I survived Thanksgiving. I assume you did too if you’re reading this.

Wednesday night Captain and I hit the road for Worcester. What was a rain/slush storm in Boston, was a full on icy, wet, snow storm in Worcester. It took 5 tries to pull into my mom’s driveway.

We made it. Once inside, Captain asks,

“Is there anything here you want to take back to my place?’

Keep in mind most of my stuff is moving back into my mom’s garage because there’s no room. I ask him,

“Are you kidding me?”

“No.”

The next morning I point at the giant pink easy chair in my childhood bedroom and declare,

“I’d like to take that.”

“Really?” Captain squeaks.

We head outside to shovel the wall of ice chunks at the end of the driveway. We have Thanksgiving at Captain’s uncle’s house to get to. The guy across the street is shoveling too. My mom shouts across,

“Just what you want to be doing today huh?”

“Actually my in-laws are coming, so I’m gonna take my time.”

 Captain and I are off without the pink easy chair. We’re greeted by everybody. Captain and I are cornered by his sister-in-law’s mother. She tells Captain,

“There’s a five-foot-tall Olaf at Bed Bath and Beyond. It was $240 dollars and now it’s only $120. You have to get it. It’s going to be a collectors item.”

Olaf, from the Disney movie Frozen, is the funniest, most lovable snowman I’ve ever met, But if there’s no room for an easy-chair, there’s no room for a snowman.

We sit down to eat by 2pm. This is earlier than my family usually manages to sit down, but it works out because by 7pm we’re eating turkey sandwiches. The sooner you get the Thanksgiving meal over with, the sooner you get to start eating the left-overs. And the sooner you can go buy a giant stuffed snowman.

The day job continues. I plop down in a coworkers cube. I declare,

“My brain is going to explode, I need to talk about something other than work.”

We chat about how she needs to call DCF (Department of Children and Families) which doesn’t really lighten the mood, but makes my day seem less crazy. I head back to my desk to schedule a meeting with my Jingle Bell Ringers.

I go home to Captain, which is my new home, but I’m not really moved in yet. My plants moved in, some of my clothes and a very small portion of underwear. Captain is clearing some dresser drawers for me, he tells me,

“I threw away a pair of underwear, so there’s a little more room now.”

“One pair?”

“Yup.”

“I guess that’s at least worth a few pairs of mine.”

I recount my crazy day and ask him,

“Do you have these feelings?”

He looks perplexed and offers,

“I don’t know if I have those same feelings. I think I have different feelings.”

This past weekend we had a huge fundraiser for work. We raised over a million dollars and it’s important, because a small small part of that is my salary.

It was all hands on deck. A month ago, the woman managing the event called me into her office. She tells me,

“I originally put you on registration, but then it was suggested that you might be better as a cocktail host. It would be your job to walk around with a drink in your hand and talk to people. What do you think?”

Walk around with a drink talking to people? I’ve been practicing for this my whole life.

I double up on the practicing. One can’t be too prepared.

The night of the event the hall for cocktails fills up. I mingle. I approach couples, groups of people, people by themselves. ANYONE. Like it’s my job.

I walk up to one woman and introduce myself with the smile that has been serving me well for awhile now. She stares at me. She asks,

“What’s your job?”

“My job is-“

“-I mean what’s your job tonight?”

“To socialize with people.”

“Then you’re doing a good job, but you don’t need to talk to me.”

Everyone leaves the hall and heads downstairs for the $500 a plate dinner. We were told ahead of time that there will not be enough seats for staff for dinner and the staff who do get to have dinner will be chosen based on seniority. So I knew I’d be out of luck.

Before I left, Captain was sweet enough to make me a turkey sandwich with extra mayo. I put my sandwich in a Ziploc baggy, put my Ziploc-baggy sandwich in my purse and deposit the whole thing at the coat check. After cocktails I return for my sandwich. Ziploc-baggy sandwich in hand, I slip in the back of the event, wave my sandwich and ask my supervisor,

“Where can I eat this?”

“We’re going to have seats for everyone, I’m seating you now.”

I look at the sandwich. Should I take it back to the coat check? I might miss out on getting seated for dinner. I hover near the exit, sandwich by my side. There’s a seat for me. I’m directed to a table. I hide the sandwich in the folds of my dress. The men stand when I arrive and wait until I’m seated to sit. That’s never happened to me before. I make a split second decision. The sandwich was great, but 8 hours of unrefrigeration later, who knows. I kick it under the table.

Captain arrives at 9pm for the after party. I recount the sandwich debacle. He tells me,

“I would’ve eaten it.”

“I can go get it! I’m sure it’s still under the table.”

My home life is in upheaval. I will tell you more once my security blanket is safely evacuated. The exciting news is that at some point in the near future I’m moving in with my favorite blog character, Captain.