The Ultimate Turkey Day Clusterf*ck

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In my humble mom-opinion, the Birdzilla holiday is definitely the King pin of all holiday clusterflucks.

It all starts with the grocery store clusterfluck. I’m referring to the mass of non-regular customers leisurely strolling the aisles with the entire maternal side of their family in tow. Shopping is for active participants only. Spectators are not welcome in the arena… they have no purpose other than to create a clusterfluck in aisle three.

On the other end of the spectrum is the daddy-deer-in-headlights; the lost looking male sent to the front lines to retrieve forgotten items. These guys are like a stubborn hair clog in the bathroom sink… they won’t budge. We’ll call them solitary clusterflucks.

*Note – During non-holiday shopping trips I have compassion for these pitiful creatures, but unfortunately, it’s the holiday season and the only rule of shopping during the holidays is get in and get out… like your life depends on it.

You encounter the extra person clusterfluck as soon as you enter the checkout area which is not so surprisingly bustling with extra bodies much like pesky ants at a picnic. How many people does it take to swipe a debit card? The answer is ONE, meaning all inactive shopping companions should do like a banana tree and LEAVE!

Finally having completed your shopping mission, you push the heavy overflowing shopping cart with-the-bad-wheel to the outermost border of the parking lot where you were forced to retreat. This is appropriately termed the parking-in-BFE clusterfuck. This sucks because you’re a regular customer who’s earned their VIP parking spot.

Also, the more traffic flowing through the parking lot, the more likely some inattentive holiday jackass-in-a-box will pop out in front of your car and end up as a hood ornament. Live hood ornaments are right up there with Rudolph’s antlers tacked to your mirror and/or Santa’s testicles dangling from your muffler.

This is called the tacky car accessories clusterfluck.

Finally, you slide into home base, but when you attempt to unload your gargantuan grocery order, there’s nowhere to put anything because of the kitchen-counter clusterfluck and the refrigerator clusterfluck.

You saw that one coming, didn’t you?

When food prep commences, the overflowing dirty-dishes clusterfluck is immediately created and will regenerate for another 48-72 hours, making it the biggest clusterfluck of all. I despise washing dishes. I’m a huge fan of serving left-overs on paper plates, which incidentally causes a trash can clusterfluck, but what are you gonna do?

We’re picking our battles here.

Other painful holiday clusterflucks include the obvious dinner table fiasco, where you attempt to squeeze 15 people around an 8 seater table. “No fair… I want to sit near Suzy Lou Hoo!” This is called the intimate-encounter clusterfluck and also the reason I bought the big bottle of vodka.

Then there’s the dreaded people-who-don’t-belong-in-the-kitchen clusterfluck, which is why I leave a bag of unpeeled potatoes on the table. Everyone knows as soon as guests arrive, they immediately invade your sanctuary and try to be helpful.

“Grab a potato peeler. We’ve got a clusterfluck and a half of potatoes to peel,” says me.

To clear up any confusion, the tryptophan found in turkey not only makes you sleepy, it can give you a strong urge to dive off the roof of Macy’s during the Thanksgiving Day parade – right into Underdog’s inflatable ass, which would be affectionately termed the contipated balloon character clusterfluck.

And no, you will not catch me out and about on Black Friday. That’s an entirely separate clusterfluck in itself, worthy of it’s very own holiday book-of-rants.

Stick a spork in me.

This pilgrim is doneat least until the Christmas-time clusterfluck begins.

 

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http://momfortheholidays.com

 

 

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Turkey Day ClusterfLuck

 

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The Birdzilla holiday is the King pin of all holiday clusterflucks.

It all starts with the grocery store clusterfluck. I’m referring to the mass of non-regular customers leisurely strolling the aisles with the entire maternal side of their family in tow.

On the other end of the spectrum is the daddy-deer-in-headlights; the lost looking male sent to the front lines to retrieve forgotten items. These guys are like a stubborn hair clog in the bathroom sink. We’ll call them solitary clusterflucks. During non-holiday shopping trips I’d have compassion for them, but unfortunately, it’s the holiday season and the only rule of shopping during the holidays is get in and get out, like your life depends on it.

The clusterfluck commences in the check-out line which is bustling with extra bodies. How many people does it take to pay? The answer is ONE, meaning all inactive shopping companions should skedaddle.

With all your might, you finally push the katrillion calorie shopping cart with-the-bad-wheel to the outermost border of the parking lot where you were forced to retreat, which is called the parking-in-BFE clusterfluck.

Also, the more traffic in a parking lot, the more likely an inattentive holiday clown will step out in front of your car and end up as a hood ornament. Live hood ornaments are right up there with Rudolph’s antlers tacked to your mirror and/or Santa’s testicles dangling from your muffler.

This is also called the tacky hood ornament clusterfluck.

When you finally slide into home base and attempt to unload your groceries, there’s nowhere to put anything because of the kitchen-counter clusterfluck and the refrigerator clusterfluck.

As soon as you begin food prep, the overflowing dirty-dishes clusterfluck is immediately created and will regenerate for another 48-72 hours, making it the biggest clusterfluck of all. I despise washing dishes. I’m a huge fan of serving left-overs on paper plates, which incidentally causes a trash can clusterfluck, but what are you gonna do?

We’re picking our battles here.

Other painful holiday clusterflucks include the obvious dinner table fiasco, where you attempt to squeeze 15 people around an 8 seater table. “No fair… I want to sit near Suzy Lou Hoo!” This is called the intimate-encounter clusterfluck and also the reason I bought the big bottle of vodka.

Then there’s the dreaded people-who-don’t-belong-in-the-kitchen clusterfluck, which is why I leave a bag of unpeeled potatoes on the table. Everyone knows as soon as guests arrive, they immediately invade your sanctuary and try to be helpful.

“Grab a potato peeler. We’ve got a clusterfluck and a half of potatoes to peel,” says me.

To clear up any confusion, the tryptophan found in turkey not only makes you sleepy, it can give you the urge to dive off the roof of Macy’s during the Thanksgiving Day parade right into inflatable Underdog’s ass, which would be affectionately termed the contipated balloon character clusterfluck.

And no, you will not catch me out and about on Black Friday. That’s an entirely separate clusterfluck in itself.

Stick a spork in me.

This pilgrim is done.

Christmas is in DECEMBER dammit

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Where I come from we get something like three-ish months of summer, which equates to MAYBE a meager 30 days of warm sunny weather- picnics, watermelon, fireflies, swimming and sandy flip flops.
 
In short, we have ONE summer month and… the REST of the year.
 
Eleven months of the grey season, which includes but is not limited to rain, drizzle, snow, ice and every other possible form of precipitation currently known to man.
 
 
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 So yes, when people (lets call them psycho-holiday enthusiasts) try to contaminate our sacred sunny month with Christmas pollution we tend to get a bit crabby.
 
 

Justifiably crabby.

  
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I for one, happen to be a solar powered individual.
 
 
I get my energy from the sun and my reserves happen to be dangerously low these days.
 

The makers of Prozac can only do so much.

 
They’re like, “You’ve reached your limit lady… our hands are tied.”
 

“Go get some mood enhancing sunshine.”

 
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And, so I do what I can. I soak in every single moment of summer.
 
The problem with winter-related holiday nonsense (no, I will not say the C word again) is that it’s like kryptonite for us who reside in the grey area.
 
The mere mention of the dark side during our sacred sunny sabbatical is enough to boot us out of our happy place clear into the fiery pits of hell, except in OUR hell, it’s snowing.
 
 
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Resisting winter is a northern defense mechanism that’s been etched in our brains since the ice age.

 
To top it off, we broke records for cold AND snow in 2013.
 
I think we did. It felt like it anyway.
 
That’s my story and I’m sticking with it.
 
It sucked Frosty’s longest hardest icicle if you get my drift, then to top it off, we shattered all previously set rainfall records.
 
It felt like it anyway… the record breaking part.
 
 We did, however experience actual flooding.
 
Also, we made the big time meaning we were featured on The Weather Channel.
 

 It was definitely a How-many-Yeti’s-can-you-fit-on-Noah’s-ark? kinda year.

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 Nobody really cares what the answer is.

The point is- when Yeti’s and Noah’s ark are mentioned in the same sentence you’re clearly fucked and there’s not a damned thing you can do.
 

Mother Nature is one moody bitch.

 
As a result, my people (those of us who reside in the grey area of CNY) have morphed into foul-weather warriors who’ve proven again and again that we can tough that shit out.
 
However, uninvited winter holiday hoopla in July tends to drive some of us right. over. the. edge.
 
For the publics safety we’ve established guidelines called…
 

The Northern Survivalist’s STRICT Winter Holiday Timeline.

 
Halloween– the fright fest officially begins Sept 30, although mums and pumpkins may be put out any time after Labor Day. (Note- generous leeway given, because I happen to be a mum fan)
 
 
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Thanksgiving shall occupy the time period between Halloween and the C holiday.
 
 
 
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The C holiday– not one bell shall jingle or hallway be decked prior to the conclusion of turkey day feasting.
 
This means the dishes are washed, dried and put away. Also, the turkey carcass is gone. I freaking hate the turkey-beast carcass with ever fiber of my being.
 
I would rather get a root canal than harvest meat from the leftover turkey any day of the week.
 
Make that two root canals and a pap smear.
 
(I threw that thing in there about the dishes, because I don’t care for the C holiday and I’m trying to keep it away as long as possible. Scrubbing a zillion dishes gives me a little breather)
 

Let’s call this- living in the goddamned moment.

 
Quit racing around like blind mice on meth preparing for the next three-ring circus that’s six months away.
 

Relax.

 

Breeeeeathe.

 
If you must shop or bake cookies in July, that’s your business. Just keep that premature holiday pollution off my facebook.
 
Also, I’ll be happy to taste your cookies.
 
I’m generous like that.
 
I may be a holiday bitch, but I’m an excellent taster of cookies.
 
Unfortunately, there’s nothing we can do about greedy in-your-face retail peddlers who prematurely puke holiday what-nots throughout the land.
 
Winter holiday whatchamafuks will start polluting stores in August.
 
It’s the devils way.
 
Not only do I look the other way. (and say bad words) I also refuse to buy anything.
 
They’re not getting one premature cent from me until The Northern Survivalist’s Strict Winter Holiday Timeline says it’s time.
 
When I wander into Home Depot on August 15th in search of charcoal briquettes and get blindsided by a 12 foot blow-up of Frosty-the-freaking-unwelcome-snowman, I will breathe fire.
 
 This actually works out, because then I dutifully scoop Frosty up in a plastic cup and have something to chase my chocolate vodka with.
 

Hence, the only acceptable snowman in August is the one you drink.

Cheers…

 
 
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