughly rejected ideas for posts today include, but are not limited to, the following topics:
*Animals; special focus on my particular animals who must follow me around trying to sit on my (lack of) ass after I clearly inform them that no, in fact, I am in no mood to have a cat make love to my leg. No matter how cute or charmingly they attempt to rub my face with their paws. Or shine their butt-hole in my direction, perhaps hoping for a sniff?
*Toddlers; emphasis on why mine insists upon taking a massive crap about 10 minutes after he lays down for the one, one hour long nap he takes each day. Re-emphasis on the fact that this child never! sleeps!
*Holidays; extra-specially Thanksgiving which is perhaps on par with Fourth of July and/or Columbus Day in terms of Becky’s Level of Enjoyment. Which is only very, very slightly more enjoyment than a coffee enema. But with bonus turkey!
*Tags at the bottom of the post. Mainly, why do I not understand anything remotely technologically oriented? After one marries a geek, you’d assume that the knowledge would, by miracle of osmosis, pass through the air while we sleep, and for that you would be wrong. Plea to Internet At Large to explain this phenomenon.
*Shipping Costs for the presents I am too lazy to go out and purchase. Reiterate why laziness is completely justifiable touching particularly on:
-Ample girth and lack of abdominal muscles with which to support large breasts and (one can only assume) thick skull.
-Mention moon boot, but emphasize the delicious codeine pills that go along with it
-Asshole Willful toddler who happily would run far, far away from his (frightening) mother given the slightest opportunity
-Not-so-jokingly bring up birth control options after baby is expelled from her comfy home in my ribcage.
-Finish with a complaint that shipping costs ought to include oral sex from hot delivery drivers. Bemoan lack of hot delivery drivers, and make a pledge that Someday When I Rule The World, all delivery drivers will be smokin’ hot and provide oral sex as a bonus!
*Apologize profusely that comments may have been inadvertantly deleted due in no small part to the 400+ spam messages that I moderate daily.
*Ask The Internet if NaBloWhatever is as annoying to them as it is to you.
I mentioned in passing the other day that this year we were doing 3! Thanksgiving celebrations, and while I may have made it sound like I was irritated by it, I’m not. Not really. I’m happy that we split up the holidays once again, as it has made for a much less stressful holiday. It took a bit of Trial By Fire for Dave and I to realize that our families will probably never get along.
And, of course, the “not getting along” is far more insidious than screaming matches and pimp slapping, which made it that much harder for Dave and I to realize what the hell was going on. It was a showdown of passive-aggressive behavior and it made it incredibly stressful for both Dave and I to please our families WHILE successfully avoiding suicide by means of chocolate chip cookie. Not exactly the fun holiday we’d have liked.
So yesterday, we hosted my parents for Thanksgiving, and because they are hosting us today with the traditional turkey + stuffing gluttony Dave and I decided to mix things up. While I do, in fact, like turkey and stuffing, if I tried to cook it myself, I’d never be able to eat it again. I’m neurotic and have A Thing about raw meat.
Last year, while hosting both of our families, we decided to be all high-falutin’ and make us a damn side of beef and all sorts of pretentious side dishes. Horseradish twice baked potatoes, bourbon pecan pie, all the good shit. And when I served it all up, all fancy-style on my Haviland china, my eldest son began to weep.
He has massive food issues, as you probably know, and obnoxious to cook for is a given and a way of life for me.
Well, it was exactly the wrong thing for him to do at that moment. We’d prepared, and cleaned, and prepared, and spent a veritable fortune on the beef, and to have him openly weep over this enraged me. I’m surprised that my skull cap didn’t pop off from the fire raging within and spew grey matter all over the side of my freshly dusted china cabinet.
Sure, I’m accustomed to this behavior, but I’d deliberately chosen dishes that he would and did like, given the opportunity to try it. But, of course, the minute I began to harp on Ben in my most controlled yet fury-filled voice, both families finally united. To yell at me for yelling at my son on Thanksgiving.
Which was now exactly the wrong thing for THEM to do at this moment. The food issues + Ben go back for ages, and if they all had their way about it, Ben would still be eating his White Stuff Only diet. The Daver and I have spent many hours with a weeping Ben to make him try such disgusting kid food as “hot dogs” and “pizza.” We’re not exactly insisting on foie gras and prosciutto here.
But whatever, they all jump down my throat, and the fire of a thousand suns burns within my belly for the next year. What, me have issues?
So this year, in approximately July when the winter holiday schwag begins to hit the store shelves, I informed Dave that I will not be doing any heavy duty hosting this year and he immediately agreed. But on Thanksgiving, living in a suburb, there’s very little open for us to shamelessly order takeout from, so I decided that I’d cook. And I’ll cook things that are both easy and that my children will eat.
Hence, White Trash Thanksgiving was born.
The menu?
BBQ meatballs
Hawaiian meatballs
Mac -n- Cheese
with
Cupcakes with canned frosting for dessert.
(the mac and cheese, I must divulge, was fancy ass, and I did make it from scratch. It was so incredibly rich that it made an audible THWUMP! when it hit our stomachs. We all ate approximately 2 tablespoons before we could eat no more. But hey, it was a TASTY two tablespoons)
I bought generic ingredients whenever possible, and was sad that I hadn’t thought to make a jello mold salad (complete with the most generic fruit cocktail suspended creepily inside) OR a ranch, iceberg and baco-bits salad, as that would have added a new and extra-special dimension of trashiness. Perhaps next year I will also serve generic Kool-Aid in wax-covered cups. The red flavor. And we will eat of Chinette.
My parents, my snobby, NPR-listening to parents, loved it. As did my children and my husband.
Ladies and gentlemen, I think we have a new tradition. Any thoroughly white trash suggestions for next year?
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