lets all give thanks

Thanksgiving this year meant my brother (once again) got off scott free since he lives in BFE and "has to" work during the holidays.  Lucky bastard.  I cannot remember the last thanksgiving he actually had to spend with the family.

I know, I know, this is supposed to be a time we are all thankful for the time we get to spend with our loved ones, but as every family sitcom ever told us, it is actually a time of eating our feelings and overexposure to people you love because you have to.

"The Neighbors"

"The New Girl"

"The Middle"

Now, my mother is what I affectionately call the "Tour Guide." Every time she comes to town she is armed to the hilt with a file folder full of magazine clippings, printings from the internet, newspaper articles, and scribbled notes of things to do in town.  I've lived in Los Angeles for a decade, but Tour Guide always seems to find things to do here that I've never done and/or never heard of before.  When she arrives, she goes through the litany of ideas for things to do, Dad and I veto the ones that sound gawd-awful-boring and end up with a list of things that if we really hurry, we can do them all.  Tour Guide plans our days, and we are off! 

We went on hikes, visited the self-realization center/temple/garden, picnicked on the beach, shopped in Malibu, went to the farmer's market, and a ton of other things I've already blocked from my memory.  We basically traipsed the city from morning till night.  Somehow, even with all the activities, I still managed to get grilled by both parents together and individually about my employment status and my relationship status.  You'd think with how busy we were there would be less time for scrutiny. Not so.  (sigh... because I don't feel like enough of a loser already)

Silver lining... we filled my gas tank and went to Trader Joe's to stock the larder and my wallet never left my purse.  I guess now that they are gone and I'm sitting here eating a sammy made from food they bought me I can see that we all pay a price - theirs is a charge on the credit card and mine is listening to them harp on about "aren't you tired of being poor and single" and "you could just move back home" and "what about that nice boy you used to date" and "you're a smart girl; surely somebody will hire you." 

Surely somebody will make me another sammy.  No? Guess I'll have to do that myself.