Thanksgiving is upon us. Well, really, it'll be upon us in the morning.

I have decided that this year I am thankful for so many things, I can't just express it by eating a ton of turkey, do I should probably write a blog post about it.

So I am.

I am thankful for parents that have always accepted, nay, encouraged my weird. I have never fit into that little tiny box o' normal, and they never made me try. They just worked their butts off to make sure I was clothed, fed and equipped with the main tool necessary for a successful life: Sarcasm.

I am thankful that my sister let me survive long enough to get to voting age, even though I was a turd. Also, I'm super thankful that we now not only get along, but are able to combine to create a level of awesome heretofore unknown in this galaxy.

I am thankful for a fantastic extended family that is tightly-knit enough that I know they will always be there for me (as I will for them), but doesn't strangle me with too many feelings or surprise week-long visits. Because, well, come on. Me and surprise week-long visits are not a good combo.

I am thankful for true friends. I am fortunate to have some, and they are fricking amazing. 

I am thankful that I have retained my sensitivity, even when it makes life ticklish, and I have to deal with smelly smells that are smelly.

I am thankful for pets and fart jokes and Life Cereal and stretchy pants and Murder, She Wrote and math and music and ceramics and writing. They make life so much more fun and bearable than I would've ever thought.

Finally, and most of all, I am extra thankful that I'm lucky enough to have my very own person, and I got to find him in time for him to get used to my...cowboyness. Because the person that is my person is just so awesome, I can't even deal, and he totally did not get a delicate flower. And I'm pretty sure he's cool with that, which makes me even more thankful.

See? I told you it was a lot. I didn't even get into my feelings about Sirloin Burger soup. That needs a poet, and I just don't have the words.

Have a lovely, thankity Thanksgiving! 

It's time for me to shed the light on a real problem. Again.

EYEBROWS.

If you look surprised, all of the time, you need to loosen your grip on those tweezers, stop drawing on brows that are twice as thin and twice as long as they need to be, and accept the fact that the way they've grown in naturally is an okay way for them to be.

I'm not pooping on those who have naturally thin brows, or those who have to draw on their brows because their natural ones aren't there or are shaped funny. I'm referring to this:

Or this:

Or, finally, this:

AS I've said before, if I feel like saying, "Surprise!" and I bring you a Sharpie every time I see you, it may be time to find a new eyebrow style.

But you just have to stop. You just have to.

In ceramics class last night, I made something that I wasn't too happy with. Everybody else said it was fine, but in my heart, I knew it was crap.

I hate that.

I would rather people just said, "Aww...and that looked like it was going to be so nice, too." Instead, they feel compelled to ooh and aah a little more over things that suck.

I know this because I do it myself.

I realize that if I don't like it, I shouldn't do it to other people, but I'm not convinced that it isn't the only way to really handle those situations. I don't want to be one of those "solution" people who tells you everything you did wrong after the fact and never, ever has anything to say beforehand.

That is lame.

Also, it is extremely unhelpful in ceramics, because if you don't like what you made, you're pretty much screwed. You kind of just have to deal.

I guess this is another one of those pesky situations with no answer. I hate that. I wish there was a perfect thing to say that was non-judgmental while also being supportive and helpful, but in a non-I-told-you-so manner.

That doesn't exist. I just made it up in my head.

There are just going to be crappy ceramics days. There just are. At least I get to come home and have a peach popsicle, even if it is winter and I have to have it while wrapped in a blanket because it makes me so cold I can't stand it.

That is not crappy at all.

Some of my most brilliant ideas have come to me while I've been driving home from my weekly TV show watching with my sister. Maybe it's because it's usually dark and quiet, and I don't like anything they've been playing on the radio lately so I'm tending to just let it be radio-free, or maybe it's because the show we watch is so...well...lately, it's been less good, but it used to be quite a bit more interesting. Right now, there's too many good guys and not enough villains.

Yep, that's how I like my TV. Chock full o' villains.

Anyway, last night, I had a genius idea. So good, in fact, that I am going to run right out and get a patent before somebody else snaps one up and I lose the rights.

The idea? Creepy Karaoke.

So right before I turned off the radio, they played this weird song from the early 60s called, "Daddy's Home." (Shep and the Limeliters, I believe). That's the inspiration.

You can imagine the creepiness of this particular song, especially if you, like me, find it really weird that anyone would ever refer to his or her partner as "Daddy." Or "Mommy," for that matter. Or really any parental term. Because,  just, no. Gross.

So I thought, "Wow! I should sing this song next time I do karaoke...that would really creep everyone out!"

And my million-dollar idea was born.

There are so many songs that can be creepy in the right context. For instance, have an old lady doing karaoke? Find the creepiest match possible...I would suggest any Barry White song where he moans for the first couple of minutes, or perhaps "Son of a Preacher Man." Old guy? Perhaps with excessive ear hair? Try "Teenager in Love," or "Daddy's Little Girl." Or, as I mentioned above, "Daddy's Home."

There are just so many choices.

I am, for reals, going to try it out next time I do karaoke. I am just going to flip through that book of available songs and find the weirdest one and just go for it. The most beautiful part of this whole plan is that even those who feel awkward about doing karaoke, such as myself, can feel a little less awkward because people will just assume it's a bad song choice and won't be judging the actual singing.

So there you go.

Creepy Karaoke. Coming sometime in the future to a really gross bar near you. As a bonus, I'll include, "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus." It's always creepy. Every time.

Triscuits.

There, I said it.

Every once in a while, I just really want to eat some, but I know it's not a good idea. Then, I start thinking about their dry, crispy, salty goodness, and I die a little until I break down and buy a box.

Then, I eat them and feel sick and don't eat the rest of the box.

I think it may be because I was allergic to wheat when I was little and I watched my Mom eat them and they looked so good, but I couldn't have any.

Now, I'm not allergic to wheat, but there's something about Triscuits that still calls to me.

It's probably the promise of a stomachache. This could be the reason I occasionally drink four glasses of wine or eat a whole order of fries by myself. Apparently, I really enjoy feeling like crap ever so often.

At any rate, I woke up this morning feeling that old Triscuity feeling again.

I have been elected to buy cheese and crackers for something, so I think I'll buy some for that and then other people can join in on the magic. I think it may be the magic of them that appeals to me because, as Rumpelstiltskin says on "Once Upon a Time" (yeah, I watch it...don't hate), "Magic always comes with a price."

And the price of that salty wheat is a terrible stomachache.

I think I can take it. It can't be that bad, right?

Naw. Can't be. Or I wouldn't want to eat them again. It's been at least a year. Maybe I imagined the whole stomach thing. Maybe they don't bother me at all, and this time I'll be able to eat the whole box.

Not in one sitting, though. I'm not that cuckoo.

from amks22.weebly.com

There are all of these hashtags everywhere. Most of the time I get them, but every once in a while, I am completely clueless and it drives me crazy until I figure it out.

I also didn't know what the hashtags did until like a week ago, because I finally overcame my fear of looking like an idiot and asked my sister. So there's that.

Anyway, even though I don't actually use my Twitter account, I am going to start using hashtags, especially in my day to day conversations. I am going to make some of them easy to understand, for instance this post is #completelyawesome.

Others, like #instantbananahorseshoe might take some figuring out.

Also, I don't think that hashtags in regular speech will do anybody any good, but it will be really fun for me. I might be talking to my boss later today and I'll say something like #canigetyouapen?

And my boss will say, "Say whaaaat?" in a high-pitched voice and then the studio audience in my head will laugh really hard.

Or maybe that's just a scenario I made up.

At any rate, it sounds much more hilarious with hashtags. It also sounds like what the cool kids do. Or did. I don't know, I can't keep up with what's cool anymore because I seem to have lost the ability to differentiate between cool and douchey these days.

Yep, it pretty much all looks douchey.

#imouttahereihavetogoshowerforworkandthennotforgetsocksbecausethatwouldbeadisaster.

All I can say is that I'm so glad election day is over. I'm also really glad about some of the outcomes and I'm kind of sad about some of the outcomes, but it's more on a local level and I realize there are approximately three other people who care about local politics.

Except for when our property taxes go up to pay for more stupid decorative crap and we still have to drive around on streets that look like cellulite.

And our sidewalk situation is still atrocious.

Yeah, people. Then you'll care.

At any rate, I'm super excited not to be getting any more phone calls about candidates or a mailbox full of mailers.

At least, until next time.

Maybe I'll run for something in a few years. Maybe my slogan will be, "Free cheese for everybody!"

That's a great slogan.

I'm surprised nobody's used it.

I'm surprised that I just made myself want a piece of cheese. Wait. No, I'm not.

Well, it's almost Friday, at any rate.

It's the morning I dread every year: The morning I have to go take my fasting blood test at the hospital, one week before my physical.

I don't really dread the physical. They've been the same since I was nine or so. I go in, fill out some papers, and wait. I get called back, weighed, my vitals taken, and wait. The doctor comes in, asks me if I am aware that I have a weight problem, looks into my ears and nose, ups my thyroid medication, and then I go home. Or to work. You know, wherever it is that I go lead my thrilling life afterwards.

The blood test, though, sucks. Big time.

I have to get up and NOT EAT and NOT DRINK COFFEE. I just have to do all of the other morning things without the help of my bowl o' sugar and caffeine. Then, I have to go to the hospital and get the orders from my doctors' office, then walk over to the lab and wait for the blood to be drawn.

All of this, without my Lucky Charms. Or Honey Nut Chex. Or Apple Jacks. None. No cereal. And did I mention NO COFFEE?

I'm barely human without my breakfast routine.

That is why fasting blood test day is the worst. Also because I never know if they're going to ask me to pee, but it doesn't really matter because there's just no way. Once I'm within fifty feet of a doctor's office, I can't pee. My kidneys just suck up all of the fluid in my body, tell my bladder to back off and then they go into hibernation mode. This state of being lasts just long enough for me to get into my car and get back on the road. Then, ten minutes away from wherever I'm going, my bladder is immediately full. Like DEFCON 1 full (I learned that DEFCON 1 is the worst, not DEFCON 5 or whatever---I can't remember where I learned it from, but I'm going with that). And I have to hold it for ten minutes and I feel like my bladder is going to explode. 

I usually want to turn around and go back, but I've done that before and not been able to make it work. Seriously. I am that horrible at peeing in a cup.

So, yep. Hate fasting blood test day.