Mmm... turkey

I'm back from the world famous Turkey Day whirlwind trip. It was a bit of a blur - everything going on at such a speed tends to make memories sort of fuzz together, but I remember the shiny bits and that's what counts.

It was excellent to see my family, even though my mom drove me slightly bonkers at various points (I'm sure she can say the same for me). Like when she waffled on whether or not to let me take her car to Pittsburgh to go out with my friends the night before Thanksgiving - we got a limo, this thing was planned for a month. It was snowing and she didn't want me "driving the whole way out there by myself in bad weather". She said she'd take me and just wait for me. Sure. When I told her I wouldn't be back until 3AM or so she said she'd "find something to do". Find something to do? What is there to do when you're 53 at 3 in the morning in the suburbs of Pittsburgh? I'll take this one, prof - the correct answer is absolutely shit nothing. Now, does that sound like the talk of a rational woman? Nope. As if her driving me in the bad weather would be better than me driving myself. Umm, no. Plus, I am 28 years old. I think she was having one of those moments where she thinks I'm 16. I said, "Mom, what am I going to do, have my mom drop me off at the limo? I'm 28 for chrissakes. C'mon now, let's not be silly." She let me take her car as long as I promised to stay at my friend's house rather than drive back. Oh yeah, almost forgot - she must have told me 25 times not to drink & drive. She thinks I'm some sort of lush or something. Yeah, mom, I'm going to go booze it up and drive an hour in the mountains during a blizzard. That's so like me. Because I've clearly demonstrated a pattern (or even one instance) of drunk driving in my past. Whatever, water under the bridge. I took the car, I went out, had a blast, saw people I hadn't seen in 10 years (and was astonished when they actually remembered who I was and were genuinely glad to see me), stayed at M's and drove back in the snow Thanksgiving morning. It was great.

Here's a question for you - why is it that during holidays the worst pictures are taken of you and then the relative who took those awful photos emails them out to everyone else in the family who wasn't present? Huh, why is that? My aunt took some of the worst pics of me ever and not only did she send them out, but my hungover mug is the first in the set. Nice. At least she got a couple of cute ones when I was getting ready to go out on Wednesday night. (So my the rest of my relatives don't think that I've prematurely aged and let myself go over the past year.) When I was leaving my brother (bless his little beer-soaked college man self) said, "Oh, I get it. You want to look good, but you don't want it to look like you tried too hard. I think you achieved that. Good job."

One of the best pics of the weekend is the one my aunt took of my brother standing next to what may be the coolest piece of graffiti ever. Not because it's beautiful or particularly artistic, but because of what it says. Anyone who spray paints the words of Dylan Thomas on a train tunnel has to be a tortured soul. I rather like that.

I have more to tell, but work calls. Bastards. Check back later, there will be more tales to read.