Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Blissful Babies.

Thanksgiving. Let’s reminisce.
It’s a holiday that has been taken over by overactive appetites, instructing us to race to a food line dominated by a collection of jello-based casseroles.  If you consumed the amount of food you did at thanksgiving every day, not only would it be embarrassing, but you would be living on a prayer that your heart wouldn’t attack you. It is the only day pigging out to seconds and thirds is socially acceptable and in my family encouraged.

Each Thanksgiving my family and I arrive just on time for lunch to blankly glace at new faces, bow our heads, and say grace.  I’m not sure if my blank stare is because I don’t know who the new faces are or if it’s because they don’t know who I am. I am always blinded by what the turkey will bring in each year. However, my Granna always frantically greets me upon our perfect timing, says hi, and grabs the casserole I claim to have fixed up.  No one actually cares about how you are or what you have been doing when your late, the only thing on their mind is the food you brought, its placeholder in the food line, and how satisfying an overly proportioned sum of it will end up on their plate.  So when I jumped in the line of hungry savages’ my eyes were on the prize…the macaroni and cheese my sister made. Our food line is about as energetic as a senior citizen mixer: no talking, strictly mones and the occasional clearing of the throat which means enough already, leave some for me.

Before I made it to the end of the food line I had already scooped up seconds and claimed the first piece of homemade chocolate pie covered in a fluffy moraine. My stomach slowly formed a food baby and then grew into food twins by the end of my plates. Yes, it’s plural.  The elastic pants I bought last year at Forever 21 sure did come in handy today. Nice planning on my part. The three hours I spend with my extended farming family each year for thanksgiving is always rewarding and always exceeds my expectations.  Not only did I leave with a to-go container of chocolate pie but I got a colossal size serving of pasta salad to take away with me.  Home is where the heart is, but my heart was in heaven eating those leftovers that night.  Embarrassing.

That weekend a friend of mine brought something to my attention.  Apparently, you can receive personal attention when eating large amounts of food at a tailgate before a  football game. This game is a Thanksgiving tailgating tradition.  I don’t think thanksgiving for Arkansas fans should come around once a year, but every Saturday during the football season. So, since this game falls during Thanksgiving break I figured I would honor it by consuming a thanksgiving serving.  My friend approached me that night and said “Anna, we have a confession. For a girl of your size your sure do eat alot”… I laughed, perspirated, and then asked myself if this was reality while he proceeded to tell me what I ate in a list form, which I will spare yall. The conversation went something of that nature which made me go a little foggie after I realized someone had just named off everything I had eaten that day.  It’s not like I was shoveling it into my face, stuffing chips in my bra, or making friends with the tailgating neighbors for their tasty chicken and veggie kabobs right off the grill with yummy spices.  Nope, definitely wouldn’t do such a sin.

So turkey or no turkey, celebrating with wonderful company like my extended relatives or tailgating neighbor Jerman Taylor is something to be thankful for.  I am also thankful for my tasky skinny bitch drinks around the holidays.  And since the Victory Secret Fashion show is conveniently right in the middle of the holidays, I wil be enjoying one tonight with my food babies.

All my love and laughs,



  1. Love it! I was definitely jealous of those kabobs that you obtained... So good seeing you this weekend!

  2. Flashback to Saturday and you eating your kabobs-
    "Anna, where did you get those kabobs?"
    "From our neighbors."
    "Do you know them?"
    "I do now."