Dear MF Diary: Fangsgiving 2008. No spirit animal…YET.

1. Yesterday I took Franny to get her ears pierced, one of those little lady rites of passage I suppose we all go through at some time or other. I got mine done at six and when I was eight they closed up due to me wearing some crap Claire’s earrings for several days in a row. I think I was swimming a lot that summer and they were corroding or something gross like that. Then I was re-mallgunned at ten. Currently I have six holes in my ear; three were mallgunned and three were piercing shopped. I am very proud that Franny’s first unnatural holes in her body were done by a PRO. FESSIONAL. PIERCER. (*is smug*)

She kind of jibblied around a little bit and I brought her back to Earth with a gentle “Hey, this is a big girl thing, so you gotta sack up and act like a big girl for this.” She held very still and listened to directions and, unsurprisingly, thought it was going to hurt worse than it did. Now she has sweet little hoops with captive beads and they look so cute. I feel relieved to finally have fulfilled my birthday promise, despite the fact that spending any money is making me cry right now.

2. I got turned down for yet another job where I made it to the multiple interview stage and got another “We thought you were a really strong candidate, etc.” This is starting to affect my self of steam. In a way I am relieved, because I thought the job sounded dull, and would be tough as a resume stepping stone (it had a weird job title and was kind of nichey writing) but I see another yellow bill come into the mailslot today and I think it certainly would have been better than a poke in the eye. I should have an interview next week for a position that has “editor” in the title, which excites me. I am ready to give blood to get one of these increasingly rare positions.

3. Retail job is going well…except for the fact that my lazy typety type ass is not used to being on my feet for 6-8 hours. When I come home from retail job, I disappear into a pit after barely being able to get the kids done for the night and sleep for 11 hours. I am not kidding. I wake up refreshed and wonder where my day went.

I got hazed on my first day on the floor. A regular employee came in with the foulest mood I had ever seen, and this is someone who spent 5+ years in record stores surrounded by aspiring Jack Blacks-in-High-Fidelity of all stripes. I introduced myself to her and she pointedly ignored me and picked up the phone. Then she told me that if I “put anyone off” with my nose ring I should direct them to her. I told her I wasn’t worried because I’ve had it for half my life now and when I smile people know I am friendly. I mean, it’s Seattle, FFS. People don’t really bat an eye at me. Then the adorable gay boy who took me under his wing was singing and she said, pretty loudly, “Could you be any more flaming?” I forgot how different retail environments are. Sexual harassment, non-PC statements, and just plain-old nastiness just run rampant. I know this happens in offices, too (I have seen it, for sure) but it seems like everything boils down to the lowest common denominator when you slap someone behind a register.

By the next shift she decided I was non-useless, and now I seem to be in the clubhouse somewhat. She has been shoving the ESL/tourists off onto me because I have always had a knack for understanding the Japanese and a lot of patience. Now I hear her call across the store: “SJ! Translate!” I have to say this is the most fun retail job I’ve ever had. Yesterday I was talking to someone about this knifemaster I was reading about in Oly and the difference between Japanese and American knives. The company ethos dictates that you just pretty much stand around talking to people all day. It’s much less dismal than, say, the time I put in at Tower or even the indie stores.

4. Yesterday on the way back from work I was listening to the Nippers, and they were interviewing this lady who wrote Things That Makes Us [Sic] (GET IT??), about grammar. Additionally, she is a founding member of SPOGG, which, you know, right on for grammar analness but yesterday on the radio she was actually espousing correcting our friends and loved ones when they stray off the grammar trail. I was a little saddened by this, because she seemed whip-smart otherwise. She likened correcting people’s grammar to pointing out the fact your friend has spinach in their teeth. I say no to this. She claims that your friends will thank you, I claim that they will not call your pompous presumptuous ass back. Unless this is a form of public trolling, in which case I say WELL PLAYED. IRL lulz are hard to come by, and should be seized when possible.

5. Fangsgiving. I am thinking about my mom today, thanks to an email exchange I was having with my friend and neighbor, who is helping me with my Hester Prynne problems, thank you babby jesus. I was telling him about adventures in cooking for my mother, the ingrate.

1999. I am living in a rambler in Phoenix with SeaFed. We also have a roommate who thinks that we’re crazy and who is chased out by my mother and sister’s presence eventually. My mother was with us after fleeing the East Coast and her third marriage. I had discovered that I liked to cook after becoming the gothic trophy wife of my drug-dealing husband and finding that I had both too much money and too much time on my hands. I was really starting to get my chefery on at this point. Since we were a small gathering of four for Thanksgiving that year, I decided to get schmancy and make cornish game hens with a honey-apricot-herb glaze of my own devising.

They turned out beautifully. Golden, fruity, crispy around the edges. Stuffed with nuts and scallions and crap.

My mom’s response: “I can’t believe you didn’t make a turkey.”

2000. Franny is a wee little six-week old sprog and we have all caravaned to the PNW’ed (booooo) and are housesharing in Shoreline. I am vaguely and stupidly excited about the prospect of us all Fangsgivinging together in the house, me, my mom, my sister, and now Franny. I wanted to contribute, so I offered to make stuffing. I decided on cornbread and I made an unholy fuckton. I even did it “right” and made it a day or two before so it could dry out a bit beforehand. Verily it was delicious.

My mom’s response: “Mmm, I think I prefer StoveTop.”

2005. I am crammed into the shittiest yet nicest apartment we can afford. Daniel comes over, as well as my sister and mother, who deigns to let me have Thanksgiving at my house. I was very pleased with the company and the group effort.

My mom’s response: “This meal does not contain enough organ meats.”

Conclusion: if you are cooking for someone who is a StoveTop-eating, gibblet-munching, persnickety ass, don’t expect great things. This year I am making it Southern style with bourbon gravy, cornbread stuffing, and beans-n-bacon. NO ONE will be persnickety. Happy Fangsgiving.

P.S. Renee Khan and others, I am working my way through Sepulchre and even taking notes. FOR JOO.