Thanksgiving my way

Let me preface this by saying that Kelli was absolutely right with her guesses last week--except for one. No, I am not a master chef by any means (though I can cook more than just chocolate chip cookies, so I suppose she was partially right).

Which brings us to Thanksgiving. My friend Stephanie arrived around 5 and we immediately started drinking wine. Somewhere into the first bottle, I realized that I hadn't eaten all day, making the wine all the more potent. With the pumpkin pie already baked and the cheesy dip in the oven, Stephanie and I thought maybe we should start the mashed potatoes. Only then did we realize that neither of us knew how to make them (beyond the mashing, that is). For some reason (wine, perhaps?) it didn't occur to either of us that I had at least three cookbooks, which I'm sure would have had recipes. So we decided to cut up the potatoes and cook them, and meanwhile drink more wine.

About half an hour later, we decided to take the potatoes off the stove. Actually, the mulled wine we were making was ready (priorities, people!), so as long as we were going into the kitchen for that, we figured we might as well stop boiling the potatoes too. But drinking the mulled wine sounded way more fun than figuring out the potatoes, so we drained them, got more wine, and left the kitchen again.

It wasn't until around 7, when the wine started running low, that we decided maybe we should prepare and eat the potatoes. We called Stephanie's mother to ask how to make them, and she gave us a few pointers. Then we drank more wine.

At about 8pm, we remembered we still hadn't cooked the potatoes, so we headed into the kitchen with new determination. Unfortunately, they were cold by now, but that didn't stop us. I used a hand mixer that my mother bought for me several years ago, however I'm generally against hand mixers, (things taste better when you mix them yourself, in my mind) so I had never used it. Still, I wasn't about to attempt to mash cold potato chunks with just a fork in my drunken state. So out came the mixer, which meant that potato chunks flew pretty much everywhere, and I'm sure I'll be finding them for years to come. After the mixing, we had to microwave each individual serving so that they'd be warm, but the reheating mostly just made them oozy. But, three bottles of wine into the night, I can't say that we cared too much.

And so it was, Thanksgiving my way. Fun for me, fun for Stephanie, perhaps not so fun for the potatoes, but oh well. None of the evening was fun for the cats either, who wanted no part of any of this. They headed straight under the bed the minute Stephanie showed up and didn't emerge until after she left. Oh well. Those cats have no idea how to party.

And so I will end with my recipe for Drunken Mashed Potatoes.

Ingredients:
Wine
Potatoes
Milk
Butter
Cheese
Garlic

Directions:
1. Drink wine
2. Boil water
3. Cut up potatoes and put them in boiled water
4. Drink more wine while the potatoes cook
5. Remove potatoes from water and let them sit for 2-3 hours (or however long you feel like drinking more wine)
6. Chop potatoes into slightly smaller pieces
7. Throw in some butter, milk, cheese, and garlic (How much, you ask? Doesn't matter when you're drunk!)
8. Mix with hand mixer. Try to keep hand mixer pointed down, rather than to the side, in order to keep contents in bowl. Contents will be thick, cold, and will not mix easily, but keep trying. If you get discouraged, have more wine.
9. (optional) Reheat individual servings
10. (optional) Or just grab a fork and go for it

Drink more wine, and enjoy!

Interactive Quiz Time!

Last night, while procrastinating writing an essay that's due in class tonight (guess I'm writing it at work today...) I came across a list called, "100 Things About Me." I wrote this list a couple years ago, after my friend Kelli saw something similar on a blog and suggested we try it. (I was clearly procrastinating that day also, since I distinctly remember writing this at work, see a trend here??) As I read the list late last night, I realized that while most of the items are distinctly ME--that is, I don't expect them to ever change--a few are simply not true anymore. And so, dear readers, let's play a little game of True or False. All these were true a few years ago, but some aren't any longer. Take a guess, I dare you. And then write your own list, because it's fun, a great way to procrastinate, and fascinating if you forget about it for several years.

1. I clean to Motown
2. I have a weakness for stuffed animals, and prefer them to the real thing
3. I am extremely competitive when playing board games
4. I like cheese more than chocolate
5. My favorite quote is from Anne of Green Gables: "Would you want to marry a wicked man?" "Well, I wouldn't marry anyone who was truly wicked. But I think I'd like it if he could be wicked and wouldn't." To me, this describes the ideal man.
6. I had an overactive imagination as a child--I befriended the imaginary wolf under my bed and he protected me at night from the imaginary gunman in the closet
7. I think I could make a good lawyer, but the thought of taking the LSAT and going to law school are too daunting.
8. I make the best chocolate chip cookies in the world, but I can't cook anything else

Holidays, Schmolidays

I confess: I'm a holiday Scrooge. And it's not just the winter holidays--it's all of them. St. Patrick's Day, Halloween, and New Years? Excuses for amateurs to hit the bar and get drunk and stupid. Christmas, Hanukkah, and Easter? Seeing as I'm generally freaked out/uncomfortable with organized religion, these don't do anything for me. Valentine's Day? Gag me. The only holiday I can kind of get behind is the Fourth of July, because I've always thought it was cool to have a holiday based around blowing things up--but I want no part of any "rah rah, we love America" crap.

Which brings us to Thanksgiving. I've had a love-hate relationship with this holiday since I was eight years old. It all started when I was making handcuffs out of ponytail holders and decided that everyone coming to our house for Thanksgiving dinner must want a pair of their own. (This made perfect sense at the time, I swear. And I was eight! Ok, I was a dork, but still.) I started putting a pair on everyone's plate, and my mother, in horror, told me that people would not, in fact, want a grubby pair of handcuffs sitting on their clean plates. Feeling embarrassed and ashamed, I started crying and retreated to my room to hide in the closet for the rest of the evening. I didn't eat anything or see our guests. And so began my hatred for Thanksgiving. Every year dreaded it. I didn't like the food, didn't care about the family togetherness, and always remembered my humiliation.

Then my Freshman year of high school, just as I was starting to wonder if maybe I should grow up, stop being so stubborn, and enjoy Thanksgiving, I had a nightmare involving Thanksgiving, orange juice, and AIDS (don't ask). Somehow, in my 14-year-old brain, this renewed my disgust with the holiday and made me dread the entire month of November.

It wasn't until college that I started to appreciate Thanksgiving. It was nice, I realized, to come home to family, friends, and non-cafeteria food. I started looking forward to this time of year again, eagerly anticipating the warm fuzzy holiday feeling. Until two years ago, when illness struck my family. My parents and brother were supposed to come visit me in New York, and we had planned a lovely family holiday weekend. But my brother got sick--really sick--and the trip was cancelled. He went home to get better, and I stayed in New York, not really knowing what to do with myself. I was on my own, and depressed, and it was horrible. Suddenly I wasn't dreading the holiday because of childish nightmares or stubbornness. This was real. And even though everyone's fine now, I can't help but think that I was right the first time. Thanksgiving isn't a good holiday. Sure, it can mean family and friends and togetherness, but it brings with it stress and high expectations that are rarely satisfied.

So this year I'm doing my own thing. A friend is coming over, and we're having an anti-Thanksgiving. No turkey, no tofurky, no stuffing, no cranberries, and no stress. Just friends, wine, and pie. Just the way I like it.

Smitten for my kitten

I'm having a love affair--with my cat. I don't know what it is lately, but Baxter can do no wrong. My usually aloof, grouchy cat has been lovely lately. Following me from room to room, snuggling on the bed at night, looking oh-so cute with everything he does. And in return, he's getting extra petting, extra snuggles, extra snacks... I can't get enough of him. I even caught him scratching the couch this morning and my first thought was, "oh, how cute" (followed by a spritz of water, of course). I've fallen under his cute kitty spell.

Murphy, on the other hand, has been somewhat annoying lately. He keeps moving things in the kitchen--particularly the water bowl, which then spills everywhere and forces me to wipe up the floor several times a day. And he has a new hiding place behind the entertainment center. My entertainment center is on a diagonal in a corner, but has a flat back, meaning there's a small triangular space behind it, which is filled with cords and dust. Murphy has started jumping up next to the tv--a space maybe 4 inches wide--worming his way behind the tv and jumping through the hole in the back of the entertainment center that is meant for cords. He then hangs out on the floor, with the dust and cords. This worries me for several reasons, most of all the fact that: Cat + Electricity usually = Bad. I've now blocked the space next to the tv so hopefully this will keep him from jumping back there again.

And then I go back to loving Baxter, who would never dream of doing something so silly or dangerous. He's a cautious cat, a deliberate cat, who realizes that it's way more comfortable to lie on the bed, rather than in a dark dusty corner filled with electric cords. It all goes back to Smart vs. Stoopid, really.

Just fulfilling the stereotype

I now realize why "crazy cat ladies" are stereotypically also knitters. It's because once you get tired of the scarves, and the hats, and trying to do more complicated projects that never really look right, there comes a point when, flipping through the knitting book you bought years ago, you discover you can KNIT THINGS FOR YOUR CATS.

Oh, yes. It started small--I found a pattern online for knit mice filled with catnip.



While this little critter might not look too impressive, it's a true hit in this household. I've even given them as gifts for friends with cats, and every cat so far has loved his very own knit mouse.

So it was that tonight I found myself flipping through another knitting book, and discovering a pattern for a dangly, fringy cat toy. Now, anyone who doesn't knit may not realize how time-consuming and patience-requiring this craft really is. I remember one of the first things my knitting book taught me was never to knit anything for people who don't knit themselves, because they'll never understand how much work you put into it. I don't know that I agree with that theory completely, but the kitties definitely prove this to be true.

Between the initial knitting, sewing in the ends, teaching myself how to create fringe, making the fringe, and creating the dangly cord, this project took about two hours to construct.



Of course the entire time Murphy was trying to play with the yarn in my lap, and I was constantly pushing him off the couch. When it was done, I couldn't wait to dangle it in front of the kitties and have a new toy for us to play with. I imagined them jumping up and batting at it, and watching mesmerized as it dangled back and forth.

But here's what really happened:

10:15: Dangle toy, cats look interested and bat and jump at it.


10:16: Baxter grabs toy for himself and parades around the apartment in circles for two minutes, Murphy diligently following him.


10:18: Baxter abandons toy, Murphy sniffs it.


10:19: Both cats get bored and go to sleep.

So a whole four minutes of fun this was. Oh well. I still think it's cute. So there.