Well, once again, kiddies, the Day Before Thanksgiving is upon us! A day for reflection, a day for anticipation, and a day for lots and lots of fucking travel that makes you want to claw your way out of the rear of an airborne 737 and take along that prissy bitch flight attendant who wouldn�t give you the whole damn soda can like you asked, because apparently that one single can was the lynch-pin holding the entire soda-giving-out operation together, and if they just let you have it like any person around the Holidays really should, the entire system would collapse inward upon itself, all planes would drop out of the skies, and it would be all your fault.
Fact is, I actually don�t hate travel. Secretly, a part of me even likes it -- I mean, there�s something about the journey, about the tradition, that makes it all kind of exciting. I wouldn�t go so far as to agree that Getting There Is Half The Fun, since Getting There mostly entails sitting on my ass for a good six or so hours, reading my book (and while reading is fun, it does not compose 50% of the total amount of fun had over the Holidays), but it has it�s points.
Already, though, it would seem that my entire weekend has already been planned out for me, save for a couple of glaring details (like who�s picking me up from the airport tonight, just for example). Last year, the weekend was hectic for the most part, but still spontaneous, which I greatly enjoyed. I guess I just need a little inherent freedom and flexibility in my schedule, otherwise it starts feeling like work. When I�m on the phone with my mother and she starts saying things like, "And then on Friday, we�ll get up and we�ll go shopping, and then we�ll get lunch, and then we�ll go back to your sisters for dinner, and I figure we�ll just stay there for the night, and then we�ll all go for breakfast the next morning, and then you can spend an hour or so with one of your friends, and then you and I will�" I start screaming and running my metal cup along the bars of my cell.
Maybe I can�t take being told what to do, or maybe I just have a problem with everything being planned out, thereby not allowing for any happy surprises or any concession to my numerous flights of fancy and sudden whims. I need that. Plus which, shopping on Friday? Why don�t you just shove flaming bamboo shoots under my fingernails, Mom, seriously. I hate shopping on Black Friday. It�s, like, the most efficient way to destroy all the Goodwill Toward Men you were building up for the Yuletide season throughout the Thanksgiving Holiday. Five minutes at the mall on the day after Thanksgiving and even the Pope would be knocking some heads together.
Still, it�s tradition (getting bossed around by my mom, and complaining about it), and like the ignominies of Holiday travel, it, too, is something that secretly? I kind of enjoy.
Don�t tell.
Someone Got Here By Searching For: "crazy michael jackson" And: "Jackie Kennedy" morgue I�m Watching: 24. Can anyone take Kim seriously this season? I know I sure can�t. I�m Reading: Well, I�ll damn sure getting through at least another chapter of my book, I can tell you that much.