thank-ful (adj.): feeling or expressing gratitude; appreciative.

I know it's not Thanksgiving yet, but I feel overcome by the holiday spirit.  This is my hands-down, no contest FAVORITE time of the year.  There is one thing in particular, though, that I can't wait for.  It's the best holiday of the holiday season, and last year I didn't get to spend it in my typical fashion.  This year... I'll be back.

Yes, I'm talking about Thanksgiving Eve, the single greatest night to be at home of the whole year.  Why?  If you don't know, you've clearly never been to the Fiorillo house for Thanksgiving Eve and the festivities that follow it.  Let me give you an idea of how it all goes down:

1. Freshly poured draft beers in the kitchen.  My friends and I are reunited, and we begin with basic conversation about what is happening in our life.
2. The pitchers come out.  We begin to play one of the many card games that we have made up over the course of our friendship, games that no one else understands or knows the rules for.  This gives us an advantage because we can change the rules at will.  My favorite is the Gauntlet.
3. The computer comes out.  We watch YouTube videos that we have been saving to show each other the entire year.  As the YouTube videos run out, we begin to play the party music.  And then...
4. We get the woofer.  I don't know what a woofer does besides make our music way louder.
5. Downtown.  We hop from one end of Market Street to the other, bar to bar, socializing with people we went to elementary, middle, and high school with.  After every person we talk to, we immediately reassure ourselves that we are much, MUCH cooler than them.
6. The drive home... after my dad picks us up, we inevitably try to convince him to stop by McDonald's to see if it's open (even though we know it's not).  Instead, we end up at the corner gas station with $35 worth of Doritos and salt and vinegar chips.
7. The after-party.  Upon getting home, my dad begins brewing the hot chocolate for the 5K race he organizes in the morning.   By brewing, I mean he heats up gallons of it in our lobster pot on the stove, then carries it to the Gatorade dispenser on the front porch.  On the way out he spills it all over our carpet and porch, which, in the morning, looks as if someone was murdered in our house and then carried out to a stolen car in the driveway.
   
   In the meantime, my friends and I have invited everyone we know back to our house.  The party gets broken up when mom comes downstairs and discovers the hot chocolate stains and the thirty-plus people in our living room... whoops.
8. The morning hangover.  Some of the brave ones actually make it to the 5K and run in it without vomiting on the finish line.  Some are not so lucky.
9. The free bagels!!  And the high school kids.  My father invites all the high school runners over to our house for a free breakfast after the race.  This is great and not great at the same time.  It's great if you can clean yourself up enough to take advantage of the free Wegman's bagels.  It's not great if you're my brother's best friend and over forty high school runners see you passed out on our couch in your boxers.
10. Oiling the bag and ruining the carpet.  Another way my dad ruins the holiday for my mom is his method for making Thanksgiving turkey.  The trick is to cook it inside a paper bag soaked in olive oil.  The tricky part of the trick is dousing the bag.  My dad likes to measure tasks in the number of beers you need to drink while getting it done, and cooking a turkey is a 12 beer job.  The result?  Lovely olive oil stains to match the hot chocolate on the carpet.  He gets so sucked into the great conversation that he walks right out into the living room to join it... complete with the oiled up turkey bag.
11. The dinner! Enough said.  We also get to say what we're thankful for, and it's usually something that saved us the night before.

I CAN'T WAIT.

Do We Ever Grow Up?

Sunday procrastination... what better to do than blog?

It's been a successful weekend, meaning that I managed to have a social life (even if that means going on a series of dates with my roommate).  Last night, we made it uptown and were getting money out of an ATM when the guy behind us began air humping Erin's back.  It was pretty humorous because the ATM was reflective so we could see him relishing in his very mature joke.  When confronted about it, he assured us that he meant it as a compliment ("Ooooh, well then it's okay.").  The thing is that this guy was probably thirty, and I'm pretty sure he was waiting in line with his friend and his friend's fiance or wife.  It just made me think about when we're SUPPOSED to grow out of that stage... or if we ever are.  I guess I'll have to grow up to find out.

More Phantom Tollbooth Wisdom

I posted a long time ago about the doldrums of March, doldrums being a term inspired by one of my favorite childhood novels The Phantom Tollbooth.

Recommending it to a friend, it prompted me to look again at my copy of the book (15 years old and smelling as wonderful as all old books smell) and requote my favorite parts.

"You may not see it now, but whatever we learn has a purpose and whatever we do affects everything and everyone else, if even in the tiniest way."

"Remember also, that many places you would like to see are just off the map and many things you want to know are just out of sight or a little beyond your reach.  But someday you'll reach them all, for what you learn today, for no reason at all, will help you discover all the wonderful secrets of tomorrow."

Call the SPCA

First, some background- I'm a huge believer in karma.  So when good things happen to me, like finding a $17 Starbucks gift card in the Harris Teeter parking lot, I assume it's because I'm so humbly devoting myself to the betterment of America's public education system (go ahead, laugh).

I had a terrible day today.  Complete with desk kicking, fake plastic coin throwing, pouting, and "private part" issue.  Normally, the whole private part thing would get a little chuckle out of me (as long as it wasn't an actually serious thing).  It just seems kind of funny- calling things your private parts.  To be clear, they should be called genitalia because I have some parts that I consider to be private but do not necessarily fall into the sexual reproduction, like my bellybutton.  That's besides the point.

Anyway, when I got home, I figured out why my day was so bad.  The cat climbed in the fridge when I was making breakfast at the ungodly hour I make breakfast and I shut her in.  Whoops.  Half an hour later my other roommate found her.  She ate all my bacon, but I guess I don't really blame her.

Worst cat owner ever?  Right here.