Thanksgiving has come and gone, and I probably gained another five pounds. Despite my earlier concerns, Thanksgiving day wasn't nearly as awkward (or violent) as it could have been. I made it to my aunts house around 2:00, spent the afternoon nursing a couple of beers with my cousins and watching football, and mostly managed to avoid my uncle.
Oh, right. And there was another incident. And it's beginning to make me believe in God. And hate him. I really don't even want to write about it, because it's getting ridiculous, and people are going to think I travel under some sort of perpetual cloud of retarded dumbassery, but... *sigh* here goes:
My uncle took me outside to show me the new fence he put up. It's a fairly nice fence. Big, white, wood. You know. A fence. Anyway, as I'm looking around, asking him about the post holes, I step in dog shit.
And so it begins.
My uncle suggests that I go into the basement and wash my shoes off in his slop sink. I say this is a great idea, and wasn't I clever for wearing waterproof shoes! So I go into the basement, he gives me a little rug to stand on, and I take off my shoe. I hold it under the faucet, and turn the water on.
[here it comes]
The water comes ROCKETING out of the faucet, hits the sole of my shoe, and splatters dog shit and water... all over my shirt. Yes, it was a lovely poopy-shirt Thanksgiving.
Friends, this is a new low. I think I need to take some sort of class, or get reprogrammed, or something. This cannot continue. Needless to say, I ate thanksgiving dinner in a t-shirt. Nice. Everyone else is in a nice button-down, or a dress, and I'm in a white t-shirt. And no, I couldn't borrow a shirt, because I'm bigger than everyone in the house. Goddamn it. I guess I lied when I said it wasn't awkward.
Anyway, I really wanted to talk about my Friday night, which was weird, but in a different, non-shit-related way. Wednesday, Mrs. TK and I had gone out for dinner and ran into an old, dear high school friend and her family at the restaurant (her dad lives in the same town as us). He very kindly invited me to dinner at his house for Friday night, and while Mrs. TK was working, I agreed to go. And then he said, "Great! That'll make 12 people!"
Um... what? Twelve people? Aw, balls. As some of you know, I'm not great with crowds, and I'm really not great with new people. But I sack up and go. And... well, it had a real bull-in-a-China-shop feel to it. Her father is quite wealthy, being some sort of attorney. Her father's boyfriend (yes, I said boyfriend) does some sort of thing where he secures insurance for fabulously wealthy foreign people. Also on the guest list:
-Her brother, who is in Rabbinical school.
-Her brother's extremely unfriendly and whiny girlfriend, who is in Cantorial school. (I provided the link because I had no idea what this was.)
-Her stone-deaf grandmother, who would go into periodic rages because everyone kept mumbling.
-Someone who works in the Governor's office
-the Cultural Attache to the Israeli embassy
Oh, did I mention I was the only non-Jew there?
I know, I know. You're thinking, "Wow, TK. You must have been completely comfortable and not even a little bit awkward. I'm sure you didn't swear accidentally and inappropriately, or laugh too loudly, or knock over anything important".
And you would be saying this, because you are a moron who has never read this blog before.
Oh, also, as soon as I walked in? The smoke detectors in the entire house went off. No joke. It was like cocktail hour during Pearl Harbor. LOUD, REPEATED HOWLING, with smoke everywhere and the windows open. Literally started the moment I walked in. I swear to God... This led to a number of conversations like this:
TK: SO, HOW DO YOU KNOW [redacted] AND [redacted]?
Other person: EXCUSE ME?
TK: GODDAMN, THAT FUCKER'S LOUD, HUH?
Needless to say, it NOT was the quiet little family meal I had expected. It was bizarre... not just because it was cold and smoke-filled and deafeningly loud, but because any time you are the ONLY person who is not of the predominant religion, during a very religious meal, it's a little jarring. Not to mention... there wasn't a lot I had to offer in terms of conversation. No one seemed interested in sports. No one seemed interested in The Wire. No one seemed interested in hearing me blather about my dogs. No one seemed interested in hearing how I got so fucking high the night before. I don't think anyone wanted to talk about the new Jay-Z record, and I certainly wasn't going to tell anyone about how I'd splattered myself in dogshit the day before.
It was... unusual, to say the least. But I actually had an OK time, and more importantly, came home with a clean shirt.
I call that fucker a win, if you ask me.
Listening to: The Grifters - Blood Thirsty Lovers