l i l e p h y t e

October 10th, 15:24 | Oh, I'm thankful alright...

So I'm sitting here, taking a break from the Thanksgiving cookage, in my Screw You Hillary Duff! Grey-and-white-striped shirt with yellow pocket area.

Backstory: Friday night, my former roommate hit up town to spend the Weekend of Thanks with her family, and we opted to hang out for a bit. Although the original plan was for her to pick me up and then we'd go somewhere bubble tea-y and hang out, I was in Extreme Movie Theatre mode. So I agreed to the only movie she wanted to see at the time : Raise Your Voice, the latest heart-warming, wholesome, Hilary Duff production which carries no particular value.

What does all this have to do with my shirt, you ask? I'm getting to that. Following the movie, we hit up a different bubble tea joint (oh, how I hate the way that makes me sound; I swear I only go to those places for the Taiwanese brick toast -- condensed milk on fluffy toast is ambrosia, yo) and did the catching up thing. Later, I walked home, got offered a ride by an extremely sketchy guy who pulled a u-turn to offer it to me, and promptly had a nightmare about Ms Duff.

(I feel the need to express at this point that, having never met Ms Duff, it's not that I don't like her. I just find the publicized blandness that she portrays, combined with the over-commercialized strategy that's got her trying to corner us in every fucking market in existence (next up : The Hilary Duff CookBook For Sassy Blonde Gals!!) to be tiring, boring and kind of sickening. So Hilary? If your press agent is reading this for you? Don't take it personally; it's not you, it's your image.)

Right, so I had a nightmare. In it, she was wearing my shirt and people were agog over it (the shoulders are a little weird, and everytime I've worn it in public, people have asked me where it's from. My answer is always "somewhere in Hong Kong" and I've been wearing the shirt since I was 14; I love this shirt) and all that crap. The next day, not having seen all the media shit on tv (since, you know, I don't watch tv -- just movies) I wore my shirt and was accosted by people informing me I was mimicking Ms Duff's mad stylez. To which I tried to explain about how I'd had the shirt since I'd been 14, etc, etc. It sounds so highschool, but it was horrible. I hate that shit.

So yeah. I'm sitting here, covered in flour and grease, pie-crust caking the backs of my hands, and this year's Thanksgiving turkey (Feyd-Rautha) cooking happily away in the oven. (Now is that an image that'll convince you never ever to touch my keyboard, or what?)

Despite being used to doing all the prep, this year there's a lot less work. We're not having all the family over -- just two of my parents friends. I'm not really sure how I feel about that. I know the apartment is small. I know it's real hard to set up the mah johng tables, due to said lack of space. (Side-note : yes, in our family mah johng is an integral part of our family gatherings. I need also mention that every Christmas and Thanksgiving, we always have a hybrid "traditional" Turkey dinner and Chinese food, along with smoked salmon. It's the just the way it is, alright?) But this year, apparently my mom figured her sibling would be happier playing mah johng elsewhere, so why ruin their fun? So we're cooking way less food this year, there's no mah johng, there'll be no chinese food. Not even rice.

Frankly, it's not looking at all like Thanksgiving thus far. (I realized the strangeness of this when my mom told me and I exploded with "What the Hell kind of Thanksgiving dinner has no Chinese food??!?!" to which my dad nearly choked on his dinner laughing. When we say "multiculturalism", is this what the Canadian government is talking about?)

On a last note (hey, when it rains, it pours), I've having doubts about linking this from my NaNoWriMo write-up. I want to, because, hey, a big chunk of my writing is right here, right? And besides, part of the satisfaction of the novel-writing thing is that after forcing myself to do a chunk of writing, I then get the privilege of bitching about it in my blog, right? I just... feel the dangerous closeness of the nicely impersonal and the real, real, real world. I dislike that. I mean, yeah, friends could find it. And that would be okay (although I'm going to embark on a re-naming binge throughout this site pretty soon; I figure many of the names make no sense anyway) but... co-workers? Do I really want to deal with co-workers reading this? Not that I ever really rag on them or anything, but... I don't know. Weird. Barriers I'm not prepared to work without, I guess.

Nonetheless, I like the idea of the openness. So, in patented lilephyte style (and yeah, you know you saw it coming), I'll worry about it when I get into trouble.

Until the next, watch your turkey intake. Tryptophan's a soporiphic, yo.

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