This Post Brought to You by the National Brussel Sprout Institute

Happy Thanksgiving from the Coast of Illinois!

I have been rather stumped when it came to writing this update. I could fall in and give a list of things I am thankful for but frankly, I have lived a very charmed life and there just isn't the space.

At present I am sitting here in the kitchen surrounded by three pounds of cranberry sauce, five pounds of candied sweet potatoes and no less than one hundred Brussel Sprouts, watching Gone With the Wind and trying to explain to Bart why I have spent the entire day cooking when we aren't even hosting dinner this year. (There is also a twelve pound turkey unthawing in my Tupperware cake cozy. But he doesn't need to know.)

Actually, the answer to his question is easy. Even though we are going to my sister's for dinner, this house MUST smell and feel like Thanksgiving on Thursday morning by 8am. This means a turkey in the oven and Al Roker hanging with the Snoopy balloon at Harold Square.

It also means Brussel Sprouts sauteed with bacon and watching every single Thanksgiving episode of Friends. This cabbage and sitcom frenzy culminates in the ultimate Thanksgiving episode of all time: WKRP in Cincinnati. You know the one I mean – where Arthur Carlson and Herb Tarlick throw LIVE turkeys out of an airplane. And they fall from the sky like bags of wet cement as Les Nesman reports, "Oh! The Humanity!" And then The Big Guy says, "As God is my witness, I thought Turkeys could fly." 

I do not think Scarlet would approve.

But honestly, one single day of giving thanks really just isn't enough.

So I will leave it at this:

May you have a Fridge so full that it takes two arms and a foot to close it, a Home which is warm in winter and cool in summer and the knowledge that you are Loved, by someone, somewhere.

And I will also leave you with this:

Two pictures of Brussel Sprouts. Because...THANKSGIVING!

Sprouts in the Hot Tub!

Brussel Sprouts in their Natural Habitat - sauteed with bacon.

Unmentionable

I had to go underwear shopping the other day. I didn't 'get' to. I was 'asked' to. And by 'asked' I mean handed a handful of cash and ordered to go because people were tired of hearing me complain that the elastic in my current undergarments refused to keep up its end of the bargain. There was a day when this would have been fun. Now it is just traumatic.

Too practical and my husband is traumatized.

Too sexy and my daughter (who helps with the laundry) and the sales clerk, who is inevitably younger than my daughter are traumatized.

Too expensive and...have you seen Agent Provocateur?

Too thong-y and well...There is a time and a place for thongs. And I am here to tell you that the place is not between my butt and cotton scrub pants and the time is not a ten hour work day.

So, I headed to the mall with my Macy's coupons, my Fredericks of Hollywood reward card and very low expectations. It should be noted that I have had the Fredericks reward card for nearly five years and have yet to receive anything more than a depressing reminder that 'tonga' panties are really just fancy thongs.

I searched the racks for something between high-waisted and flossing.

There was the barely there collection which defies all the laws of sewing by not having a single seam.

The bikini cut hasn't changed in forty years. This is unfortunate. I have changed quite a lot.

High-cut shows more thigh. No one needs to see that.

The boy-short is cute and hides the upper thigh. By emphasizing the thickest part of the middle thigh.

A new style at Victoria's Secret's is sweetly named the 'cheeky'. Need I say more?

I even found one brand which promised NO MORE MUFFIN TOP. Wear their underwear and no more belly overhang. "How can they do this?" you might ask. And I would respond, "By making the waistband five inches wide and manufacturing the elastic out of inner tube rubber. Once those babies are on they are staying on. I pity the fool who attempts to grab the waistband and wedgie the wearer. Their fingers will be cut off by the shearing force of the industrial restraining power required to keep middle-aged stomachs from overhanging their jeans.

Not that many middle-agers I know are giving or getting wedgies.

In the end, I went with the 'hipster'. It hits that delicate balance between nursing home and strip club and most companies offer it in a variety of colors and patterns. Plus I like the name:
'Hipster'. It says hip right there in the name. Victoria's Secret even had a pair covered with sequins. However, they were not part of the super secret $5 a pair sale so I sadly left them on the counter.

I hate to think what sort of trauma sequins would inflict.

*On the day I went shopping, the Frederick's of Hollywood store at my mall was closed. Supposedly there was some sort of water main issue. Personally, I feel it is some sort of Hollywood Rewards conspiracy.

**Seriously. Have you seen Agent Provocateur? Their lingerie is gorgeous. (I think it becomes lingerie when the price goes over 3 for $15.)  And stupid expensive.  I wonder if they participate in Rent the Runway...

A Letter

Dear Alphabetically Titled Internet Provider,

My Internet is broken.

No matter how many times the robust computer voice tells me to, I can not log on to your WWW.com site and follow the simple fourteen step instructions on how to fix it.

Because my Internet is broken.

Thank you.

*I am totally wimping out here. I wanted to use the actual name of my Internet provider but as this same company provides my home phone – which is also broken – and my cell phone I thought it best to not anger them.

No one wants the Phone Police to show up at your door.

Word.

**I am posting this on my lunch break at work. I am barely giving myself enough time to eat my slice of chocolate cake. 
You're Welcome.

Time Stands Still for No Man...Cats are another Story

I have such a headache.

I believe it is from all the math.

Let me explain.

We have been in TimeChange 2013 for four days now.

Sure, the switch from Daylight Savings Time to God's Time* gives us more daylight in the morning. It gives you party people an extra hour to party. It gives the rest of us an extra hour of sleep. (And if you work night shift it not only gives you an extra hour of work, it also – if your work is time dependent – totally screws up your record keeping.)

But around here it means Head Math. That's the math you do in your head to figure simple and totally irrelevant numbers. So, when I get up at 0445 with the cat (who only observes Cat Time) I have to stop and figure not only what time it really is but also the equivalent time in the previous less holy time zone. Here is the equation:

0445(clock already turned back) +/- 1 hour (spring forward? Fall back?) = actual time (0445) vs virtual time (0545)

This is followed by many exasperated sighs and an occasional mild curse word and will continue for at least another week.

Maybe two.

Thus the headache.

And an extra breakfast for the cat.

PS-

The cat was quite looking forward to the new time. Up until four days ago it has been too dark to go outside on his leash before I go to work. (yes, leash.) So for the entire month of October I reminded him that soon it would be light in the morning. It has rained the past four mornings.

Which means it is still dark

Just a little Karmic justice, cat.

Now go back to sleep.

*God's Time is my Mom's name for our current time zone. Personally, I think God is probably more of an observer of Cat Time, which allows the observant to sleep whenever He wants and eat the rest of the time. 

My Minions, what is this thing you call time...

 **And a NanoWrimo update -as of this posting I am around 9660 words which is a little behind and according to the calculator at NanoWrimo.org will have me finishing my November novel on December 5. If I could do the math I might be able to figure out how much I need to step things up to actually finish on time. 

Get the Excedrin.

I Have a Feeling I Will be Extra Thankful when November Ends

It's November 1. Happy Día de la Muerto! Or the day I wonder what happened to this:

Just a little place I like to call Santa Monica...

And this:

Yes this is our homemade sailboat - ON THE OCEAN!

And  the day I remember that I still had houseplants outside.

Thus the Muerto.

For some reason November has become a challenging month. Not challenging as in difficult. More like challenging as in the Plank Challenge (hold the plank for ever increasing amounts of time until you hit something akin the the length of Titanic the Movie), The 24 day Ab Challenge (an ever increasing set of ab exercises focusing on crunches, leg lifts an... planks!) and the National Write a Novel in a Month...month (where you are suppose to write 50,000 words in 30 days. Are these people not aware that nearly EVERY OTHER MONTH of the year has 31 days???)

Am I going to attempt all these things?

Yes.

Without a net?

Yup.

Will there be pictures?

Hah!

Should I be perturbed that more than one person is concerned with the shape of my abs?

I could be but really, who am I kidding.

I'll let you know how it goes, assuming I don't die of a super ab spasm while typing word number 34,578.

And to all who stuck with the October serial story – THANKS! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed sharing it with you.And now a little more Día de la Muertos:

Carlos e Isabella a gift from Bart on the occasion of our 20th anniversary.

 I should have taken it as a warning.