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A Letter To My Big Bro, At Thanksgiving

Dear Jonathan Arthur,

Well, this year will be our first Thanksgiving since you died. And it sucks. I mean, it doesn’t suck- You know how much I love Thanksgiving because I get to hang out with my favorite family ever, AND stuff my face and drink all day long. That stuff’s all still pretty cool. It just really, really sucks that you’re not here to pile your plate with food and then clog my toilet afterwards. Sorry I just told the world about that, but you know it’s true. We all do it. It’s cool. Thanksgiving just won’t be the same without that stuff. It’ll never be the same. I’m trying to accept that- You know, that whole ‘acceptance’ stage of grief- But I’m not sure I ever will. Sometimes if I don’t think about it, I can still sort of pretend you’re still out there somewhere, looking at boobies on the computer. But then I realize you’re not. And holy shit, it’s then that I miss you so much that it hurts. I still cry every single day for you, and every night when I go to sleep, I pray that God will let you come visit me in my dreams. With little Max. And sometimes you do. I’m thankful for that. That even if I can never see you or hear your voice when I’m awake, I get to sometimes when I sleep. It’s not the same, but hey, at least it’s somethin’. I’m also thankful that you’re fully clothed in my dreams, otherwise that’d just be freakin’ weird.

So this Thanksgiving, I’m extra thankful for all of the kickass people I still have here to share food and booze with, and I’m also thankful for all the memories I have with you, and that I got to have you as my big brother. And don’t worry, I’ll still make your disgusting turkey liver crap, even though it makes me want to vomit. Do me a favor and come party with us for a while. Knock some shit off the counter or something. And bring little Max with you. I know you guys are taking care of each other up there.

Happy Thanksgiving, big brother. I’ll eat a giant turkey leg just for you. Well… Sort of for me, too. That shit’s delicious.

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Posted by on November 24, 2014 in Cancer, Life

 

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Post-Holiday Wood Tales

In case you guys missed it a couple weeks ago, I still work in a lumber yard. Haven’t branched out yet. Get it? Branched? Like on a tree? Lumber? Get it? Never mind. Anyway, now that the holidays are coming to a close, and the mistletoe has been stored away in my basement in hopes that maybe Christmas of 2014 will bring someone with whom I can make out with underneath it, it’s time for the long awaited (Ok, maybe not long. Nor awaited, really. Whatever.) post-holiday edition of… You guessed it: Top Ten Quotes From A Lumber Yard.

10. “Look, someone left their nuts sitting out there on the counter. Who does that?”
People leaving their nuts all willy-nilly like that. It’s just unsanitary is what it is.

9. “You probably did it with my dad.”
Ummm… Can you describe your dad? It’s entirely possible.

8. “He’s my snuggle buddy.”
The men I work with are surprisingly sensitive.

7. “He touched me inappropriately, so I kicked him.”
Nobody tell Corporate about this!

6. “I used to work for Jews, we never had to do this!”
Said while putting up the Christmas tree from Hell. It just made me laugh.

5. “It’s like ‘hide the pickle in the Christmas tree’.”
Apparently some of my coworkers have some questionable holiday traditions.

4. “I can do that without even having to spread ’em!”
Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…

3. “We haven’t even gotten into touching the meat yet.”
Yes, the holidays are a time for family, giving, and meat touching.

2. “I only like to touch things once, and then I put it away.”
Good philosophy, actually.

And, my new favorite:
1. Put your finger here, see if it can take it!”
Yeah… I got nothin’.

This concludes this week’s Top Ten Quotes From A Lumber Yard. Stay tuned for the 2014 edition. I’m hoping next year brings less talk of touching meat.

 
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Posted by on December 29, 2013 in Humor

 

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The Day The Keebler Elves Died (Or Something Like That)

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Today was a very traumatic day in the life of Paula In The Country. It’s a little difficult for me to talk about, but if you’ll allow me to collect myself for a  minute, I’ll try…

Aaaand… Done. Thank you.

Anyway… Today, at approximately 10:20am, I… Turned. Down. Cookies. That’s right. Cookies. FREE cookies, even. Now, some of you may be thinking to yourselves, “I turn down cookies all the time, what’s the big deal?”. Well, you people are not Paula In The Country. So zip it, you skinny bastards. Sorry I was combative there. Not really. It’s the lack of cookies. It’s making me cranky. Anyway, like I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted by skinny bastards… This does not happen to me. I always want cookies ALWAYS. If there were a Carbs Anonymous, I’d have to go at the frequency with which I go to church, at least. Actually, way more than that, since I never go to church unless there are free snacks promised. Which doesn’t happen as often as it should, frankly. I’d probably sneak in a few miniature Kit Kats or something to the Carbs Anonymous meeting, too. Also free crackers I stole from the salad bar I went to yesterday, because if I have to sit through an entire hour-long meeting, I at least need a salty snack AND dessert. I’m just sayin’. Anyhoo… I’m the girl who brings 2 grocery bags full of snacks for a  5 hour road trip, because apparently I have a deep-seated fear of my 2013 Nissan Versa breaking down in the harsh jungle of I-80 in Indiana, with rest stops and Subways approximately every 3 miles, and starving to death while trying to reach the nearest $5 footlong. I bring Tupperware to weddings so I can steal unattended dinner rolls and cake while everyone’s teary-eyed and distracted by the daddy-daughter dance. Don’t judge me. So this… This just doesn’t happen to me. So if anyone needs me, I’ll be off reevaluating my entire life, and my commitment to desserts.

I’m sorry, Keebler Elves. Please don’t do anything rash. Let me work through this. Keep on Elving… Or whatever you do in those trees.

 

 
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Posted by on December 23, 2013 in Humor

 

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Santa, You’re Gonna Need A Bigger Bag

Earlier today, someone asked me what I want for Christmas. Most people could probably answer this question without too much thought, right? But tonight, for some reason, I’m still struggling with this. I mean, not that I don’t want stuff. I like stuff just as much as the next girl. Especially boots. It may be a borderline boot fetish. But I guess when it comes right down to it, the stuff I REALLY want isn’t as easy to obtain as heading to the nearest Kohl’s. Nope. I’m a little more high maintenance than that, I’m afraid.

First off, I’d like to never have to shave my legs again. Sure, it’s not so bad having a nice set of fur-covered legs to keep me warm in these frigid Chicago temperatures, but unfortunately it makes it difficult to pick up men at the local gym while wearing capris or shorts. I suppose I could possibly attract a Wookiee or a Sasquatch or something, but they don’t seem like they’d be very good dinner companions. I’d like my body hair in general taken care of, really. It’d be a hell of a time saver. I’ll even take care of my own increasingly abundant nose hair. I feel this is a decent compromise.

Secondly, I’d like a person. Not just any person. A go-to person, A best friend. One person I feel like I can completely be myself with. Someone I can tell anything to, with whom I can completely let down my guard, who will tolerate my vodka and snack habit, who will take my insecure and overemotional moments and love me for them just as much as my moments of joy, love, and hilarity. Someone who’ll hug me and tell me everything will be ok, and make me believe it. If he’ll spoon me and kiss me goodnight on the forehead, that’d be pretty cool, too. Also, rub my feet. And take out the garbage. Not at the same time, though. I don’t want any various garbage juices to somehow end up on my feet. That’d be gross.

Third, (and this is a biggie, Santa, so listen up) I’d like my brother to not have to fight cancer any more. Because it’s stupid. In addition, although I’d probably never say this to their faces, because I’m the bratty little sister, and it’s hard to talk to them when they’re giving me wedgies and swirlies and such, I want to bonk ALL of my big brothers on the head and make them realize how badly I wish they’d all take better care of themselves, and recognize that I don’t want to ever have to be here without them. Sure, sometimes they’re a huge pain in the ass, especially when they get into stupid fights over The Walking Dead and Rock Of Ages, but they are mine, and without them, I’m not quite sure what I’d do. Idiots. I’m probably going to get beat up for this at the next family gathering.

I’d like to be able to talk to my dad again. In a few days he’ll have been gone four years. Man, I can’t believe it’s been that long. You know, sometimes I talk to him at night, but he never says anything back, which is ok because I’m used to rambling with no response, kinda like I’m doing right now, but it’d be cool if he’d give me a, “Good Lord, shut it already and go to sleep.” or something. That’d probably totally scare the shit out of me in the middle of the night, though. It’s weird, after all this time, I still remember exactly what his voice sounded like. I miss that. I guess you never really realize how much you miss someone’s voice like that until they’re gone.

I’d like the Monchichi I had as a child, and also my Strawberry Shortcake doll that blew strawberry-scented kisses. because I loved them; And even though I’m supposed to be mature and shit, I like toys.

I want time to slow the hell down. Although 38 is pretty kickass, what with how much more confident and happy I am than I was 10 years ago, I’m totally not digging the random inch-long hairs I find growing out of my forehead, nor how I get up and walk into the other room and completely forget why I’m there.

And last, but definitely not least, I want to be able to eat cupcakes for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and never gain any weight. In fact, the more cupcakes I eat, the skinnier I get. Whoa. Whoa. Wait… Whoa.

I totally just blew my own mind. I have to stop now.

But seriously, Santa… I hope you wrote this shit down, fat man.

Sorry I called you fat. I didn’t mean it. You’re very svelte for an older man. Yup. I’m just gonna go now.

 

 

 

 

 
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Posted by on December 11, 2013 in Humor, Life

 

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Black Friday Survival

I’m sure a lot of you (and by ‘a lot of you’, I mean ‘1 person who may read this’) lie awake at night thinking about me and how I manage to remain so calm during this hectic holiday season. Frankly, I don’t even know how I do it sometimes, amid the hustle and bustle, barrage of holiday parties, and overabundance of sugar, but somehow I manage to do so. Swimmingly, even (I just wanted to use the word ‘swimmingly’, because it makes me a little happy.). And, being the giver that I am, I figured I’d share my tips for surviving one of the most hectic days of the season: Black Friday. Pay attention, guys. This is pretty important stuff.

1. Stay in bed.

Don’t get elbowed in the face by a soccer mom for the last $8 mini food processor. Wear some holiday-themed jammies, too, because they’re way fun.

 

Whew. It’s hard being helpful. That took a lot out of me. I need an eggnog.

 

 

 
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Posted by on December 1, 2013 in Humor

 

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