i even look crazy in this picture. but my dress is lovely. it's my newest betsey. what? you didn't notice my betsey because you were distracted by what appears to be rusty's winning coloring contest piece on the wall behind me?
this year i was even more excited for thanksgiving. because we'd finally gotten tickets to the thanksgiving day parade. finally. FINALLY. you get that this was a bfd. (grandma, bfd means big effing deal.) you're probably wondering how we got such coveted tickets. it was merely a matter of me finally figuring out who to sleep with. finally. FINALLY. (grandma, i'm just kidding. sort of. what? it is not cheating. it's not. because kyle, his brother, and my gay yorkshire terrier puppy child were all going to reap the benefits of my infidelity.)
the week leading up to my favorite holiday i was nothing but sunshine rays, rainbows, and lollipops. per my usual demeanor. which is anyone's natural demeanor when sleep-deprived for more than one night in a row. i hoped that the arrival of my brother-in-law, the parade, and a few days of four-thousand-plus-calorie-meals would make me more tolerable. so that i wouldn't ruin thanksgiving.
the morning of the parade, i woke up in a festive mood. so festive, in fact, i even baked muffins. muffins! this is what thanksgiving does to me. obviously kyle wishes every single day could be thanksgiving. it didn't even matter that they were from a box mix. i actually used an appliance other than the toaster oven or the microwave. an immense step for she-who-fears-the-oven. after baking breakfast i threw on a few layers of clothes (something else i rarely do and hence another big win for me) and was ready to hit the parade.
kyle insisted upon bringing rusty. which i was adamantly opposed to. for the following reasons:
1. rusty was supposed to be on punishment for notifying the media that herman cain had yet another affair, which is obviously not true. just like all the other negative things about herman cain are also not true. sheer libel.
2. rusty was supposed to be on punishment for stealing my debit card to buy loofah dog a "christmas present" that looked suspiciously like cocaine. since i do not do drugs, i couldn't be sure if rusty was telling the truth when he insisted it was just snow for a homemade snow globe rusty is crafting.
3. rusty was supposed to be on punishment for threatening to pee on the christmas tree because i took away his "snow."
"but we don't even have a christmas tree yet, rusty," i said.
"oh yeah? what do you call that thing right there?!" he shouted back.
"a table."
"dammit!!! i'll piss on the table then!" he screamed before stomping off into his bedroom.
4. rusty was supposed to be on punishment for cutting school to hang out in zucotti park with the occupy wall street protesters. unfortunately, the protesters did not take kindly to his argyle sweater. or the fact that he kept peeing on their tents.
but rusty and kyle are best friends. and that trumps everything. and rusty had been nicer to kyle in the days leading up to thanksgiving than me. which also trumps everything. so it didn't really matter that rusty was supposed to be on punishment. he was going to the parade goddammit! which is pretty much the norm around here. rusty is perpetually on punishment. yet constantly allowed to participate in the super fun things kyle and i do on our days off. like going to home depot to buy new lamps. and going to bed, bath and beyond to buy oxyclean to scrub the couch cushion upon which rusty usually sits. and going to pottery barn to buy a new duvet cover. because rusty puked all over our old one. and kyle thought it'd be better to throw it away and buy a new one than to wash it.
TIME OUT
what?!?! for the record, the cost of that new duvet cover was equal to a betsey. (once my sweet discount is factored in.) i would have been perfectly fine with a yellow tinge of a vomit stain on our duvet if it meant i could get a new dress. but because i love my husband, i sacrificed and got a duvet. and this is why i am a good person.
TIME IN
so kyle placed rusty in his man bag. let me say that again. kyle placed rusty in KYLE'S man bag. along with a few blankets to keep rusty warm.
"i can't believe you're bringing him," i said as we walked out of the apartment.
"he's a sweet little boy and he loves parades," kyle replied.
"are we talking about the same dog? this is not even a conversation worth having right now. especially since your brother is here and i'm trying to be on my best behavior so that no one knows you married a crazy person. and so that no one believes you when you try to tell them you married a crazy person. muffin anyone?"
we walked to west 61st street, a mere nine blocks away, but with the crowds on the street and the five-pound strain of rusty in kyle's man bag, it took a while. at 61st street we proudly flashed our purple parade tickets to the nyc cop, hoping to be allowed past the barricade erected there. behind the cop i could see the empty bleachers. our bleachers. just waiting for us.
"you need to go up to 71st street," he said.
"wha wha?" i asked, befuddled.
"we were just up there!!!" a man yelled from behind me. "and cops up there are telling people to come down here."
"can't let you in," the cop replied in an incomplete sentence. i hate people who use incomplete sentences. so much. detest them.
"well where are we supposed to go then?" i asked, feeling a case of the crazies beginning to creep up.
"try down there," he said, pointing to columbus circle. so we, and by we i actually mean i, stomped down the block towards columbus circle. and another policeman. who told us to go back up to 61st street.
"but they JUST told us to come here!" i shouted.
"baby, relax," kyle said from behind me. i shot him a dirty look. i was not going to relax.
we turned around and stomped back up to 61st street. ok. i stomped. neither my husband nor his brother were walking like a spoiled toddler.
"HE," i said to the cop at 61st street, pointing back down towards the cop at columbus circle that no one could see, "told us to come back HERE!" i said, wielding the parade tickets.
"you need to go up to 71st."
"c'mon, baby. let's just go up to 71st," reasonable, unflappable kyle said, steering me away from the cop.
"ugh! i'm so flipping annoyed right now!" i bitched as i stomped at a rapid pace up broadway towards columbus. kyle and his brother and rusty trailed awkwardly behind me. because that's what you do when you're wife is angrily speed walking at 100 mph and you sense that an ugly case of the cray crays is imminently approaching but you have no way of truly getting away so you just stay behind at a safe distance. or at least you try.
"jess, can you slow down?" kyle asked, jogging up alongside me. "ok? just relax. it's not a big deal. can we please just have a nice day?"
"IT IS A BIG DEAL!!!!!!!!!!"
and then i slowed down just enough to force kyle to walk next to me while everyone else turned around to see who this crazy person was that was screaming in the street on such a glorious thanksgiving day.
"we finally got tickets to the thanksgiving day parade and we still can't even see the stupid parade. i'm so pissed right now!" i raged. sometimes when i announce to the world how pissed i am, i feel better. in this instance i didn't. have i mentioned that this story is about the time i ruined thanksgiving? don't worry. it gets better. and by better, i mean worse. read on.
we arrived at west 69th street. where there was a line all the way up to west 71st street. for the parade.
"i'll wait in this ridiculous two-block-long-thousand-people-deep-line if you want to go get some coffee," i said to kyle. which was code for, "i think you and your brother need to get away from me because i'm seriously about to lose me sh!t any minute now. like, even more than i've already lost my sh!t this morning."
kyle and his brother seemed more than happy to get away from me. and so did rusty. he insisted he needed a cup of coffee and therefore couldn't wait in line with me. which was a blatant lie because he's recently become mormon. and mormons don't even drink coffee. jerk.
as i stood waiting in line and cursing under my breath, i realized that no one in line had the same tickets as me. their tickets were macy's tickets. my tickets were bloomberg tickets. what up now, big time? i left the line and charged to the font of the macy's line. and to yet another nyc cop.
"we have tickets," i said, flashing them for the cop to see. kyle, his brother, and rusty had returned from starbucks and were standing behind me now. sans coffee. because the line at starbucks was also a thousand deep.
"you need to go down to 61st," the cop replied.
"NO! NO WE DO NOT. THEY ARE TELLING EVERYONE TO COME UP HERE. WE ARE NOT GOING BACK DOWN THERE. NO WAY!" i said, my voice cracking with anger. at this point i was joined by another angry purple ticket holder who'd been given the run around for the past hour. he corroborated my story in a much deeper, more forceful, more intimidating voice.
"see!" i said, "they aren't letting anyone in down there!" i shouted.
"ok," said the cop. "we will let you in THAT line." he pointed to the forever long macy's line. the macy's parade employee at the front of the line looked over at us and our purple tickets.
"you can come to this line," she said, "but i may not let you in. this line is for macy's tickets."
and that was my breaking point. realizing that by the time we got to the front of the line the parade would have started and we would have no way to cross central park west to our bleacher seats. and in that moment, all the crazy that had been brewing for the past hour came to a frothy, explosive head.
"AAAARRRRRRGGGGGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!" i screamed. yes, screamed. at the top of my lungs. "are you f%@&ing kidding me????" i also screamed. at the cop. and then, turning around to kyle and his brother, i yelled, "f*#& this sh!t. we're leaving." and i stomped off across the street at a furious pace, pausing only to throw the parade tickets into the trash can with the dramatic flourish of a petulant child. "i hate new york!" i yelled. "i hate it!" i yelled again for more emphasis. and then, in case new york wasn't fully convinced of my hatred, i started sobbing.
kyle caught up to me. i couldn't tell if he was concerned. or mortified. or both. probably both. concerned that he'd have to commit me to an insane asylum on thanksgiving. mortified that his brother would have to witness that after already witnessing, well, this.
"i'm going to the gym," i announced.
"right now?" kyle asked.
"no. i'm going home. changing. then going to the gym. bye." i charged off towards the apartment.
i went to the gym for two hours. the first hour of which i beat the crap out of the treadmill and gave evil stares to innocent trainers who were only trying to do their job and offer towels. still feeling angry, i did a strength training class. and having completely exhausted myself physically and sweated out the crays, i finally felt better.
"crazy pants is home," i announced as i walked back into the apartment. i tried to not let the fact that the damn thanksgiving day parade was on the television ruin my endorphin high. kyle looked at me with an understandably leery expression.
the annoying thing about having mental breakdowns in the middle of a crowded nyc street in front of the nypd, your husband, his brother, your dog and a bazillion strangers is that just because you get over it relatively quickly and then move on with life as usual, doesn't mean everyone else does. they don't. my years of therapy were supposed to teach me to keep my emotions in check to thus avoid the inevitable awkwardness that follows my meltdowns for everyone but me. it didn't.
kyle had already accused me of ruining christmas by going to betsey johnson and purchasing a hat, a skirt and a dress. and then calling him at work to tell him i'd bought my christmas presents so there was no need for him to get me anything. now i'd also managed to ruin thanksgiving. and the only person who seemed happy about this was rusty. who loves it when i make him look good. he laid on the couch snuggled up in kyle's crotch with a smug look on his face.
i decided the only way to redeem myself would be to cook an amazing thanksgiving meal. my breakfast muffins had been a hit. so i knew i had it in me to do this thing called cooking. i sequestered myself in the kitchen for the remainder of the day, peeling pounds of potatoes. and trying not to lose my sh!t again.
so you're saying I should join Equinox, ey? =)
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