I know, right -- who buys Thanksgiving cards? Well, other than my mom. But she includes $20 of drinking money, so who am I to complain? I'm one of those people buying a Thankgiving card this year, though. Because most of my Minnesota relatives are heading to The Nunnery to have Thanksgiving dinner The Nun, I thought perhaps I should send The Nun a card.
This actually would probably have been one of the better family Thanksgivings, because my mom doesn't have to do any work, making her far less insane and stressed. I'm a little sad to miss it, truth be told. However, I adore Thanksgiving with KayGee and The Prison Librarian. It's all the food, plus booze (though, I had wine at The Nunnery on Easter), cursing and football, without the crucifixes, religious women and annoying family!
So I'm looking for a card for The Nun. Nothing too silly or racy. Nothing too childish or frilly. Jesus, it was tough. Did you know there are "romantic" Thanksgiving cards? Who the fuck buys these? What the hell do they say inside? "Hey baby, let's work off these food babies by practicing making real babies!" Wishful thinking. I'm certain the romantic cards are full of overwrought prose detailing just how thankful the cardgiver is to have the card receiver in her life (because you know dudes aren't buying Thanksgiving cards, romantic or otherwise... not straight dudes, anyway).
I suppose I could have looked to see what exactly appears in a romantic Thanksgiving card, but I was afraid. Also, I was on a schedule. Had to get to the gym for my almost-daily dose of asshole.
Asshole 1: Look Dick Face, if you're going to take the spray bottle filled with ... some sort of cleaning spray, I hope, with you to your machine (on the opposite side of the cardio area, I might add) instead of saturating a wad of paper towels like everyone else does, DO NOT fucking stop to chat with someone on the way, then stop on your impossibly long and circuitous route back to watch TV for a bit. Maybe if you pulled your head out of your ass, you'd see two people standing with paper towels in hand, waiting for the cleaner. Or maybe you wouldn't, because you're a fucking dick.
Asshole 2: Turn off your cell phone before yoga starts, you inconsiderate fucking twat. This is the second time it's happened. Actually, it's the third. When it happened a couple of weeks ago, you didn't silence the phone after the first call and then you got another call. You're lucky I didn't accidentally punch you in the face when you were standing too close to me in the locker room when I was putting on my sweatshirt. Namaste, Lady Jerkwad of Stupidton.