(This episode is funnier than you'd think.)

“Why are you eating so much candy? That’s like your sixth piece!” says a family member at last night’s Thanksgiving. (The question, of course, is directed at me.) This is the general family consensus on junk-food eating – the utilitarian point of view, if you will. So I’d like to take the time to show you my support of the individual’s rights at Thanksgiving, which entails consumption of the food items and amounts listed here:

• 5 celery sticks
• a handful of pita chips
• a handful of cheese and crackers
• one-and-a-half pumpkin whoopie pies
• 4 bites of lumpy mashed potatoes
• a plump spring roll
• a slice of apple pie crust
• a blondie square
• 2 sips of Pinot noir
• 2 sips of Pinot noir mixed with 7 Up because the Pinot noir didn't taste good by itself, and only 2 sips because Pinot noir mixed with 7 Up doesn't taste good either
• and 6 PIECES OF CANDY 

That is my idea of a proper Thanksgiving.

No, that’s not true. That’s just what ended up in my belly yesterday. My ideal Thanksgiving would be me, friends, and buckets of French fries, macaroni and cheese, pizza, and grilled cheeses. And it’d be called “Thanksgiving: Starch Spectacle.”

For the most part, I’m surviving this 4-day weekend – sort of. I’m still recovering from pretend-watching all that football. There’s what, 3? 4? games in a row? It was like watching a bad foreign film 3 (or 4) times back-to-back, with the characters/actors wearing the same clothes but in different colors for each repeat showing.

The one good part though: I won $33 playing Bingo with other people’s money yesterday! 

My brother and one of my cousins each put in $5 for Bingo cards but didn’t want to actually sit there to play their cards, so they told me they’d go halvsies on their winnings with me if I played for them. My bro ends up winning the biggest pot and my cousin won the second biggest, and I risked zero of my own dollars to win $33.

Thanksgiving conclusion: smiles all around. 

A look at "How are you?" in the workplace (where almost everyone is a woman).

Me: Hi, how are you? Someone is here to see you.
Staff A: Not good. I am having a very bad day!

 * * *

Staff B: Hey there, how are ya?
Staff C: I had to go to the doctor because I thought I might have pneumonia - I've been sick for the past 2 weeks. But don't worry, I don't have pneumonia.

 * * *

Staff B: How are you?
Me: Fine. You?
Staff B: I’m kind of stressed. Earlier, when I was in the bathroom peeing, I remembered this dream I had last night. But now I can’t remember it!
Me: Dreams are meaningless.
Staff B: You think so? Because what I do remember while I was in the bath--
Me: It didn’t mean anything.
Staff B: But let me just tell you--
Me: Trying to remember is a waste of time.

Have I been wrong this whole time? “How are you?” in the workplace literally means “How are you?”? This can’t be right.

So I pulled out my trusty “How to Live Like a Lady” book, by Sarah Tomczak, to tell me right from wrong. And, according to Ms. Tomczak, “Forget your aches and pains, the answer to “How are you?” is always “Fine, thank you.”

Yes! I was right!

Ms. Tomczak also says:

• Stand up when others enter the room.
  
• Smiles are free.
  
• French-kissing in public, aggressive bedroom behavior, and overhead lighting are considered trashy. 
  
• Being a lady will never go out of style. 

The more I read this book and the more I reflect on my own behavior, the more I am befuddled by what is regarded as ladylike. 

Maybe I should compare my thoughts with what Ms. Tomczak would think of my 6 year-old cousin, a fellow lady in training, to get a better understanding of what it means to be a lady.

This is my 6 year-old cousin:

This is her spraying water onto her hair. Which I think Ms. Tomczak would find is more appropriate than using hairspray for such a young girl. And I'd agree.

Then my cousin got thirsty and used the same bottle to spray water into her mouth.

What a smart cookie! I couldn't be more proud of her (even though I don't think Ms. Tomczak would approve). 

Spending time with old people is, generally speaking, uneventful and unfun. You may get a word of wisdom or two out of it, but that doesn’t usually happen during most interactions with them. My grandfather asked me to drive him to the public transportation office to renew his expired senior ID. When we got there, the office was packed – with smelly old people. 

While I was waiting in line with my grandfather, my face alternating between wincing and pouting, an old man that was waiting behind me tapped me on my arm with his cane to get my attention.

“Too bad I don’t have a seat. Otherwise, I’d offer it to you. You’re nice to look at.”

We parked in an unfree parking garage. When I pulled up to the booth to pay, the booth personnel (not old) released the bar gate and told me how much my fare was.

“Because you’re beautiful, it’s free.”

I shouldn’t be so repulsed by these men who hit on me. After all, one's running out of time; the other works alone in a 3’ x 6’ booth all day. I must keep in mind that desperate times call for desperate measures.

Two years ago, I was in a similar position of desperation. For the first time in my life, I was without a female BFF. Accordingly, I sought out to fix that. On the market for a new BFF, I hit the bars. I met a girl who had cute shoes on. We got to talking and, I complimented her on her shoes, among the other things I said to her…

She and I did not become best frosting friends.

As a dater of straight men, I have always been able to say for certain that I would not have survived them and could not endure them without my girlfriends. I have also always been able to say that girlfriends are key to a wonderful life. And then this morning:

          (It's just some typing. Why wouldn't I want to help her out?)

          (In an ideal world, after I got her second text message, I 
          would have written back, "No. I don't want to do that." But, 
          instead, I sat there for a few minutes trying to come up 
          with an excuse to get out of it. There is none. Not after, 
          "Sure what time?")

She had LASIK eye surgery 3 weeks ago. At this time, the surgery only hinders her ability to partake in unpleasant activities, such as filling out extensive job applications. She can only see enough to type rather lengthy text messages. And she is perfectly capable of requesting arduous favors.  

Now, I’m thinking that, as a been-there-done-that friend of unexcellent girlfriends, I can say for certain that I would not have survived them and cannot endure them without my top-notch girlfriends. I can now also say for certain that top-notch girlfriends are key to a wonderful life. What it takes to be top-notch:

• No excuses attitude

Girlfriend: Why isn’t he coming?
Me: I guess he’s still recovering from a party he went to.
Girlfriend: Ugh, I’m so sick of people staying in and “resting.” Look at me, I’ve had this cold for like 6 weeks and you never see me at home. You can rest when you’re older!

• Reliably sarcastic

Me: Which boyfriend was this?
Girlfriend: The one that cheated on me. Whenever he felt guilty, he’d buy me flowers and tell me how I look even prettier without my makeup on. It’s like, this is how I know you’re lying. You expect me to believe that you find me prettier when I’m less attractive?

• Ability to kick back and relax

Girlfriend: Have you seen Tosh.0?
Me: No, is it any good?
Girlfriend: Yeah, sure.
Me: Why is it called Tosh.0?
Girlfriend: The host’s last name is Tosh.
Me: Oh, what’s his first name?
Girlfriend: . . . [thinking ellipsis, not speechless ellipsis]
Me and Girlfriend at the same time: …Josh?

This one is top-notch because she doesn’t pull my hair back for me when I’m puking from drinking too much like every other girl. She performs a song for me while I’m vomiting! 

Full-time blogging is like perpetually being in and out of a coma. Whenever you reengage in lively human contact, your social skills are a bit off.

I went outside this past weekend:

An exceptionally nice, interesting, and good-looking man and I are at a bar enthralled in conversation and my blog gets brought up. Naturally, after we talk more about my blog, he asks me for the website address. And I don’t exactly understand why, what happened afterward, took place; maybe it was due to all the beer I had had. I considered his question to be utterly presumptuous and a complete invasion of privacy so I mumbled, “whitney soup dot com” and walked away. I know he didn’t hear me.  

 * * *

I spent the rest of my time at that bar talking smack about the female bartender. Her hoop earrings really got to me. But hunger struck so I bought a calzone and shared it with her. My smack talking got to me too; I felt guilty. 

 * * *

At a house party, a dude walked in on me while I was peeing in the bathroom. Essentially, all he saw was me sitting down with my shorts at my knees. But, he happened to be a part of The Humblest Men Organization and I happen to enjoy reacting as if I were an easily offended prudish old woman. And, thus, the story goes like this: He accidentally opens the door, I scream “MY, GOD!,” he instantly shuts the door, I have a laughing fit while still on the toilet because I frankly couldn’t care less about being walked in on while peeing yet I got to make him feel immense shame, I finally finish my bathroom business, I whip open the door, and I lean against the doorframe, pompously grinning, as if I had just gotten laid in an airplane bathroom (having sex in an airplane bathroom without a doubt deserves a pat on the back; sex in a regular bathroom is not classy). He runs up to me, apologizing and literally bowing over and over, I explain that I was totally joking before and that I don’t care about what happened, my girlfriend points and laughs at him throughout the night (she’s got a great sense of humor), he carries on with apologizing and bowing, and I wind up having to continuously console him for having walked in on me in the bathroom.  

 * * *

Other than stepping out once to purchase a grande cappuccino and orange juice fortified with calcium and vitamin D, I have stayed inside since. 

Are you feeling down? Lost? Empty? Have you gone mental? Well, feel no more! You can enrich your life by engaging in preorganized and predefined-as-fun activities! All you have to do is become a member of one or more of the following:

Book Club – Remember in high school and college when you resented books you were required to read because you felt they prevented you from having the time to read what you wanted to read? Well now you can always go back to that time!

Kickball & Softball Leagues – No one ever really wanted to play these in gym class, but I guess now, as adults, these games are marketed to us as a way to meet people and have fun at the same time. I wonder if there’s such a thing as a curfew club where we have to meet every night before curfew and then promise each other we’re going to go straight home…