Dear Non-Americans,

I'm pretty sure that the idea of Thanksgiving is strange to you. Those crazy Americans are celebrating a past meal their ancestors shared with the Indians, who were kind enough to share their harvest when our ancestors would have starved, that we later raped, pillaged, and plundered? Also, smallpox? Jesus Christ, America! The world was just getting over Bush!

Okay, guys, that's the demi-historical basis, sure. Just like Christmas is Jesus's birthday, when studies have placed his birth somewhere midspring.

So, that's out.

The Hallmark justification for Thanksgiving is to give thanks for everything you have. And if there's one thing people are good at, it's being content with what you have.

Uh-huh.

So here's my theory behind this bizarre holiday of no religious value. It's really about is eating WAY TOO MUCH food with friends and family. And it's the only true American holiday. There's no religious implications, no secular ideals or rituals, no special forms to fill out so you can miss school. It's something all Americans have in common. We live here. We may not have a lot, or we may have too much. We may have just moved here in the past week, or our ancestors may have crossed the Bering Strait to settle here, thousands of years ago.
Whatever, whoever we are, we're Americans. And we've all been given an excuse to revel in it.

But don't think this is just us. Every nation in the world has celebrations like these. You're not remembering some great battle or conflict. You don't have to go to church for it. It's just part of who you are, as a nation, and it's your chance to flaunt it and enjoy what it is to be who you are. It's a cultural holiday. I would not understand the depth of meaning behind it, but you sure as hell do, and that's enough for you.

So, to those beyond our borders, I wish you well in your own celebrations. And to one and all, Happy Thanksgiving.

Love,
Z

Happy Birthday, Patrick!
You are now a decade old and have succeeded in making me feel old as fuck.

Have a good one, baby.

Valentine's Day, Singles Awareness Day, Bitter Singles Day, Quirkyalone Day, whatever.

I don't have to get it to wish you a good one.

Augh. I hate it when I get all leaky.

But I had a moment over a Buffy season finale, what with sister bonding.

I'm excited to see my sisters and brother grow up. I want to see what they do with themselves, what they find themselves enjoying. I want them to discover crazy things, and I want them to do it without too much agony. Because I would happily kill whoever hurt them. I want them to be happy.
They're gonna be really cool when they get older. They're smart, they're funny, they're capable. They are gonna kick ass.

And I wanna be there to see it.


There. That was my moment.


Shaddup, okay?

2008, you're fired.
2009, you're hired!

And here are my New Years memes!

( First Line of the First Post, The Monthly Edition! )


( Long-Ass 2008 Meme )



'09, bitches. Bring it.

Or. You know. You could put on your big girl panties and say, "Merry Christmas," like everyone else, you wuss.


Happy presents and eggnog, y'all.

This god damned computer won't let me download House episodes.

Fucker.

My great aunt died today. Or maybe she was my great-great aunt. I never figured out the exact geneology other than that my mother, for as long as I could remember, called her and her sister 'the ancestors'.

Every time we went to Mississippi, we had to drive the hour into Jackson to see the ancestors. Ever since, you know, my birth, the ancestors had been there, and had been old. Thats just how it works.

Her sister, my grandfather's mother, known as Naneen, died two years ago. (so I guess my aunt was indeed my great aunt.) I got her car. And now Aunt Bootsie has died. I'm out of the country for the funeral.

The last time I saw the woman, she was in the hospital after a stroke. She couldn't really get words out around her immobile tongue and was no one I recognized. I was the only kid allowed to see her. She would have been 101 years old on June 5th.

I will never forget what my grandfather said after we'd (my mother, him, and myself) left the hospital.

"That, Dami, is what happens when you just live too damn long."

I've never been a sentimental person, and now is no exception. I don't even think my family is driving in for the funeral. We all started thinking of her as dead a long time ago.

I'm not sure what the point of this post is. Probably its me, feeling like I had to say something about her.

She's at peace, in a better place, no longer suffering, and would spin in her grave if she saw the House fanfiction that I have opened in another window.

You ready for it?

I FUCKING LOVE YOU, BITCH!

Why is that, you ask? Because I know something that most of ya'll are forgetting.

Its. gonna. be. okay.

Whatever the fuck is going on, messing up your life, remember the words of Dami. This too shall pass, very much like pie.

PIE PIE PIE. Not number, PIE.

Edible, like.

Everyone deserves a piece of pie right now. And a hug. But I think that pie can replace this.

Because, guys. Re. Lax. Life is not over. You will go on, like that fucking Titanic song.

Even if you don't feel good about it. Even if promises are broken, things lost.

Things will get better. You just have to make it happen.

You got guilt? Who the fuck doesn't? Should that highly annoying emotion take control of your life and run your business as if it has the right? Are you going to lay down and let circumstance walk the fuck over you? Are you going to give up living your life?

Get mad at what holds you down. Even if you love those chains. Don't let it control you.


So, now that the pep talk is there, heres how to go about getting back to living life:

-Watch movies. Or play video games. Read. Whatever the hell floats your boat, makes you forget, makes you smile before you remember that you shouldn't.

-Ammend what you feel needs ammending. Tell those who should know how you feel. Who the fuck cares about how they feel, they're not you! You take care of you. Selfish and Carefree Existance 101.

-SLEEP AND EAT. I don't excuse you from this one. You have NO IDEA how much better the world looks after a ten hour coma and some fucking FOOD. Do not wallow in self-pity and grief to the point where you look the way you feel. That just makes you more self-piying. I am not above drugging myself in times of stress. Do what you need to do.

-Wear clean underwear.

-Watch more movies (preferably ones with blood) for good measure.

-www.bash.org
If that can't make you laugh, you have no soul.

And that should do it.

So remember kids.

LIKE PIE.

Does anyone remember MASH?

Animal House?

The Last Starfighter?

Petticoat Junction?

Dr. Quinn: Medicine Woman?

The Princess Bride?

Apocalypse Now?

Lois and Clark?

The A-Team?

Kung-Fu?

Big Trouble in Little China?

The Thing?



::sigh:: Where did the good go?

Wow, Ben Templesmith. Just wow.

I know you didn't have all the hand in it, but you created those monsters, and now look where I am.

Fucker.

Okay. I need to vent, but unless you've seen the movie (or just don't care) don't click on the cut.

( Spoilers Here )

But please, give credit where credit is due. It was Ben Templesmith who wrote and drew 30 Days of Night long before it became a movie. Props to the man, ya'll.

It's Christmas Eve's Eve, so I believe its time for a little holiday spirit.

This is to all of you guys who actually read this thing.

This is to all of you guys who don't read this thing, but still give me e-mails on occasion.

This is to all of you guys who don't read this thing, but I still periodically talk to you or leave weird messages on your cell phones.

This is to all of you guys who I haven't talked to since I left, but still take the time every now and then to go, 'I wonder what happened to Dami...'

This is to all of you guys who haven't even noticed I've left.

This is to all you guys who at any given time have participated in criminal acts (and that would be most of you), mud-wrestled and grappled and raced, climbed trees, chugged caffiene, been kicked out of stores, watched zombie movies while eating tacos, eaten tacos in the dead of night because we fucking felt like it, walked to 7/11 stores in the dead of night even though we knew it wouldn't be open, played Hide-And-Seek in the dead of night no matter where we were, rescued crutches from quicksand in abandomned construction sites, been hit by cars, mooched food and allowed food to be mooched, drove the people who work in the movie theaters nuts, drove the people in the movie theaters nuts (I might mention, 'I can't believe Riddick dies!'), climbed on roofs, ridden on cars (not in, on), shared books with the acceptance that you may not them again in the next year, let every lingering amount of your silver change be mooched with the knowlege that no matter what the moocher says, you'll never see it again, and doing all of this either with me, or at least telling me about it after the fact.


MERRY MOTHERFUCKING CHRISTMAS, AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR.

Well, now that everyone is good and nauseated, I'm gonna go bumm on DA.

See ya next year!