Nyah, Nyah

Don't you just love it when some giant fathead douche gets the smirk wiped off his face on national television?

I also love it when people think they are so smart about football that they bet on a RIDICULOUSLY HUGE spread and end up taking a bath and possibly losing their shirt. Suck it up! [Note: I gave up sports gambling some time ago after doing just that.]

My beloved Eagles took it to the smarmy Patriots every second of the game Sunday night, down to the last second. A.J. Feeley stunned and amazed; Westbrook did his thing; Brady got dunked in sucker sauce several times; special teams shined and DBs held Randy Moss and W.Welker until they were running in place. The Pats managed to squeak out a 3-point victory. Against our third-string quarterback. Foxboro was silent, yo.

Hope future opponents of both teams took notes. The Pats can and will be beaten this season and the Eagles do not suck.

Nothing would please me more than to see this Pats team NOT make the superbowl. Come on, do you really want to live in a country where the Red Sox win the World Series and the Pats win the Superbowl and some dork from Boston wins American Idol? We would have to toss the whole freakin' town in the Harbor to shut them up.

P.S. Tom Brady is a weenie.

Thanksgiving Recipe

Festive Appetizer

Ingredients:

1 Memory- and anxiety-filled family home
1-4 High-strung parents
1 Over-achieving child with trophy spouse and bratty children
1 Sensitive and needy vegetarian child, doped on Xanax
1 Rebellious child with inappropriate guest
1 Freak child, strung out and/or carrying explosives
1 Beloved gay aunt/uncle/cousin, doped on Xanax
1-3 Doddering old people

Directions:

Gently fold other ingredients into family home and let stand five hours until agitated. Sprinkle acrimony to taste.


Entree and Side Dishes

Ingredients:

1 20-lb roasted turkey, half-burned and half-raw. Smell of burnt plastic will permeate kitchen around time parent discovers the liver and giblets package still inside the bird.
1 serving dish of soggy, strange-looking, smelly stuffing from inside the bird. (Salmonella alert!)
1 casserole of soggy green beans, viscous mushroom soup and burnt fried onion rings
1 casserole of sweet potatoes, thoroughly hidden under a 3" layer of burnt marshmallow.
1 basket of store-bough rolls (which vanish instantly)
1 platter of wiggly cranberry sauce, shaped like the can from whence it came
1 massive bowl of lumpy and cold mashed potatoes
1 bottle of Gewürztraminer wine
1 bottle of Chardonnay or Sauvignon Blanc
1 bottle of Cinammon Schnapps or Apple Brandy

Directions:

Have parent dramatically carve the turkey with an electronic knife. Pass other ingredients around table until each person has a blob of each item. Now pass the thin, tasteless turkey gravy around to envelope each blob in a grayish-brown blanket. Do not allow anyone to begin eating until prayers, thankfulness assertions, or other captive audience harangues are complete, ensuring food will be cold and gelatinous.


Where's the Beef?

Ingredients:

1 Blowhard

Directions:

Prepare for the eventuality of one of your guests blurting out something that will ignite a firestorm of controversy. Have at your disposal cutting remarks that are sure to shame the blowhard into silence. The more embarassing and personal your remarks, the better result. Have a portable phone in your hand to call the police when a fight breaks out.


Dessert

Ingredients:

2 pies, one pumpkin and one apple
2 gallons vanilla ice cream
4 tubs of Cool Whip

Directions:

Set out ingredients and holler down the stairs to the TV room that dessert is ready. Take your glass of wine and a cigarette out on the porch and mutter to yourself.

Wanna Hear a Sad Story?

My oldest daughter was born in 1989, a few months after I turned 21. Her father is someone with whom I had a casually tempestuous relationship; we were no longer together. The reasons we broke up during my pregnancy were simple: I can't tolerate being upstaged by addiction.

I only blamed him for specific things he did, not for his addiction problems. He comes from a long line of alcoholics and had a tragic childhood. That's something we bonded over, actually, but I don't have experience with alcoholism and drug addiction and couldn't understand, cope or help him in any real way.

Being a single mother is so hard, even without the burden of stigma. I had a very supportive family and did my absolute best to give her a normal, happy, beloved childhood. When she was an appropriate age, I told her more about her dad (not in a vindictive way, mind you) and warned her about the burdens that children of alcoholics and addicts face in their own lives. I'm sure it was a bizarre discussion, seeing that she didn't remember her father or known any addicts in her young life.

I heard from him now and then — he even moved to our town for a year or so. Of course I arranged visitations but had to end them when I found my kindergartener playing with a bong. He left soon after and I heard he'd been arrested for trying to sell dope to an undercover cop. I despaired for my daughter, who looks so much like him and showed signs early on that she'd inherited his fiery Irish temper and stubbornness.

Then, when Trouble Jr. was in Jr. high, her dad appeared again. He spent time with her, took her shopping, and introduced her to her aunts and cousins, who were driving him from one coast to the other. They wanted to take Trouble Jr. with them. I checked first to see if my body was dead and then told them, "No." They pleaded, argued and threatened, but there was no way in Hell I was giving in. We didn't hear from her dad after that episode.

Now she's a freshman in college. She wants to know more about her dad, get in touch with him and get to know him. I happen to know the world's greatest private detective, so I asked him for advice. He took time out of his no doubt busy snoop business and found some phone numbers. I am hopeful.

Want to know what attracted me to this guy? It was a house party in 1988, and I was there with my roommate at the time, a free spirit named Careen. I'd hurt myself in dance class and was gimping around on crutches. In walks this 6'4" man in shorts and a polo shirt, dragging on a cigarette and talking loudly to his friend. He looked over at me and then knocked over a few people on his way to my chair. He smiled this gigantic Cheshire Cat grin and tried to dazzle me with his brilliant blue eyes. He said something incredibly stupid and offensive that involved the word "cripple". I was completely charmed.

18+ years later, I believe I've learned my lesson about charming cads! (Yes, it took that long)

Anyway, darlings, please keep Trouble Jr. in your thoughts, and wish for her that she finds her dad and that he is good to her. Thank you.

I'm Out of My Mind Right Now, Please Leave a Message

Take one part existential distraction, two parts psychological distress due to newly-clarified self-awareness and people actively working against me, and a jigger of heretofore unknown self-consciousness and you've got yourself one mixed-up, gobsmacked, and seconds away from hurtling down the street towards the closest happy hour Trouble.

Hopefully it'll pass.

Coincidentally

My troublets are "off-track" at school, meaning their stupid, overcrowded, year-round school ejected them for a week. Good for me and we're all happy and having fun.

We went to library for fresh bedtime reading material and unanimously decided upon the works of author Dav Pilkey, specifically the Captain Underpants stories.

Maybe you are unfamiliar. Maybe you should surreptitiously check them out. I promise it will appeal to the elementary school-aged nerd in all of you. Prepare to snicker.

This morning, among the extremely stupid things passing for news on MSN Today, I found this:

"Tra-la-laaaaaaaaa!"

Maybe You Wondered About My Halloween Costume

Back in the US, CO

What a wild and woolly trip that was. Sorry about the rant about flying, I guess I was a little upset with other people's selfishness.

We are home now and have found a Colt .45 bottle and some PBR cans in our fridge. Trouble Jr. must have been entertaining classy company! Nothing bad happened — as far as I can tell — and we are glad to be back where people are sane. Vegas is nuts!

Perfectly normal, everyday people step off the plane from their mid-western town and magically transform into zombie slot sluts, Girls Gone Wild, or Mr. "I'm a V.I.P." within an instant. Mister, I know your wife and kids back in Altoona would be shocked to see those lap dancers slithering down your Dockers. Lady, I bet your neighbors in St. Louis have never seen you in that miniskirt, dancing like that.

Chacun a son gout, as les francais say. I can't help but see the con going on, everywhere you look. Everything in Las Vegas is designed to separate you from as much of your money as possible, with you eager, obliging and smiling the whole way.

Easy for me to say, I guess. I just spent 6 days living it up in Las Vegas and ended up spending less than I would've just hanging around Denver. The only gambling I did was a quick run at a penny slot machine. I won $20 and left it at that. Superfly played some poker and ended up breaking even. Not too shabby!

It's good to be home, where when I hand someone or some business my money I get something in return.