My Last Supper

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I have to make it known that I will no longer be attending dinners that include nine or more people. I can’t take it anymore. This weekend, I went to a birthday party that included 30 people for dinner. Well, I didn’t eat dinner with all of those people. I ate with about six of them. The rest of them were so far down the table that we weren’t together. I said hello and it ended there. The only thing we had in common at this dinner is that we were at the same table and couldn’t eat for 2.5 hours because there were 30 people to serve. Enough. No more. My anxiety can’t take it. Continue reading

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Dry-clean This

hqdefault-2In preparation for one of the 40 weddings I am invited to this year (always the bridesmaid never the bride…er…right?) I entered a dry-cleaner with some garments I hoped still fit. They’ve been shrinking a lot of things, lately, even stuff I never brought in. I realized, as I handed over two shirts that apparently take five days to clean, that this place hasn’t changed in thirty years. Dry-cleaners evolve like granite. I have more computing power in my pocket than they have in their whole store and yet we still pay them $4 a shirt? For what? Continue reading

How not to be an ass at your family’s Thanksgiving

 

curly-turkeyI’m really getting tired of Thanksgiving Survival Guides. I wrote one about Christmas parties here. It stinks. Why would you need a “survival guide” for a party? Everyone thinks that other people’s Thanksgivings are filled with normal relatives and wonderful tradition. That’s a load of junk. Your dysfunction and awkward holiday moments are unique to you and everyone has them. People who really need survival guides aren’t so lucky.

Now tuck in to Me-maw’s creaky antique dinette set, enjoy the day and don’t be an ass.

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Fire Fireball Whisky

how-fireball-whiskey-became-the-most-successful-liquor-in-decades.jpgHalloween is a lot like going to the bar for children. You dress up, eat about 8,000 calories worth of candy and then end up on the floor with dilated pupils swearing that you’ll never eat another piece of candy again. Halloween is also like hitting the kid lottery. I filled up a pillowcase one year and seriously considered retiring. But as the days of November creep along, your Halloween candy stash begins to dwindle. You start rationing like a world war has broken out. One piece of chocolate here, a cherry Jolly Rancher there, until you start only biting a half of a Butter Finger a day in a desperate attempt to make the stuff last until Christmas. No one ever makes it. You cave like the selfish sugar addict all children are. And then you hit rock bottom. Nothing left in the till except grape anything and Atomic Fireballs. Next to the apple that one jerk always hands out, the Fireball is the worst Halloween candy. They linger like black mold in your candy basket. You know they are there, but you avoid them until you have no choice. Throw them away? Never. They are still candy. But you eat them begrudgingly, like broccoli, because you have to. Continue reading