I Know I Have a Lot to be Thankful For

I don’t want to sound like a complete bitch, I have a great life. Really, my life is better than almost everyone I know. It’s not that I have “stuff”, it’s that I have family and friends who I can count on and who are always there when I need them.

That being said….MAN AM I PISSED OFF. First of all, last night I got dumped. That put a damper on my evening. This morning…well, wait, there was no this morning. I laid in bed in a state of depression until 5 or 5:30pm. In the dark. So that kind of pissed me off, too. Then it was decided a few weeks ago that because I am the only female in the family who has not “hosted” Thanksgiving, this would be the year to do it. This year. The year I got kicked off the planning committee for my dad’s surprise party because I was so incompetent I couldn’t actually function in any helpful way. This year, the year that I was told over 100 times by my manager to “get your head out of your ass and use your brain for once”. The year in which the highlight was that I didn’t die from pneumonia. This is the best year for me to host Thanksgiving.

So I went grocery shopping at 8pm the night before Thanksgiving. I’m prepared like that, and like to plan ahead, you know? And have I ever mentioned my pathological fear of grocery stores? I get in there, and I freeze. My mind goes blank and I have no idea what to do or where to go. God help me if I run into the live lobster tank.

Have I ever bought food for 14 people? No. Do I know how much people eat? No. Could I even remember what other people told me they were bringing? Big. Fat. No. I thought I was brilliant for buying cheese cubes and crackers because I thought ahead and figured everyone will be here for hours while I try to put something together, and they’ll get hungry. And who doesn’t like cheese cubes and crackers? I go to the checkout line, proud that I thought of that, with a cartful of fairly random things that I was hoping would come together in some way. $160. That didn’t include an actual turkey. I get home, still proud of my very adult accomplishment, and I am instantly told that my father will kill me and I better find someplace to go (like, permanently) when he wakes up in the morning and sees what I did. Level of pride? Down slightly. Then I announce my brilliant plan to throw cans and cans of sweet potatoes into a pan and then….wait for it…cover them in marshmallows. What could be better?? Well, it turns out I bought enough sweet potatoes for, and this is not an exaggeration, 32 people. Fail #2 (or really probably more like 34 or 35). THEN my mom finds out my plan of using marshmallows and not making this casserole thing that we have every year that people love and would try to stab each other with knives to get to. That was when I was told I ruined Thanksgiving for everyone and that my dad will probably have heart failure and die, all because of me. Oh, and I’m still dumped, so no boyfriend on yet another holiday.

I’ve decided to move to Maine. I’ve always wanted to live there. Not so close to the ocean that I could die in a hurricane, but close enough that I can go look at it (the ocean, not the hurricane). I believe there are mountains there, too. In Maine, I won’t have to pine over my boyfriend who I still love and who still loves me, just not enough to date me at this point in time. I will be away from my parents who I love dearly, but really, I’d be doing them a favor, as I believe I am slowly killing them day by day as I live in their house. No one would know me and I could even make up a new name if I wanted. My cat would enjoy the scenery and wildlife, and we could live in a remote house that I would surround with booby traps. I could work on building my wings, look at the ocean, build my wings, look at the trees, build my wings, look at the ocean. It’d be good.

I’m going to have to make my get away pretty soon, as my dad will be up in about 3 hours and will discover the amount of money I spent. Also, I left the kitchen a mess. My pangs of boyfriend pain will begin again as soon as the sedatives wear off, which also gives me another 3 hours or so. And then, after the horror of the things that will happen in 3 hours (now 2.5 hours), I get to stay awake more so I can clean the house that I was supposed to clean a week ago, and continue making things for dinner. THEN…and here’s the kicker…actual people will be coming to my house expecting ME to be a host. The best I’ve ever done is “Hi, want some coffee?” and then I pretty much hide. I love my relatives, but I get nervous as hell with groups of people. Also, we like to play games and I cheat. Not for myself – I cheat by giving the losing person/team major hints so that they can catch up.

Oh, and guess what – my dad just woke up two hours early.

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