While’s Thursday’s Thanksgiving won Best Holiday Meal Ever award for overall quality of awesomeness, today’s Thanksgiving/Christmas combo in KC wins for Holy Best Tasting Food in the History of Ever award.  My uncle smoked 13 racks of barbecue ribs, we had the best baked beans from Jack Stack’s BBQ restaurant, green bean casserole, cheesy hashbrown casserole, and this cheesy corn stuff (so you know, all really heart-healthy fare.)  Don’t even get me started on dessert and booze.

It of course couldn’t have been a Christmas combo rendezvous without PRESENTS!!!  The highlight was a package of pastel-colored pencils that at first I was like, “Oh wow, lame.  Pencils.  I only use pens and Sharpies in college.”  But upon further inspection, I realized these babies said BRITTNEY on them.  That’s right, people– personalized pencils.  The reasoning behind this is because apparently last time we were together I was complaining (I know it’s a stretch, but just imagine me being discontent about something and speaking up about it) that when I was younger, I could never find anything monogrammed because my name is spelled different than your average Brittany.  “You know, like pencils at Disney World and stuff.”  So now, 20 years after being birthed and my uncle saying, “If you spell it that way, I will call her ‘Britt-AN-y’ all of her life”, I finally have pencils with the correct spelling of my name on them.  I can die happy.

Apparently the rest of my family is down ice skating at the outdoor across the street from the hotel.  HA.  Like I ice skate.  Like I can even move from my current prone position to go spectate their ice capade-ic endeavors.  I probably should, but food baby would throw a fit and food baby always gets what it wants (simmer down, Cletus!)

In the unfortunate event I should ever procreate, I would want it to be a boy.  Should I decide that this being is worth keeping around for a while,  I would dress it up in all sorts of ridiculous outfits and make it go out in public with me.  His name would also start with a Z.  I’m pretty sure I made up this name, and if I told you right now what it is, you would laugh and be like wow, she’s done a lot more drugs than I thought.  Methinks I’ve only told one other person this kick-ass name that will probably never get used, and I don’t think he’s going to steal it for his own.  He’d probably name his kids something dumb like, I don’t know, Dumb Face. 

Since I’m just so worldly and all, today I was reading an intelluctual Web site about our generation.  It said that we (I guess we’re Generation Y?  Or Millenials?  I vote for Generation Dumb Face) are the first to not rebel against our parents, are poised to make less money than our parents overall, and value experiences over things.  I definitely agree with the latter (well, and the first, but hopefully not the second).  “They don’t aspire to have a McMansion of their own, to have the latest car or any car if they can help it. What they do want to do is travel, eat out, and nurture their passions.”  (See the full post here.)  So you’re welcome, you now have something halfway intellectual to bring up around your holiday table instead of telling your grandparents about how you’re cyber-stalking this slightly nuanced, completely self-absorbed girl you happen to go to college with who uses fancy words like “nuanced” in completely the wrong context.

I guess I should go find my family.  They’re probably all “Where is that moody one who’s always lurking about the perimeter of the kitchen, ready to pounce on whatever food we happen to cast away?  She’s so nuanced, and such a Dumb Face.”  Or they haven’t even noticed I’m not present.  I vote door #2– there’s plenty of other shenanigans that I, if you can believe it, am nothing out of the ordinary when we all get together.