happy belated Thanksgiving
happy belated thanksgiving
Jen's family came over for thanksgiving lunch and it wasn't as horrifying as I thought it'd be. Us stepchildren sat at the small table while Jen's family sat at the large one, everyone eating a delicious meal. Two turkeys were brought over and only one was mostly eaten. It wasn't till much later I learned there was actually a THIRD turkey that made its way over to the duplex. I never saw it.
About 5 o'clock a very nice and cute guy named Nam picked me up and we went to Sully's, some Irish pub. As I believe I mentioned before--instead of my aspiring alchoholic tendencies I had when I was younger--I have much difficulty getting past the first or second drink. Nam's roommate/friend came to join us, an obnoxious yet amusing guy who said he couldn't remember my name, even after I told him he could--to my distaste--call me Cass.
So, Chelsea, what brings you to Iowa?
It's alright, because I couldn't remember his name, either. Was it Matt? Nickname M. J.? Michael Jackson?
I always had trouble remembering names in classes, shows, and especially bars. It's been nearly six years since I used to go to Che's each night on 4th Ave. in Tucson, where I was continuely being introduced to people left and right. Names! What's the point? Usually I'd have some asshole sitting next to me blubbering about stuff I didn't care about. I'd forget what the name is the split second after the person's been introduced. It usually takes about 2 or 3 more times of meeting a person before I finally remember his/her name.
I made it through a 1/10th dark guinesses (sp?) and 2 rum and cokes. And even then, Michael Jackson helped me drink those when he got impatient with the barmaid.
Got back home early, about 8:30-9ish, but it was the first nice real night out I've had in awhile, in spite of my inability to drink hard.
After showering, reading, and relaxing for a few hours, I turned off the light when it was starting to creep up to midnight.
I tossed and turned a bit. The Drink keeps me awake sometimes, especially these days since I've become sensitive to it. I never before drank till puking, but almost always drank till I nearly passed out. How I never got a DUI or anything is beyond me. But I remember each night passing out then waking up, thirsty more than I could imagine, getting up and walking to the kitchen and blacking out before making it to the tiled floors. It always took me awhile to get a glass of water (or 2, 3, 4) but after crawling back to my room, back into bed, I'd always sleep. Now I couldn't sleep worth shit, even after my usual Tylenol PM's.
Then an idea popped into my head. Christ! A friggin' GOOD idea for a book. I could write a novel based on my experience at the humane society. I sat up in my bed. It would be totally awesome. I felt after a while of learning the different cats and dogs' personalities that I figured I could guess what they were saying through their meows, barks, hisses, growls, and general body language and facial expressions. Why the hell not write a book about them, the animals? I'd use their same names and descriptions but change everyone elses' identities, including myself, and just write in 3rd person.
I laid back down. Fabulous. Fabulous. I rolled through the screen in my mind the incidents I had at work that I would write about, how I would write. I kicked my feet in excitment and turned over. My memoir can wait, I think I'd rather start this book first.
I turned back over, wondering if it was midnight yet. I got up in my bed, leaned forward, and squinted: it was after 2AM.
..........................................
We'll see how it goes.
Jen's family came over for thanksgiving lunch and it wasn't as horrifying as I thought it'd be. Us stepchildren sat at the small table while Jen's family sat at the large one, everyone eating a delicious meal. Two turkeys were brought over and only one was mostly eaten. It wasn't till much later I learned there was actually a THIRD turkey that made its way over to the duplex. I never saw it.
About 5 o'clock a very nice and cute guy named Nam picked me up and we went to Sully's, some Irish pub. As I believe I mentioned before--instead of my aspiring alchoholic tendencies I had when I was younger--I have much difficulty getting past the first or second drink. Nam's roommate/friend came to join us, an obnoxious yet amusing guy who said he couldn't remember my name, even after I told him he could--to my distaste--call me Cass.
So, Chelsea, what brings you to Iowa?
It's alright, because I couldn't remember his name, either. Was it Matt? Nickname M. J.? Michael Jackson?
I always had trouble remembering names in classes, shows, and especially bars. It's been nearly six years since I used to go to Che's each night on 4th Ave. in Tucson, where I was continuely being introduced to people left and right. Names! What's the point? Usually I'd have some asshole sitting next to me blubbering about stuff I didn't care about. I'd forget what the name is the split second after the person's been introduced. It usually takes about 2 or 3 more times of meeting a person before I finally remember his/her name.
I made it through a 1/10th dark guinesses (sp?) and 2 rum and cokes. And even then, Michael Jackson helped me drink those when he got impatient with the barmaid.
Got back home early, about 8:30-9ish, but it was the first nice real night out I've had in awhile, in spite of my inability to drink hard.
After showering, reading, and relaxing for a few hours, I turned off the light when it was starting to creep up to midnight.
I tossed and turned a bit. The Drink keeps me awake sometimes, especially these days since I've become sensitive to it. I never before drank till puking, but almost always drank till I nearly passed out. How I never got a DUI or anything is beyond me. But I remember each night passing out then waking up, thirsty more than I could imagine, getting up and walking to the kitchen and blacking out before making it to the tiled floors. It always took me awhile to get a glass of water (or 2, 3, 4) but after crawling back to my room, back into bed, I'd always sleep. Now I couldn't sleep worth shit, even after my usual Tylenol PM's.
Then an idea popped into my head. Christ! A friggin' GOOD idea for a book. I could write a novel based on my experience at the humane society. I sat up in my bed. It would be totally awesome. I felt after a while of learning the different cats and dogs' personalities that I figured I could guess what they were saying through their meows, barks, hisses, growls, and general body language and facial expressions. Why the hell not write a book about them, the animals? I'd use their same names and descriptions but change everyone elses' identities, including myself, and just write in 3rd person.
I laid back down. Fabulous. Fabulous. I rolled through the screen in my mind the incidents I had at work that I would write about, how I would write. I kicked my feet in excitment and turned over. My memoir can wait, I think I'd rather start this book first.
I turned back over, wondering if it was midnight yet. I got up in my bed, leaned forward, and squinted: it was after 2AM.
..........................................
We'll see how it goes.