Turkeys, Chocolate, and Delicious Babies

Days till Hull: 4
Days till Thanksgiving: 6

Today is a wondrous day indeed, because it is Friday, which means that not only is the weekend nearly upon us (and pay day), but in 4 days I will be jetting off to fabulous Hull so that I may spend the following 3 days systematically devouring several large turkeys. Coincidentally, this morning when I logged into my gmail, this was the headline on my news bar:

Turkeys are social, playful birds who enjoy the company of others.

Know what else is awesome about turkeys? How delicious they are. They taste like moist, succulent strips of farm fresh baby, and everyone knows you can't get fresher than babies. In true dysfunctional family style, Thursday we will celebrate the gluttonous feast with my mother, Friday we will make our way into Boston to celebrate "Jewish" style (i.e. go out to eat) with my father (never minding he's not the Jewish parent), and on Saturday we will be throwing caution to the wind and braving a trek down to the windy wasteland that is Cape Cod in the winter for our final celebratory dinner with my aunt and uncle. All-in-all, I expect to put about 50 pounds on, and I'm already planning on how to let the waists out of all my pants.

You're planning to do what??

Thanksgiving aside, I am already ready to pack up my things and head right back to my apartment; my bed is beckoning to me, even from here. It was one of those mornings, the kind where you wake up and instantly start sobbing, because your bed is so very warm, and outside is so very cold, and the last goddamn thing you want to do is get up, shower, get dressed (get dressed in matching garments, no less), hike the 8 blocks to work, and then attempt maintaining your sanity and lucidity for the duration of the day. Hard stuff.

I woke up late, as I usually do at the end of the week, even when resistance seems futile, took too long eating my morning oatmeal (and burnt half of it to the bowl, which was fun to clean off), couldn't get my hair to cooperate, and made poor decisions with clothing until I realized I had -10 minutes until I had to leave and I better put some damn pants on because it's too cold to go outside pantless, and I don't particularly feel like losing my job.

I also decided it would be a brilliant idea to wear my heels to the office, rather than wearing something tasteful and comfortable like my gigantic UGGs or my pink Crocs, because I thought they would look classy with my gray skirt and new jacket (which they did), and that they'd make my legs look fabulous (which of course they did), and that my poor broken toe wouldn't hurt all that badly (which... yes, yes it did.)

After limping for 2 blocks I decided to be a pussy and take the Metro, which meant more waiting, then a mad dash to get on, and then nearly having a heart attack when the idiot conductor announced we were going straight from McPherson Square to GW/Foggy Bottom, and I thought that somehow we'd completely bypass Farragut West and I would be doomed to ride the Metro aimlessly back and forth forever, like a ghost with no direction and unfinished business.

To cheer myself up, I indulged in a brownie and some hot chocolate, so even though my skirt feels kinda tight, hey, at least I had that delicious snack to further encourage me to associate unhealthy foods with feelings of emotional happiness.

Man, I can't wait for Thanksgiving.

Hans Turkeys

Days till Hull: 8
Days till Thanksgiving: 10

I have seen the face of god, and his name is Hans. Actually, it's Tom (Thom? Todd? Whatever) and he's an elite air force officer originally from Holland. If you didn't get hot and bothered just by reading that, then obviously you're dead.

He struck us more as a 'Hans' than as a 'Tom,' as we decided on Saturday night, when there was three of us just staring at him and salivating into our vodka cranberries. We were at Saloun in Georgetown, an interesting bar with live music and a lot of very excited, very drunk people in their 50's who enjoyed rocking out on the dance floor. It also happened to be full of attractive air force men from various countries in Europe, which meant: Accents! And the firmest butt chin I have ever seen in my entire life, but that's another story for another time.

Hans was a tall, gorgeous, charming 21 year old who I couldn't always understand, but his accent was so beautiful that he could've been telling me I was a heinous slag and I still would've been falling all over him. He shook our hands and looked deep into our souls with his fathomless eyes, and I knew in that moment that I could die happily. He bought us a round of drinks, but alas, there were no roofies in them (or plastic baubles from China) and he sadly left without impregnating me. Hans, if you read this, come back to DC. We can have a long, glorious life together - or, at the very least, one mind-blowing night of passionate sex. And then my friends can have you, because sharing is caring.

On Sunday, I was able to (momentarily) forget about our European Gods because it was Our Thanksgiving!! We had a 22 lb. turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, green beans, cauliflower, broccoli casserole, cranberry sauce, yams with marshmallows, corn bread, rolls, strawberry cheesecake, pumpkin pie, apple pie, and chocolate cream pie. I didn't actually cook anything, but I did make Hand Turkeys! Which turned into - appropriately - Hans turkeys. Because I can never resist a joke about hot men, turkeys, and putting hands up the anal cavities of dead poultry.

And this was just my plate!

I think it's worth noting that the turkey had been dubbed, upon purchase, 'Tom'. Do you know what that means? It's fate! I got to eat Tom. I got to eat Hans. It's like my fantasies came true, but with the added fabulousness of Thanksgiving dinner heaped on top! Do wonders never cease?

Speaking of wonders, I was drunk by 2, and in bed around 8. Erin and I decided it was a brilliant idea to drink 2 bottles of Coppolla wine (easily the best $40 I ever spent) and later spent an obscene amount of time tottering back to our respective apartments. Which was, in the long run, a good thing, because it helped me work off the 25 pounds I had put on in just half an hour of eating. I was so rotund that I wobbled, and probably could've just rolled the entire way home.

I feel the entire weekend was nicely summed up by a new friend, who said: Hope by now your stomach has digested the mass amounts of food we all ate. You know who probably does not get stomach pains? Hans, because he's perfect."

Truer words have never been spoken.

Zombies, Transformers, and Transsexuals

Days till Our Thanksgiving: 9
Days till Actual Thanksgiving: 20

Okay, so I might be obsessed with countdowns - give me a damn break. Our Thanksgiving is coming up next Sunday, which makes me giddy as a school girl. Erin and the Reds are going to make such delicious delicacies as turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, cauliflower, and lots of other yummy things, while I get the most important job of all: tracing my hand on paper and drawing hand turkeys. YEAH! Otherwise, Thanksgiving just wouldn't be the same.

In other news, it's finally Friday, and as of 6pm this afternoon the weekend is officially upon us! Tonight we're going to the Reds to watch Transformers; now, I get the Shia hype, but he looks kind of like my brother, so it freaks me out when he's sucking face with some girl on screen. Especially if it's Megan Fox, cause for a second there I was like "damn! a young Angelina Jolie, I know who can fill her space on my Girls I'd Do List now that she's Skeletor!" but then I realized that she was actually quite horrifying looking. I think it's all the Porn Star Pouts - that shit's not okay. I have nightmares about people like her and Lindsay Lohan continuously pouting like they're somehow being screwed off camera. No thanks.

I am Optimus Prime!

Ugh, now I'm going to have to look at that as I update. It doesn't help that I'm alone in the office, as everyone's in Miami on business, or working from home - earlier I scared myself with zombies again because someone posted scary pictures from 28 Weeks Later, but now I have a fresh fear to deal with: Megan Fox crawling out from under my desk and attempting to suck my soul out of my mouth with her giant, porn star lips.

Speaking of zombies, but far less frightening ones than in any of the "28 Whatever Later" series, for Halloween we watched FLIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD. That deserves all capitals, not because it was terrifying, but because it was hilariously awful. I mean, I've seen the gambit of terrible horror movies, but this was in a league all it's own.

I can't believe I agreed to star in this film!

Take the most pathetic acting possible, add some gratuitous sex with barely legal, partner swapping teenagers, sprinkle in some token black people (and the only black couple was a wife and her pro golfer husband, since apparently they decided Tiger Woods was the only black person they liked), and top it all of with not one, but two crazy "I'm Carazay!" characters, and -

Oh, wait, add a mad scientist and some zombies too. Oh, and the "virus" is actually a strain of Malaria, which - GET THIS! - isn't actually a virus. Oh no, it's a protozoan. Okay, we're set!

- now you have the most ridiculous movie created in the past few years. No wonder if went straight to DVD. They defied all sorts of laws of physics and, you know, reality; they liked to blow up bombs ON a flight, they liked to shoot in the pressurized cabin (and not just handguns, they went all out with automatic weapons and the whole shebang), people continuously flew through the air, etc etc. It was fabulously terrible.

Unfortunately, I didn't just rent it, I actually paid $10 for it, which means that at the end of the day, I'm the real loser in this equation. I guess I'll have to drown my sorrows in Transformers, a very realistic movie in which space creatures that like to pose as cars and trucks and blenders and stuff come to battle over the earth or something, I dunno, and Megan Fox pretends like she's not a transsexual, and... fuck. Man, I am fucked.