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The Bang Bang Theories

Good Enough

It’s Monday night and I’m making Thanksgiving Turkey.  And drinking what started out as a glass or two, but turned into an entire bottle of cheapish-but-delish Moscato. 

We didn’t manage to have a traditional Thanksgiving at Chez Bang Bang this year. For the past couple of years I’ve cooked, but this year I just wanted to roll around in the freedom of the day and enjoy it without doing a dag-nab thing.  And also for the first time since I left the Card Mines, I had the day after Thanksgiving off, and I wanted to do two days in a row of not a dag-nab thing.  Which is pretty much how my two days off rolled, and so for that I give thanks. 

The trio of my mister, my brother and myself moseyed down to the casino for turkey dinner and a lil’ gambling. Didn’t win, but had turkey that I didn’t have to cook, so basically a win.  But then we missed having leftovers and I kept planning on making my 21.75 lb. bird that my boss gave me, but it just didn’t happen the entire four days off.

Which brings us to a Monday night and there’s four hours of turkey cooking in the oven.  And it smells ah. mazing. 

I had to prepare it after I got off work tonight. 

I don’t really enjoy pulling out turkey parts from the cavities, but someone had to do it, I guess, and the cats weren’t intent on helping unless you count licking the outer skin of the turkey “helping” – that was all Gussy wanted to do and I had to fight to keep him away from the bird. 

This is a bad story, Reader, for that I blame the moscato. Usually wine makes me more creative – or so I tell myself – but tonight? It’s just turkey innards and delayed holidays. Sometimes that’s the best you can do. 

In other non-news, I’m toying with the idea of putting up a real Christmas tree this year.  No one in my inner circle believes I can handle the responsibility of a real Christmas tree because they require daily watering. Several folks are under the belief that I can’t be responsible for something for 25-ish days, which would almost be insulting, but based on my hydrangea that I seem to have killed from lack of watering, they may be right.  My one friend gently suggested I wait to buy a tree until the 12th or 15th, so I have less days to fail. 

Reader, can I live up to the responsibility of owning a live tree?  More importantly, can the cats live up to the responsibility of not knocking over a live tree??  Which one of us would cause the most Tree Destruction?

I don’t know. I just don’t know. I think a live tree would make it feel more holly-jolly-and-ho-ho-ho-y at Chez Bang Bang. I struggle to capture the Holiday Spirit every year. It’s not my time to shine, believe it or not. So I’m willing to try the live tree maneuver. What do you think my chances are for success??  

All I know is the clock is ticking and I need to make Christmas Happen this coming weekend or not at all.  If you’re a bettin’ person, Reader, take odds on “not at all.” Never forget my lazy roots. They run deep. 

Lastly, it’s the end of Birfday Month for Trixie.  Also known as the end of the Reasons to Eat Cake For Breakfast. Luckily I had pee-lenty of cake in the past month and am sort of looking forward to a detox from the sugar and flour fairytale that is my life. 

And finally, for the Last Last tidbit, I’ve realized from comments and messages on Facebook that it’s not common practice to toss out all our undies twice a year.  Thank you for validating my unkempt undergarments as normal. We all pretty much keep the same business in our pants. Except that now I think I need to try Soma brand undies, because it sounds exciting and I think I may be missing out on something in my lower half, and I can’t have that. Unless they’re over ten bucks, then my vagina will remain content in Target underwear. Because I’m thrifty, Reader. And plus it doesn’t really know the difference. Or does it? Sometimes that thing has a mind of it’s own, so you never know. But if my vagina wants pricey undies, it may have to go out and get a job. I can’t support eight cats and a high-maintenance vagina. 

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