The Great Thanksgiving Smack Down

Being married is a great thing. There are perks galore. Being married also has some downfalls, (though they are few and far between). Perhaps the greatest of these downfalls is the necessary compromise involved during the holiday season.

Though I am sure we all love our in-laws, there is just a natural human proclivity to be biased towards our own family and traditions. For Scott and I, the challenge seemed so insurmountable that we didn't celebrate any holidays together until after we were married.

Up until this point, we've only celebrated Thanksgiving with his side of the family. But due to my unfortunate work schedule, we will be celebrating this year, for the first time, with my family.

This is great for me--normal, comfortable, and expected. Full of good food, even better conversation, an intense game of charades, and a sappy movie melodrama. Scott however, is quite concerned about the whole ordeal. His first question, "Will there be turkey?" Followed by, "How about mashed potatoes, stuffing, and pie?" He should know better. It's not like my family is a bunch of holiday deviants that eat pork and deviled eggs for Thanksgiving.

So, we'll have to see how things turn out. I am confident that Scott will be pleasantly surprised, and maybe even a bit impressed with how much fun he ends of having.

Tune in this weekend for a full report, including food critiques, and activity summarizations.

Ugly Day

Do men have ugly days? I am just wondering because women often have ugly days. Days when their hair doesn’t work, their skin looks tired and sallow, their outfit is fitting poorly, and they just feel down right frumpy.

I am having such a day. An ugly, ugly day.

First, my pants are too wide and too short. For a woman of short stature like myself, this is a very bad look. Secondly, my shoes are all wrong. The heel is much too high, thus further intensifying the flood-like look of the pants. Thirdly, my complexion is ghostly, not just pale, as if paying tribute to the makeup of the Elizabethan Era. Fourthly, it’s one of those days where I feel like I have constant boogers. When I breathe, there is the sensation that some little crusty is peaking in and out. Horrible!

In an attempt to garner some clarity, I stopped one of my male co-workers and posed the question, "Do men have ugly days?" His answer, which I will record here, was quite enlightening.

"Men don't have ugly days per se, but we do have days where we feel less than confident. Unlike women though, our confidence isn't as much tied to our outfits and our bloated stomachs, but instead tied to our abilities and capabilities. When I'm not performing at my best, that's what I consider an "ugly day." So in essence, an ugly day for a woman is just like a shitty day for a man."

What do you think? Do you have anything to contribute to this deep philosophical discussion?

Sorry Tom We are Terrible! But don't worry I have done some editing.

PC Load Letter? What the

Sometimes there aren't enough words. Sometimes a situation is so awful and yet so amusing. Sometimes things are just la de dah de dah . . .BAM!

That's all I've got.

Today

I came to work. Early nonetheless. Before I made it to my desk I was bombarded with 18 fax and copy machine manuals. "Please walk around the building and update all 28 machines to reflect the correct time and date. Also, delete/add one-touch abbreviated dialing numbers. If you have time, please look through all these manuals and tab the pages you think we use most frequently. Oh, by the way, I am in a meeting until noon. Okay? Good luck."

Ha, tear, ha, tear

Does she know that her request is the equivalent of asking Dick Enrico to climb Mount Everest? I am girly. I don't know how to program big technical monstrosities. Ask my husband, he'll tell you. I am completely technically inept. I can barely play a DVD.

So off I go. Pushing around a little unwieldy cart full of manuals. I stop at each machine, fiddle through a manual (which all looks like gibberish to me), punch in a few numbers, and watch the error lights flash.

When the ordeal is finished I have managed to render seven machines completely useless. When the repair man finally comes to my aid, he says, "Man, I've never seen so many machines so messed up."

Thank you Mr. Fix-It man.

Now please add my name to some sort of blacklist, or give me a voucher forbidding me from ever meddling with these machines again.

THE END