My Doctors Always Suck, otherwise entitled Why I Hate Kaiser

I've met people who like Kaiser Permanente. They're real people out there in the world and they don't hate their healthcare. Weird, I know.

Backstory. I have yet to have a great experience with a doctor.

Wait. That's a lie. I have had one great experience with an ear, nose, throat specialist who, after my 6th sinus infection in a row, told me I have a deviated septum and changed my life with a little invention called saline. He also told me to not let any doctor bully me into surgery and that it was my choice and surgery doesn't always fix things and to do my research first. And then I asked him to marry me.

And it goes without saying that I have had nothing but wonderful experiences with Planned Parenthood, though you only see a nurse, but that nurse and the staff are all welcoming, wonderful people who listen to your needs and see you as a human being.

And then there was that time in Marseille when I got horrific food poisoning and a doctor came to my hotel room, examined me nicely, gave me magic pills that made me better, and never charged me a thing. Go France!

Other than that, doctors have been not great pour moi. I have friends and family in the medical field and I have to assume they're nice and talented and treat their patients well, but that just hasn't been my personal experience with my own doctors. If I tell you all my stories, this post would be a tome, so I won't.

Suffice to say, I hate going to the doctor and do so reluctantly and only when necessary. I am all about health, but have figured out the hard way that the only way to be healthy is to be my own advocate and, often, to treat myself.

Cut to this morning. No, wait, I should back up. I have had chronic UTIs, otherwise knowns as bladder infections, for the last year. I try to treat naturally with water and cranberry juice and good hygiene, but I keep getting them. Last October, I got a vicious one and had to go to a Kaiser clinic because my primary doc is always booked up and they did urinalysis, confirmed the infection, and treated me with antibiotics.

So, yesterday I came down with another infection. Not wanting to fuck around and, after talking to a friend in the medical field and learning that sometimes chronic UTIs can be a sign of a kidney infection, I got an appoint for this morning, but with a new Kaiser doc because, again, my doc is always booked up.

I got there early, peed in the little cup, and waited to meet this new doctor and find out what's the deal. This doctor, she, well, she was awful. She went into the room with all these preconceived notions of who I am and how I take care of myself and didn't listen to a word I said. She looked at me like I was making up my symptoms, which is especially insulting because my mother is a true hypochondriac, and told me that it probably wasn't a real infection all these times and I probably just don't eat well.

And then she went on a rant about how Americans eat and I just can't eat all that processed food and that's why I'm overweight (!) and that the bad food inflamed my bladder and made me think I had an infection.

All the while, I'm trying to explain to her that, while I'm not perfect, I do try to eat well and I always read ingredients because of my food allergies, and I gained weight this year because my exercise changed, etc etc etc.

And she didn't hear one word I said. I tried asking her about my kidneys but she wouldn't hear it. She looked at me like I was this fat slob who overate and didn't watch what I ate and I deserved to be getting this symptoms and I'm pretty dumb to think it's a real infection. She also told me that the doctor I'd seen in October overreacted and I didn't have much (!) of an infection and I probably didn't need antibiotics.

I explained that if that were true, I'd be upset because I try to not take antibiotics if I don't need them and why would a doctor say I had an infection when I didn't?

She said I didn't have an infection this time and I was fine. I told her I drank a ton of cranberry juice yesterday and maybe the infection has cleared up already. Again, she wouldn't hear it, just kept telling me how passionate she is about eating well and health and told me she just cares about me and wants me to be healthy.

I finally talked her into at least doing a blood panel to look for food allergens, because I've been trying to get a Kaiser doctor to do that for a year as well and because it was the only reason she'd concede to be why I keep having these symptoms. And I won't get the results for a week. And then I was sent on my merry way, still having symptoms, and feeling the most judged and the most unheard and unseen I've felt in a long time.

First of all, even if food can cause those symptoms, it's an awfully large assumption to make without talking to me and letting me explain my eating habits. She just assumed I didn't know what I eat when the exact opposite is true. I do a ton of research on what I eat because eating is so perilous for me already. Yes, sometimes I eat bad foods and, yes, I eat too much even of good foods. But I am not unaware of what I eat.

Second, even if food is the cause of my symptoms, looking at me like I'm a horrible, stupid, and naive person is not her job. It's her job to help me figure out the problem and solve it. Instead she basically told me I was too fat and couldn't take care of myself.

Never mind that I'm not fat. I gained 25 pounds this year, sure, but before that I was a good weight and I've already lost five pounds and I'm working hard to find my exercise routine as an adult that doesn't have 5 dance classes a week. I'm not unaware of my weight gain and I've never struggled with my weight before now. I'm just older and figuring things out and a little compassion would be great. But she just assumed she knew who I am and how I live.

Third, what if it isn't food? She just refused to entertain any other options. What if it is a kidney infection and what if it continues untreated? I don't know what it is and it isn't really my job to find out because I didn't go to medical school. And it is her job! But I don't think she ever planned on exploring what was my issue. She is obviously on a crusade for health food, which isn't inherently a bad thing, but if I came in with cancer warning signs, would she send me on my way and tell me to eat more tomatoes? At some point, a doctor who works in traditional medicine has to actually practice tradition medicine!

Yes, wellness is important. Of course it is. Yes, I need to lose weight. I'm working on it. Yes, we all need to know what we're eating, but I do! If all I needed was a nutritionist, why am I paying insurance premiums to get shuffled between doctors and get told I'm a stupid, fat, American and not worth listening to? Why ever see a doctor at all?

That said, I'm at this very moment trying to get into my primary doctor. Because I think I should get a second opinion. Also, because I still feel sick and she didn't give me any guidance whatsoever on how to feel better! And I feel like I spent my entire morning and paid $20 to have a highly paid professional tell me how bad a person I am.

If I don't get in today, I am canceling my insurance. What good is it? What the hell am I paying for? If I just wanted to be berated, I'd befriend Jillian Michaels.

I guess, at the end of the day, I just wanted to be heard. I am my own advocate. I do take my health seriously. I do know how to listen to my body. And I just wanted my doctor to give me the chance to explain that.

I just wanted to not be treated like I'm my mother, a drug addict hypochondriac who, by the way, is always able to bully doctors into whatever pills she wants and whatever diagnosis she has in mind. Hell, maybe my mom is on to something there.

there and back again

Oh, Internet. I’ve given up at this point trying to post every week. Every two weeks feels about right with my insane schedule. And I have several posts going in my head all the time, but finding the time to sit down and write them is proving problematic.

And it’s not like my schedule is even that insane. I don’t have kids. I don’t have to cook or clean for anyone but myself. But between how tired I am once I get home from work, social commitments, and trying to have some kind of enjoyable personal time, I just don’t write much. But I think that’s okay for now. I’m navigating this part of my life and I think the best thing is that I’m kind to myself through it. We all know what a perfectionist I can be, perfectionist bordering on masochist. So whatever happens, I just want to be less hard on myself.

Anyway, here I am, finally writing. I’ve yet to find a coffee shop in my neighborhood I really like so I’m installed in a Starbucks for the time being. It’s not ideal of course. It’s so corporate and the paper cups just aren’t as conducive to creativity as huge, funky mugs are. Does that make sense? There’s something about a cozy little neighborhood shop with its quirks and oddities that make my brain flow. But oh well. First world problem. Shit, plenty of writers pen their greatest works in annexes and bunkers and shacks. I should stop complaining about the Starbucks.

And, hey, I love how Starbucks is supporting women’s and LGBT rights. So there.

It’s been a crazy time, Internet. First, I had the Black Plague for a whole week. Otherwise known as bronchitis. And it knocked me on the ass. Not being able to breathe properly will do that to you. I finally drug my ass to the doctor, which we know I’m loathe to do because of my hypochondriac, drug addict mother.

When I was a kid, she drug me to the doctor for every damn sniffle, had them put me on antibiotics (the woman knows how to get her way), and kept me home for inordinate amounts of time (and trust me, I would rather have been in school learning and playing with my friends).

So anyway, I go to the doctor and describe my symptoms and tell him I just want to make sure I don’t have the plague. He listens to my lungs and tells me I have bronchitis and then looks at me disapprovingly and tells me it’s viral so I can’t have antibiotics. Like I had asked for them. I hate that fucking look and I get it all the time because of people like my mom who just want their Z Packs so they can get all better. I’m not that way, though. I’d rather my body fight it off if possible, but if I’m sick for a whole week and can’t breathe, I do want to make sure it’s not serious. I don’t really want the drugs, doc! Ugg. Pisses me off.

Fucking doctors. Fucking hypochondriacs.

Then I finally got better and Portland got a little bit of sun for two whole minutes, two whole minutes of glorious, glorious sunshine. I went running and I walked around downtown and it was AHHH! Then it was shit again. Fuck this, weather, Portland. Fuck it. It’s April. I do expect a little rain still because, face it, it’s Portland, but this freezing cold muck is making me insane. We even had snow a couple weeks ago. True story.

You’re really testing my love for you, Portland. It’s time for Spring already.

It’s time for ballet flats and lighter jackets and flowy scarves. It’s time to get outside and run and hike and take photos of flowers. I took a chance today and went out to take photos. I got about 10 minutes in and the heavens opened up and dumped the sky upon me. My poor camera just couldn’t brave it.

Sigh.

I really wish I could afford a weekend in SoCal right now. I’d get to see my friends and fam and get some Vitamin D while I’m at it. But I am going down to Humboldt Easter weekend to see my cousin and her immensely pregnant belly. There will be a photo shoot. Oh yes. Expect lots of photos.

I wasn’t going to share this next bit of news, but I think I have to because it’s just too delicious. I saw my ex last weekend. And while it was only minimally awkward, mostly because he tried to talk to me a couple times and I just didn’t have anything to say to him (I just don’t want to tell him about my life and I couldn’t give a flying fuck about his), I did feel a little good about myself. Like, let’s face it, I looked good. And he, well, he looks...different.

Ahem.

But more than that, he was the same old idiot asshole and, not that I needed any reminding (I honestly have been thanking my stars that ending for quite some time), but every time he’d say something asinine, I’d just feel such a huge wave of disgust. Disgust for him and disgust for myself that I ever found that guy attractive (I wanted to write man, but let’s be honest. He’s not a man). And it just felt like I’d dodged the biggest bullet ever, the bullet of an asshole idiot lush. Just saying.

And the guy who would’ve been my date couldn’t be there and that’s okay I think. I was awesome all on my own and that’s that.

You may at this point be wondering who my date would’ve been. And I confess, I’ve been keeping the best for last, Internet. I’m sure you’ve been wondering about Eminem. And that’s still going. Going really great actually!  It’s nothing like my last relationships. It’s easy and fun and full of butterflies and laughter. I know this probably seems obvious but I forgot what it was like to date someone you just get along with so easily. We just get along so well and make each other laugh and eat lots and lots of really yummy food.

This is the best, people. Of all the things to have in common, I’m so glad we both enjoy food. Seriously. I’m talking about truly enjoying food.

Yesterday, we were eating at this amazing Greek place in NW Portland and as I was eating these melty, zesty, zingy, heavenly potatoes, potatoes that were making my tongue orgasm, I realized that moments like that are just what I love about life and it’s so nice to have someone who gets that and to share that with.

We have a longass list that is still growing of places we want to eat together. It’ll be a miracle if we don’t both get huge. This is another reason I need spring to get here. So I can go running and counteract all the gluttony. That and all the sex. Sex is a great workout.

Any to the way, my point is that it’s so far so good. I’m understandable cautious. I don’t have the greatest track record after all so I’m just taking one day at a time and seeing where it goes. And thus far, it feels really good.

I have a couple cool things in the works for myself, like voice lessons (eek!) and possibly starting yoga again. So stay tuned!

On Food Allergies

I've never been one for dieting. I like healthy foods for the most part, but I love my decadent foods too. I just strive for some balance, because if I want a juicy bacon burger, I want to have one without worrying that it will be my last meal.

I like to be able to enjoy the utter bliss of flavor without any guilt. Guilt over food is one of the worst traits of Americans, I think.  Food is a glorious experience, like sex or eating. Wait.

But, eating is not all caprice and felicity pour moi.

Have I mentioned my soy allergy? It's the bane of my existence.

It's always been a huge part of my life and I hate that. I truly do. I have always felt like it makes me high maintenance. I have.

Please don't reassure me. It's how I feel.

I don't want to have to ask a server what's in their bread or soup, or whatever. I don't want to have to check every label. I don't want to go over to dinner at a friend's house and ask to check the labels. It makes people feel badly for me. And I hate that. I'd just rather things go smoothly and not bring a shitload of attention on me and my damn allergy.

But it's in damned near everything these days. The world has soy fever and it makes my life a but perilous.

And that sucks monkey ass. I don't like being the center of attention. I don't want everyone catering their meals around me. It makes me crazy. 

I don't think I'd die from it, but who know what would happen if I ate tofu or something, pure soy. When I get a little, like from soy flour or protein in other food, I get sick as all hell. Fever. My skin starts crawling off. And I get sick to my stomach. It's misery and I always carry Benadryl with me just in case. The best way I survive it is dosing up on the pink pills and sleep it off.

And I know it could be worse. I don't have a peanut allergy where just a whiff of peanuts puts someone into anaphylactic  shock. I don't have to carry an epi pen. I'm lucky that way.

I've never had much patience with people who say they have a food allergy but eat the food anyway. I get the food intolerance people. That I understand. But I've always felt that if you have a true allergy, you'd get super sick.

I guess I just have to learn a little more tolerance. I guess there are varying degrees of allergies. Though I'd tell the people who eat those foods anyway that the more attacks you have, the worse they get each time. Just saying.

But when I find myself considering whether or not wheat is an issue for me, I'm super annoyed.

And no, I'm not going to see a doctor yet. And no, you can't talk me into it. I don't have insurance, I haven't been happy with my medical care in the past, and I don't want a bag of pills like my mother thankyouverymuch.

But I thought I'd just test my diet to see if there's anything to this, keep a diet journal, and cut down on my wheat consumption for a bit. See how I feel.

First, beer is out. No big loss there anyway and no girl wants a beer belly.

But if I thought soy was in everything, wheat is in ten million times more. That math might be a bit funky, but I'm prone to hyperbole so shut it.

Breads? Wheat.

Pastas? Wheat.

Soups? Wheat.

And microwavable meals? Forget it. They all have either soy or wheat or both.

So I went to my local Freddies and found myself in the hand dandy gluten free section, put there so the grocery store can rape you of your money with ease and convenience.

Gluten free is expensive as hell.

BUT! I want to try this out and I'll want sandwiches for lunch this week at my new job so I purchased some rice bread (which is nasty as all hell) and some quinoa pasta (which was pretty tasty) and vegetable broth (because everything Campbell's makes has wheat in it for some damned reason). $547 later (I exaggerate), I had enough food to last me a week.

I may die.

BUT! I've made a list of foods I like that don't have wheat:

• Cadbury Eggs
• Beans (no tortilla) (I hate corn tortillas)
• Corn Chips
• Potatoes (trusty potatoes)
• Fruit
• Cheerios! (yay for oats!)
• Veggies
• Oatmeal
• Hummus
• Nuts
• Bloody Marys
• Ice Cream
• Pastrami (but what do I put it on?)
• Cheese (glorious cheese)
• Any number of condiments (but what do I put them on?)
• Rice (but no soy sauce)
• Coconut Water (nectar of life)
• Juice
• MEAT

Conclusion: there are many foods I can eat without wheat, but how the hell will I make yummy sandwiches? Any suggestions?  Where do you non-wheaties get breads and the like? Do I have to learn to bake my own bread from oats?

Shoot. Me. Now.

If anyone gives me advice that includes medical testing, I will punch you in the larynx.

waves of homesickness

 PST! Raw Photos Contest starts in a few days so get your cameras out! Theme: What Makes You Laugh

Oh and go check out this post I wrote over at This Blogger Makes Fun of Stuff. I teach you how to shop. For realsies. You don't want to miss it. 

We now return you to your regular programming.

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I've been feeling a little homesick for California.

Not for the sunshine.

Not for the palm trees or beaches or long desert highway.

Certainly not for the traffic or the smog.

It's for the food.

It's for In-N-Out. For a Double Double Animal Style with extra cheese and fries (also animal style) and a shake and a lemonade. For the fresh vegetables and grilled onions. For the freshly made buns lightly toasted on the grill. For the best fast food your tongue will ever lay taste buds on in the world.

orgasmic

I don't care what they say here, Burgerville does not come close. I have never had a burger or fries as insanely tasty as In-N-Out. I miss it. I need it.

Does anyone know someone who works there? Maybe they can make it happen for a homesick blogger? Fed-Ex some goodness in a cooler? Mama needs some In-N-Out love!

this needs to happen now

I also miss burritos. Not the kind you find at food carts here. Or even the kind I make at home. I want a dirty taco stand burrito, the kind you only find that close to the border, the greasier and dirtier the better. Huge, soft tortilla, browned. Refried beans. Tons of cheese and hot sauce and sour cream.

I want to have a heart attack looking at it. I want to have to unhinge my jaw to take a bite. And I want to feel as if I swallowed a sea lion after I've eaten it.

actual burrito from my fave taco stand in So Cal

Now this last one isn't so much California as the last city I lived in. In said small town, there is the best Greek restaurant I've ever been in counting my time in Europe. This place is heaven and my friends and coworkers would head there to nom on hummus and pita and destress any chance we got. The owner, Michael, is awesome. He remembers your name (even years later) and what your fave foods are. If you order something else, he'll tell you what you really want. And he'll be right.

He makes ALL the food fresh right there for you. The hummus with fresh oil drizzled, the soft warm doughy pita straight from the oven, the falafel and euro rolls. MMMM I'm dying of happy just thinking about it.

And I miss my friends and family. Of course I do. But who are we kidding? My friends would be eating with me too!

Like a Snake

When I first got to Portland, I didn't have much of an appetite. Call it stress maybe. I don't know why, but I just wasn't eating much. I wasn't actively avoiding food. I just wasn't hungry and I'd forget.

Which is SO not me.

I mean, we all know how I lose my appetite when I'm suffering a little heartbreak. Oh do we know.

But this? This was not heartbreak. This was loss of appetite for some weird reason. And it wasn't consistent. I'd eat some great food one day and forget to eat the next.

However.

How to the ever.

How to the ever lovin' ever.

I have my appetite back. It's been steadily building for a couple of weeks now. And it's back with a vengeance. Like it was pissed that I forgot about it. Packed it away with my sweaters and jewelry and forgot to unpack it after my move. And it's making up for lost time.

Oh boy is it.

I am shoving so much food down my gullet, I resemble a snake eating a baby. I wouldn't recommend anyone getting their hands too close to my mouth; they may lose a finger.

Bee tee double you, did you know that Kettle Chips makes a Fully Loaded Bakes Potato flavor? Jeez to the creez it's ridiculous. No food that amazing should exist. It's like mocking nature. That's some unnaturally brilliant food conjuring right there. Kettle Chips must be a witch. Somebody burn it at the stake. Or throw it in a river and see if it floats. And if it does, burn it at the stake.

Burning at the stake is always the answer.

Even on a math test.

Trust me on that one.

Where was I? Oh yeah. The food. As proof of my incessant noshing, an extemely unattractive photo of me eating a Voodoo Doughnut*:

Please pay no attention to my chins.

My throat looks like that because it is expanding to make room for the large quantity of food about to be ingested. Just like a snake. Duh. 

I thought we covered this.

*Why the hell am I sharing this extremely unattractive photo? Someone slap some sense into me please, because I seem to be under the impression that the purpose of the Internet is to make myself appear as unattractive as possible. 

fat and happy

Today was a day of work holiday parties, the first being our annual all-staff lunch and oh em gee do I love this event! The food is all comfort food and dee-lish-us and while the thing can go pretty long, there is this raffle with some pretty damn good prizes. I always tell myself that I don't want to win, but dude, I totally do. Didn't happen this year, but some day, one of those wine baskets will be mine. I swear to Odin.

Then on to my divisional holiday party and my favorite part about this shindig is the food competition. There's always a theme and everyone brings a dish and then we all vote on the favorites. The voting isn't the best part. The eating is. I am so fat and happy right now. Mmmmm. I also might be slipping into a sugar coma. Someone call an ambulance. Hah!

So, even though I get absolutely no work done (and believe me, I have plenty to do before winter vacation), days like this work nicely into my new master plan: plump up for the winter. See, my plan has two genius elements. First, while all my female friends are watching their weight through the perilous holidays and becoming more and more crabby in the process, I am foregoing the misery and enjoying myself. Bring on the food, I say! Bring. It. On. And that brings me to the second benefit: more insulation. I plan to be nice and warm this winter once I'm done plumping up (not nearly close enough to my goal), while you dieters will be freezing your asses off. Proof: I have a coworker who recently lost a bunch of weight and he told me today that it's true. He is colder this year. So you see? I will be literally fat and happy and also toasty warm, while I eat toast. Genius.

Don't you all wish you were as smart as me, Internet? Now, seriously, someone please call an ambulance.

it's called "Black Friday" for a reason

Ah the day after Thanksgiving. I am so stoked to have 3 more days off, I...I...well, I don't know what I could do, but you can bet it's exciting! Damn skippy.

Yesterday was nice. It was great to see my cousin and hey boyfriend John and my aunts.And my sweet potatoes turned out great. My pumpkin mousse pie was pretty delish, but I think I can improve on it. I'm thinking it would be better not frozen, with more of a puddingy texture. And less crust. I may just do a super thin graham cracker crust on the bottom and a dusting of crumbs on the top. YUM! Ooooh, maybe I'll make it for New Years (More on my New Years plans as we get closer to)! I also took some more Holgas which I'm taking in to develop sometime this weekend. We'll see how they turn out. Here's a digital of my fam:

Poor John, though. I always feel a little bad for him, being the only guy with all these women around. He holds his own though, maybe even likes the attention a little. He was in classic Thanksgiving eating form, even changed his shirt and pants in order to go in for lots of dessert. But the poor guy had to leave in the evening for work, which meant that he had to put on work clothes. The following is the ensuing challenge for a very full boy:

I had a rough night last night, though, Who knows why, but I had the most bizarre dreams. So today I'm a little crankers, a little tired. Even so, I have forced myself to do a little winter decorating. I wasn't going to. I've been so apathetic about the season. It doesn't even feel like winter. But I made myself do it. And I'm glad I did. My place looks pretty damn cute.

And for all your crazy Black Friday shoppers, what is wrong with you? I worked retail for like 7 years. 7 years I can never get back. That is 7 years of my adult life that I spent battling with crazy people who have such shopping fever they resemble footage of meth attics being electrocuted. I assume. I've never seen footage like that. Now that I don't have to, I wouldn't leave the house on Black Friday if you paid me. You'd have to hold one of my family member's hostage, threaten to shoot him or her to get me to go near a store today. And even then, it would depend on which family member. This is what you're supposed to do the day after Thanksgiving: sleep your fat ass in! Wear pajamas until you decide to venture outside and you don't want to frighten the neighbors. Eat reheated leftovers, and bee tee doubleyou, pie is a perfectly acceptable breakfast. Now THAT is a proper Black Friday.

Anyway, because I'm so po (that's so poor, I can't afford the extra "o" or "r"), I'm giving artsy fartsy presents this year. Maybe a tad narcissistic, but hell, if those people I love the most don't love my art, maybe they shouldn't get presents. Hah!

the dreaded obligatory Thanksgiving post

Here I am, the night before Thanksgiving, making sweet mashed potatoes and getting my ass ready for the holiday I have always pretty much hated more than any others. And I will say that it's not my most detested any more. In adulthood, I hate Christmas more than any other holiday (but that's a story for the Christmas post). So Thanksgiving has moved up a notch.

Why do I hate Thanksgiving? In the first place, it's just not my holiday. I don't love Thanksgiving food, the turkey, the yams, the cranberry sauce, the stuffing. Ew. Ew. Ew. I like mashed potatoes though and somehow over the years macaroni and cheese has entered our Thanksgiving menu (probably because I love it), so I usually eat those two things. If there happens to be a ham, I'll eat a piece of that too.

But in general, the whole FEAST thing, not my style.

And then there's the idea of family, everyone piled into one house for an entire day or gathered around a table. For most families, I'm finding, that's a nice image. For my family, well, that's just not realistic. Any situation in which my entire family (or even just me, my mom, and my dad) are stuck in one place with no way out equals utter disaster. Most of my childhood memories of Thanksgiving end in tears, usually because my mother ended up screaming at my dad or me or both.

So the past couple years, my cousin Lindsey and I have constructed a nice, mellow, intimate Thanksgiving. It's just she and I, her boyfriend John, her mom, and this year another aunt is coming, an aunt who is techinally not "family" since our uncle cheated on her and divorced her for a golddigger, but we love this aunt more. It's nice. It's just those we love and can stand. It's a safe space. Plus we kind of do our own menu. Lindsey makes a Tofurkey which I avoid like the plague because I'm allergic. John makes a heavenly macaroni and cheese. Last year, I made Tirimisu and this year I made a pumpkin mousse pie. Yum! And I already mentioned the sweet mashed potatoes. We do our own thing and it works and it's very low-stress. Just the way we like it.

And despite that, I'm still anxious. Not for any good reason, but I know it's residual energy of horrible Thanksgivings past. This holiday just doesn't agree with me.

And that brings me to the symbology, the history of this holiday which I just don't agree with celebrating.

This pretty much sums up how I feel about Thanksgiving:

Yes, why don't we celebrate a holiday that commemorates the conquering of a foreign land, the decimation and rape of its native peoples, their way of life, and the gift of small pox. Yes. Let's gather around, stuff ourselves until we're huge and recall what we're grateful for instead of mourning the atrocities we enacted in order to celebrate this momentous occasion. That's really something to celebrate.

Okay, I'm done pissing and moaning. I hope you all have fantastic Thanksgivings. May your families all be wonderful. May you all get tremendously fat. And when you're recounting what you're thankful for, try to remember an entire culture of people still struggling to realign itself in the world because of the actions of our "forefathers."