Crow does not taste like chicken

Dear Boone,

As much as it pains me to do this, I owe you an apology.

This tastes like a giant ass cracker.

For the last seven months or so, I have been pretty rude to you. 

Now, you need to own part of that because you definitely earned a lot my swears, what with your narrow ass roads, your turn signal resistant residents and, of course, your Target deficiency.

However, when my four letter words are undeserved, I will take responsibility.

This morning as I was leaving for class, I put a few cards and a Netflix movie in the mailbox and flipped up that cute, red flag to alert Il Postino of the pick-up.

When I returned to the house later this evening, I was confused to see that same cute, red flag in the same position.

I checked the box, hoping Il Postino (most overrated movie ever, by the way) had merely forgotten to drop the flag.

My reaction at seeing the mail went a little something like this (and Boone, you may want to skip this part):

Of course not!  Why on EARTH should the @!#$%&? mail get picked up today?  No reason!  No no, thank YOU, Boone.  Thank you so much for your unwavering determination to separate yourself from other cities through little, &%$#@! unimportant things like this.  I mean, God forbid you pick up the @$&?!# mail EVERY. SINGLE. #$@?%&. DAY.

I went inside my house, absolutely seething.  After bitching to my roommate about how ridiculous you are, I went to my room to check my e-mail.  I saw that I had a message from Borders with a free President's Day coupon.

Admittedly, I cursed your name again because you don't have a Borders.  But then, I caught on.

President's Day.

Today.

Oh.

Um, my bad?

Okay, I know that's not good enough.  I dragged your name through the mud pretty hard, using all sorts of verbally abusive, yet creative, literary devices (I may or may not have compared you to an overweight ferret's sphincter).

The point is, I was wrong and I apologize. 

You were right not to pick up my mail today and I should not have told you to kiss, lick or eat anything.  I especially should not have said it so loudly because I'm pretty sure my neighbors, and their children, hear most of my colorful diatribes.

 Sorry, neighbor child!

I hope we can use this as a jumping off point to turn our relationship into something tolerable!

Your (temporary) citizen,

Sara

P.S.  If you somehow got Chick-Fil-A to stay open on Sundays, all would be forgiven forever.

P.P.S.  Seriously.

The Ghost of Thanksgivings Past

Yesterday's Thanksgiving was pretty standard by our family's "Bat Shit Loony Scale", so there's not much to tell.

However, I was recently reminded of a Thanksgiving that took place long ago.

Back in the magical year of 1998, my dad was working the night shift for a railroad company.  The Wednesday night/early Thursday morning of Thanksgiving was no exception.

My family that resides primarily in southeast Indiana invited us down for the holiday.

After explaining my dad's schedule and giving our best ETA to them, we agreed to be there by, let's say... 3pm.

So, after getting a highly inadequate amount of sleep, my dad drove us down to Liberty, Indiana.

For those of you poorly acquainted with Indiana trivia, Liberty hosts a whopping 2,000 people, is very agricultural (heavy on the corn and pigs) and one could actually walk to the Indiana/Ohio border in  less than 20 min., should one become that bored (I've done it twice).

We made the 3-hour drive to this magical haven, comforted only by the promise of turkey, butter-soaked mashed potatoes and slightly burned pumpkin pie.

As we entered my grandmother's house, we saw our entire extended family on my dad's side seated at the dining room table.

Given that I was 13 or 14 years old at the time, and therefore starving, I remember thinking, "Weird.  They're just sitting here waiting on us?"

Upon further inspection, I saw that the plates had been used, silverware was dirty and the turkey was good and carved.

They. Had. Already. Eaten.
 .
At the time, I couldn't see past my own hunger and frustration at being made to eat a light lunch and sit in the car for three hours so we could drive to BFE to eat their leftovers.

Looking back, my poor dad did all this on a crappy 4 hours of sleep and complained a lot less than I did.

Getting back to my righteous indignation, we were warmly welcomed and invited to the table.  I remember being told, "There is plenty for you guys!  We made sure to leave you some!"

It turns out that "some" meant a little dry turkey (ugh), green bean casserole (cack) and sugar cream pie (vom).

Mashed potatoes?  Gone.
Corn?  Eaten.
Rolls?  Depleted.
Deviled eggs? Hoovered.
Stuffing?  Ruminated.
Pumpkin pie?  Wolfed.

That night, we stopped at a Burger King off I-65, and let me tell you, that double cheeseburger more than adequately filled the void of Thanksgiving.

Plus, I was too young to drink.

**This post was inspired by Kelly's story at Speaking From The Crib.

It's a Labor Day miracle!

Yesterday, I decided enough was enough.

I put on my big girl pants, plugged an address into Weezy and drove about an hour south of Boone to the mythical city of Hickory.

You know what they have in Hickory?



Breathtaking, isn't it?

While that is not a picture I personally took, this is how I like to picture it, right before I drift off to sleep and dream of Archer Farms and Isaac Mizrahi.

I walked in, my eyes filled with wonder and my heart saturated with love. Had I been wearing a hat, I like to think I would've pulled a Mary Tyler Moore and launched it into the atmosphere with unbridled joy.

I walked every inch of that store, for each aisle in every department was precious to me.

I smiled at camping gear. I laughed knowingly at the bathroom scales. I got a little choked up around the purses. So many memories...

I would've stayed all afternoon, but after only an hour, I got the feeling I needed to go, for my basket might've looked like this:




For dinner that evening, I consumed my free chicken sandwich from Chick-Fil-A, thanks to my Indiana University t-shirt and a couple friends who alerted me of this fantastic promotion (thank you, Lisa Diane and Sargibso!).

I rounded off my evening with a mug off jasmine green tea and a movie. It was a lovely day.

But wait! That's not all! The spirit of Labor Day continues!

This morning, I checked my e-mail and Alicia of It Aint Easy Being Cheesy, had sent me a little message.

I won something!



I can hardly stand it. Aren't they amazing? Isn't she amazing? That's a rhetorical question, by the way. She IS amazing.

While the gift of spoons took place the day after Labor Day, I prefer to treat it like Christmas, where the festivities continue long after the actual day has ended. That same energy warmed my heart this morning, and with that feeling, I will also carry a special knowledge:

I made Labor Day my bitch.