Thanksgiving with an Angry Curl Twist

So Thanksgiving is tomorrow and we all know what that means…it means my sister and I will be tossing shredded cheese and diced garlic into anything that will stand still (my dad, Sam, sleeping on the couch is no exception.)  I have, I feel, slacked a bit in my Thanksgiving duties this year as I haven’t put together a menu, opting instead for the oh-so-easy, “Let’s just do what we did last year.”  (Turns out that ain’t so bad, over-achieving self.  Remember this in 2013?)  Anyway, I would like to stop for a minute and point out the things in my life for which I’m thankful, since I’m fairly well-versed in pointing out the things for which I’m not grateful the other 364 days of the year.  So, here it is…stuff I like.  Turkey Day edition.

1.  My mother’s dressing.  Yes, it IS called dressing because we don’t shove it up a bird’s butt.  It is made in the proper Southern tradition of slapping it in a casserole dish and cooked until I am slobbering at the oven door with a pot of gravy laying in wait.  It is moist, it is flavorful, and more importantly?  It reheats to make the best damn turkey sandwiches this side of whatever part of the country calls it stuffing.  Everyone has that ONE Thanksgiving dish that has to make an appearance, and this is mine.  And I truly believe that even though I have the recipe, I will never be able to make it as well as Sharon Justice. 

This is my mother, Sharon.  She's pictured here holding a stalk of edamame and not a dish of dressing, but the imagination can work wonders.  

2.  Prepared pineapple.  Here’s the thing.  I f’ing love pineapple.  Here’s another thing.  I will gladly pay someone a bit more to shave that thing down into an edible form of fruit.  This is pretty hard-core for me, because I’m of the “I’m not paying someone for his elbow grease, of which I have quite the bountiful supply” train of thought.  But I’m totally willing to pay someone that extra 50 cents to do that deed for me.  Why?  Because it sucks.  I usually wind up a cursing, sticky mess with way less pineapple than I think I’m deserved and nowhere closer to my pineapple mango salsa that I’ve been craving all day.  So there it is.  One of the few things I’ll pay for in exchange for having it done for me.  The only other items in this category are my hair stylist, my mechanic, and my spice rack alphabetizer. 

This guy obviously hates peeling pineapple, as he's apparently given up mid-task and taken the high (cocktail-ridden) road to escape.  Actually, that looks kind of tasty...

3.  Speaking of my hair, let’s talk Natalie Bryant.  Natalie was a best friend WAY before she picked up the scissors, but now I’m lucky to count her as the best in both the friend and magic coif worker category.  I make no bones about the fact that I’m fairly clueless when it comes to beauty.  Makeup confounds me and my hair’s been of the “wash it and let it dry with the window down on the way to work” persuasion for quite some time now.  But Natalie, that sneaky vixen, has convinced me that hair can be much more, and I’m now the girl who packs her blow-dryer and straightening iron so I can properly style my newly-minted, bright red bangs on vacation.  Best friend Natalie is also not afraid to tell me when my outfit makes me look like an extra from Revenge of the Nerds, which is a great quality for at least one person in your life to possess.  Included in the best friend category, I must mention one Kirku King, as she’s done my makeup on MORE than one occasion and will also unabashedly tell me my fashion choices are becoming alarmingly reminiscent of an episode of Dawson’s Creek.  Plus, Kirku’s always good for a game of cards, a pitcher of sleuth juice, and a great exchange of Pretty Woman quotes. 

The fashion-watchers in question.  Note I look semi-put together.

4.  My cat, Mooney.  We actually have three cats (borderline crazy cat people, but we’re not quite there yet according to the Nataional Crazy Cat Folks of North America guidelines) but Mooney is the only one who decides that, “Hey, it’s 4am.  I’m going to go suffocate my owner!”  Most people would find this to be intrusive and rather irritating.  I also find this action intrusive and irritating, but it’s also led to many an early-morning revelation that only comes to those half-asleep and wearing a large cat on her head.  I’ve written songs, I’ve planned my to-do list, plus I’ve invented the anti-cat pillow while in the state of sort-of slumber, and I owe it to my sleep-interrupting feline Mooney.  I’ve solved the world’s problems, balanced our budget, and written sonnets that would make Shakespeare vomit in his mouth a little bit.  Funny thing is, Mooney might be #1 on this list if I could remember ANY of the “revelations” I just mentioned.  But once he finally gets pushed off the pillow, I just hit the snooze button for as long as possible before I have to get up early to straighten my bangs.    

Mooney.  The Feline Mosquito.

5.  Finally, I do have to give a shout-out to the hubs, Travis, for constantly putting up with my failed (and sometimes non-failed) creations in the kitchen.  He accepts the fact that I curse like a sailor, drink like a drunk sailor, and dance like an even drunker sailor.  He knows the way to my heart is a dust pan full of glass,  a quilt by the lake, and a hammock in the woods.  He also has hot tattoos and a sweet ass.  Hehe.  

The husband...and a couple of the referenced tattoos.

So there ya have it.  I would write more, but I now have to force my way down the baking aisle of Kroger on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving and curse at myself for not doing it on the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, as I opted to get a free lunch at Taco Mamacita instead.  Muy stupido, senorita.