In our family, on holidays, nervousness and anxiety constantly combat one another. If one of the adults is jumpy and on edge, it trickles down to the rest of us, and consequently, nobody has the Best of Times. And there wasn't even alcohol on board, but BOY I WISH THERE WAS.
Lots of amazing food, which I need to quit eating from Thanksgiving tonight. Like tomorrow. My nephew, Jake, made some homemade orzo with onions & Swiss cheese. Delish. All the traditional trimmings abounded, though I had pangs of guilt from the turkey, seeing as Pastor, in his Thanksgiving sermon, spoke graphically about how the farmer raised the turkey from a tiny egg and fed it corn and grains to fatten it up, only for us to cook it later. Kind of a turn-off, Dave.
Celebrating Jake's birthday every Thanksgiving is always the highlight. Jake was born in the car en route to the hospital ON Thanksgiving in 1992, my brother catching him in the back seat while my sister-in-law was only in labor for about an hour or two, and they didn't even make it to the hospital in Highland Park (my brother and sister-in-law weren't married yet and she was living in Zion, IL w/her parents) where he was supposed to be born. They got as far as Lake Forest before Jake decided to appear! (Talk about in/out service!) Another Thanksgiving ritual is singing "Happy Birthday" in the most off-key manner possible and recording it for posterity in order to embarrass Jake.
Jake and I have a standing date to go downtown so he can do B&W shots of me and the other stuff downtown. That should to be interesting, once I am happily anorexic again. He's a brilliantly talented photographer. And I'd cherish a day where I got to pal around with my nephew downtown for a day.
I took a few pictures, Luke took a few pictures, and then Luke told me how fat I looked. Having Body Dysmorphic Disorder sucks. My son is young. He doesn't realize the gravity of telling someone with an eating disorder that they look fat.
Between that and my self-consciousness about having gained weight since the middle of the summer-onward, post-hysterectomy, I'm not Mrs. Petraeus fat, and I don't hate fat people, but sorry, I want to be one of THE INSANELY SKINNY CROWD again. Color me vain. I logically realize I fall into the proper weight for my height, but to me, in a mirror? That's some scary shit to the point where I'm seriously considering trying the Allergra-D appetite suppressant effect to help me lose like 20 lbs. Bonus? The decongestant in it is an upper, which would alleviate some of the need-for-3-hour-naps plaguing me this semester. The tiara aside, I need to get back to my 115 lb, 40th birthday fighting weight. I rocked that dress out with the black combat boots, which is half the reason Mrs. Guy Friend hated my guts.
Heretofore, I'm going to try and keep the calorie counter to 500 a day. I had no trouble doing that when I was working. Barring being totally stress and adrenaline-fueled, and on numbing Norco, which was the Diet Plan when I was working, I gotta do something. This having an actual appetite bullshit is not cool. If there's anything I know I can do well, it's rapidly lose weight. Though the frequent bouts of pancreatitis I could do without. Bottom line? Quit stuffing your mouth with crap!
Let's see....last year, Guy Friend called me on Black Friday, totally relieved that he had the house to himself, that there was a marked decrease in the estrogen to testosterone ratio in the House of Guy, and that he'd rather die than go shopping the day after Thanksgiving. (The womenfolk all went loony and left the house at like 5am or something, if memory serves.) Today, it's blustery, freezing, and he texted a report from Michigan Ave downtown, where he was looking for flannel shirts for his nephews. I'm sure he'll end up at a chic-chic store like Hollister or Aeropostale or Anthropologie (however the fuck they're spelled), just based on where he is geographically located (according to the GPS chip I inserted behind his ear when I was attempting to paw him one night). I suggested he go to Goodwill. Where's his indie spirit?
Not that I expect Guy Friend to go all extravagant this holiday season on me, his biggest fan, if at all. I fetched him up a present I know he'll really enjoy, which I got online, which is how I choose to do 90% of my holiday shopping. And I promise I won't throw it at him like he did with the unwrapped book he whipped at me last Christmas after announcing to the office girls that he had been cleaning out his bookshelves. At least this year, I'll have the forethought not to get him a totally groovy necktie...in colors he can't see because he's colorblind.
(For the record, BMF is kind of on my major shitlist right now, so his gift is up in the air. Kate's figured out. SuperJuls is more complicated and requires deep introspection. Luke is a greedy lil' SOB, so I just comply. Ma wants slippers. The rest of the family? Who the hell knows.)
Meanwhile, Guy, just a suggestion, a tachy patient/cardiology fan's dream: The Anatomically Accurate Charm of the human heart.
It's described as such:
Between that and my self-consciousness about having gained weight since the middle of the summer-onward, post-hysterectomy, I'm not Mrs. Petraeus fat, and I don't hate fat people, but sorry, I want to be one of THE INSANELY SKINNY CROWD again. Color me vain. I logically realize I fall into the proper weight for my height, but to me, in a mirror? That's some scary shit to the point where I'm seriously considering trying the Allergra-D appetite suppressant effect to help me lose like 20 lbs. Bonus? The decongestant in it is an upper, which would alleviate some of the need-for-3-hour-naps plaguing me this semester. The tiara aside, I need to get back to my 115 lb, 40th birthday fighting weight. I rocked that dress out with the black combat boots, which is half the reason Mrs. Guy Friend hated my guts.
Heretofore, I'm going to try and keep the calorie counter to 500 a day. I had no trouble doing that when I was working. Barring being totally stress and adrenaline-fueled, and on numbing Norco, which was the Diet Plan when I was working, I gotta do something. This having an actual appetite bullshit is not cool. If there's anything I know I can do well, it's rapidly lose weight. Though the frequent bouts of pancreatitis I could do without. Bottom line? Quit stuffing your mouth with crap!
Let's see....last year, Guy Friend called me on Black Friday, totally relieved that he had the house to himself, that there was a marked decrease in the estrogen to testosterone ratio in the House of Guy, and that he'd rather die than go shopping the day after Thanksgiving. (The womenfolk all went loony and left the house at like 5am or something, if memory serves.) Today, it's blustery, freezing, and he texted a report from Michigan Ave downtown, where he was looking for flannel shirts for his nephews. I'm sure he'll end up at a chic-chic store like Hollister or Aeropostale or Anthropologie (however the fuck they're spelled), just based on where he is geographically located (according to the GPS chip I inserted behind his ear when I was attempting to paw him one night). I suggested he go to Goodwill. Where's his indie spirit?
Not that I expect Guy Friend to go all extravagant this holiday season on me, his biggest fan, if at all. I fetched him up a present I know he'll really enjoy, which I got online, which is how I choose to do 90% of my holiday shopping. And I promise I won't throw it at him like he did with the unwrapped book he whipped at me last Christmas after announcing to the office girls that he had been cleaning out his bookshelves. At least this year, I'll have the forethought not to get him a totally groovy necktie...in colors he can't see because he's colorblind.
(For the record, BMF is kind of on my major shitlist right now, so his gift is up in the air. Kate's figured out. SuperJuls is more complicated and requires deep introspection. Luke is a greedy lil' SOB, so I just comply. Ma wants slippers. The rest of the family? Who the hell knows.)
Meanwhile, Guy, just a suggestion, a tachy patient/cardiology fan's dream: The Anatomically Accurate Charm of the human heart.
It's described as such:
"This carefully hand fabricated silver necklace features a 1.5"x .75"x .5" anatomically correct human heart which opens to reveal a meticulously detailed interior. It is pleasantly solid, cast and fabricated by hand in Chicago from recycled sterling silver. The locket has a hand built hinge and the trunk of the aorta has been made to acts as a snap. The chain attaches to the pendant through the superior vena cava and left pulmonary vein causing the heart to hang slightly anterioinferiorly. The pictured locket has been pre-oxidized to highlight the detail. Yours will come brightly polished with a polishing cloth. If you would prefer one that has been pre-oxidized please make a note at checkout."
Talk about a gift from the heart, of the heart!
Wonders of all wonder: Guy Friend actually texted me after getting home from a neighbor's for Thanksgiving. Evidently, they were playing card games all night.We dealt w/cards all night, too..but in the form of Luke's hundreds of magic tricks. Guy asked me if there's anything in the Bible about card playing. While not a theologian, I said that the Bible discourages gambling, but totally forgot the twist of the sin of casting lots as the men did with Jesus' clothes as he hung dying on the cross. Hindsight, you know. Why egg on his Catholic guilt any further? Damn. Itchy texting fingers.
At least rape babies didn't come up last night after Thanksgiving dinner with my family. Somehow, evolution did, though. After debating carbon dating, scientific studies, LOGIC and categorical proof, my brother directed me towards "Creationist Scientists" (???) and still insists that the Great Flood was real, and that "baby dinosaurs" were on the ark. Baby dinosaurs. On a big boat. Ok. It's probably the Bible tale I find the most outlandishly fictionalized for the grander purpose of a metaphor. And evidently the Grand Canyon is something resulting from God's great flood and only took a few days to form, never mind the fossils and rocks that were found, which are millions of years old, but what do archaeologists and historians know?
The Offbeat Drummer has to drum this weekend, seemingly sleep-deprived despite another marathon late morning nap today. Big presentation due Monday along with a final exam, big paper due Wednesday and finals coming up. If that's not adrenaline enough...
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