I wanna use my potato masher. :(

I think my mom is mad at me because she told me that she and I should go for a walk around the Wabash Heritage Trail before it gets too cold out, and I replied with, "Isn't that where all the homeless people are?"  And now she's being icy and not returning my calls.  WELL.  THANKSGIVING IS CANCELED.

Just kidding.  But Mom, if you read this, I want you to know that I was kidding.  We can see the homeless people!  That's fine!  It sounds like fun!  Also, you are the most unique person I know.  And I mean it, because nobody reads this blog, so you would literally be one in seven billion.

I received a potato masher as a gift at my bridal shower, and after the engagement ended, my dear friends Alisha and Jeff -- the givers of the potato masher -- told me I could keep it on account of all my anger over my canceled wedding and that they would be happy to be responsible for relieving a part of the grieving process.

They also gave me trivets, which I use a lot more.  That's okay, though, because I gave them trivets when they got married.

Anyway, so I've still been stressed out, and one of my guests is bringing the mashed potatoes tomorrow, so I can't use my potato masher in a legal and socially acceptable way.  Still making appointments with the massage therapist.  Weird thing happened at one of my last visits there:  He was working on a knot in the corner between my neck and my shoulder -- that's been a problem area for years; it's hard as a rock -- when I suddenly felt like I was sweating bullets of ice.  Even my breath felt cold.  The minute that happened, he said, "If you feel yourself getting clammy, tell me."  I did, and he immediately stopped working on me and left to get me some water.  He said that my physical reaction to the massage was a sign that he'd broken that knot up and now toxins were flowing through my bloodstream; the water he got me was for flushing the toxins out.

**"The more you know..."**

Yesterday my dad took me grocery shopping for all my Thanksgiving items.  One thing I forgot, though -- a container or bag large enough in which I can brine a 13 lb. turkey.  At the time, I wasn't sure that I wanted to brine the turkey, but the more research I do, the more I realize that if I brine the turkey, there's a chance that it won't taste like sand.  So I'll need to run out and get a huge stockpot ($$$$) or one of those sealable bags for such an occasion (.$).

Had a chat with my boss about feminism today.  I discovered years ago that he is very much against the idea of a man asking his girlfriend's father's blessing before proposing marriage.  He sees it as a throwback to when women were considered property (and here is when I make a joke along the lines of, "you remember that era well, do you?", then he says "gee, thanks," he walks away, I'm left at my desk flailing my arms and yelling, "Oh come on!  It was just too easy!"), but I'm more of the belief that it's a "respect" thing.

The one time I was proposed to, the man talked to my father first, and I thought it was sweet because my father and I are really close.  I'm close with my mom too, but growing up, I was involved in a lot of sports, and from a young age, I would always be in the backyard with Dad, tossing a ball around.

So I disagree with my boss on this -- I don't see it as "please give me your daughter," but more like, "do you approve of this?  Your daughter thinks the world of you, and I think the world of her, so we both want you to be happy about it.  Do you have any advice about becoming part of the family?"  I was always the kind of girl where the only men eligible for my trust were my brother and my father, so it seemed fitting to me.  My boss sees it as antiquated and demeaning.  "You want to marry my daughter?  Go ask her yourself, y'moron," was what he said, and it got me thinking.

(Of course, my point might be shit anyway, because as soon as the engagement ended, all the men in my family told me that they wanted to like my betrothed, but they never really thought we were a great match.  Geez guys, way to blow it.)



  1. one in 3.5 billion, now.

    Talking to Karen's parents in advance was a way to build relationships with them, not about getting permission.

  2. Well, I had one call, which I heard on the answering machine when I got home from work, and I replied to it.
    Maybe I should have recorded all those Monkees adventures I made up to help you go to sleep.

  3. You do realize the toxins thing is total bull, right? It sounds authoritative, but it's crap.

  4. I'm an idiot, so I haven't paid attention to my phone all night. Mom, I'm sorry if I didn't receive your reply; the turkey is in my (somewhat ad hoc) brining recipe as I type this.

    Ooooh the Monkees adventures! I miss those! Like, a lot. Enough to make me sound pathetic.

  5. I am sorry to hear you missed out on a good angry potato mashing session. What a waste of an opportunity!

    Jeff insisted on asking my dad for permission before we were officially engaged. I wasn't wild about this idea, but I thought it was sort of sweet. Until my dad asked me if Jeff was going to be doing this--with the underlying insinuation that he had better ask--at which point I told him yes...and my dad made a comment about how I better hope he said yes to Jeff...at which point I informed him that it was more asking for his blessing and not his permission, and that I was going to marry Jeff no matter what he thought about it.

    Now that I think about it, maybe that has something to do with why my dad is still not very pro-Jeff. Hm..