I don't think my internal clock adjusted for daylight savings time

Children have always scared my very nature.

I've always had this irrational fear of small things, such as bugs or midgets in costume.

I have the attention span of a six-year-old, so one might think we would jive better.

I work at a cafe down the hall from a dance school and children are crawling all over the café on any given day.

Recently when a three-year-old walks in wearing a tu-tu and a pink bow, my womb practically quivers.

I hear a tiny little voice or little hands pointing and I melt. I will wave hello to smiling children and brim with joy when they wave back.

I neither encourage nor rationalize such behavior.

The sudden affection for these tiny people may stem from my state of peak physical health.

I finally quit smoking, eating meat and drinking like a I should attend meetings where I introduce myself with a, "Hi, my name is..." At least, for the most part.

My womb must have caught on.

Of course the body doesn't factor in my bleak financial state or lack of life partner.

Not to mention that I inherited my father's slender, not-for-birthing hips.

And I consistently forget not to refer to children as "it."

And I love to make up absurd lies to kids for my own amusement.

Like when my friend's little sister asked about my navel ring, I told her a stranger attacked and stabbed me through the belly button. So I decided to put a ring there.

Man, her eyes bugged out of her head when I made a hooking motion.

Or that I can't keep a plant alive. Even my cactus.

Or how my last two pets, I put to sleep. For peeing on the bed and wanting to move across country, respectively.

Still, I just want to hug these unbalanced little toddlers for emitting a proud hello when I walk by.

I do fear being near new babies. I might accidently poke the soft spot of their skull and take away their ability to read. I can't even hold my phone without dropping it.

My mother loved to scare her daughters the fact that we come from a long line of procreators. The idea of being stupidly fertile sure kept my sixteen-year-old self home on a Friday night.

If I ever do get pregnant,

I would lose my mind trying to make my baby better than all the other babies. That's a lot of pressure for someone who just discovered their toes.

This competitive nature also runs in the family. Mom had to ban the "love taps" game. In retribution for the taps, we began to pummel one another. Dad included.

I snap back to reality when I watch a child turn blue as they scream over the delicious cookies the cafe has to offer.

Or an exasperated mom eat her first crouton after 45 minutes of wrangling her squirming child into a seat.

Seeing the tear-stained faces, I remember what kids mean.

The complete inability of privacy for eighteen years.

I think it's enough for now to just work on the plant thing.

Dance little turkey, dance

The parents decided that this Thanksgiving they would grace us with their presence. Now that both of their lovely daughters are in the Golden State, the parents are willing to brave the airport and the pleasant SoCal weather.

While I have been calling sister’s couch home for only a few months, this would be the first time since sister moved here three years ago Papa Peach would make a trip out. Mama came to see her once. My parents rarely travel and opt for sending the prodigal daughter a plan ticket to the Midwest.

I of course, got very excited about the whole thing and started planning my first thanksgiving dinner. Sister broke out into a cold sweat.

Sister and I had very different approaches on how the Thanksgiving dinner would play out.

I wanted a traditional meal and the chance to see if I could produce an edible turkey without burning the house down. Sister wanted a fancy dining experience for a no muss, no fuss chance for her new man to meet our parents.

This conflict did not play-out nicely. We should have televised the brawl on pay-per-view as we shouted at each other over how to have the perfect, stress-free meal. Mike Tyson played a cleaner match.

In the end we both came to our senses, meaning years of training as the little sister made me apologize for yelling, but stubborn enough to get my way. Sister vowed to have nothing to do with the meal, except eat it and not be happy about the whole mess.

Victory is mine.

I turned into a regular Martha extraordinaire. Despite not having all the correct baking tools and no dining table to eat upon, we were going to have the best damn Thanksgiving meal I could muster and everyone better love it. Plus, mama said she would help me not fuck it up.

I fought through the crowds at Trader Joe’s to get the 14-lb. antibiotic free, vegetarian fed, free-range turkey of my dreams. They only had the kosher ones left, but I figured it could only be a bonus. To get out of the madness, I threw a few elbows and escaped with the turkey and my life.

I do want to say that even though I did the detox and claimed in the post previous to cut down on my meat consumption, in my book Thanksgiving doesn’t count. Especially, when I get to cook for my family that traveled so many miles just to see their daughters.

Plus, it’s kosher. That's got to count for something.

Warning: do not try to go out for one drink the night before Thanksgiving, even though it is the biggest bar night of the year, when there is a turkey brining-away in the fridge.

One drink turned into several and before I knew it I was jabbering away about my delicious dinner, while trying to beat some ass playing a video trivia game with fellow booze-hounds.

I did make it back to dump the brine after the allotted 6 to 8 hours. The turkey marinated in sea salt, molasses and cool water with crushed anise and cinnamon sticks for flavor.

This is after I let mama clean out the gizzards and I made its little body dance around for a while. Best. vegetarian. ever.

The best part about thanksgiving is not only preparing a delicious bird carcass for your family, but making after-thanksgiving sandwiches for weeks to come.

Each year I try to perfect the combination of white meat, cheddar cheese, cranberry sauce, toasted bread and mixed greens. This year I will incorporate cornbread stuffing as I recently became a fan.

I get weeks of turkey dinner leftovers to feast upon. Especially since, I spent all my grocery money on this free-range, loving life turkey. Lucky me.

The turkey turned out beautiful by the way. We did smoke-out the house and send the family running into the street for a bit of time. What’s a family gathering without a bit of excitement?

So what, if the rolls tasted a bit like smoke. Some people aim for that flame-kissed flavor.

I think it was gross negligence on the LAFD’s part who did nothing as smoke billowed out of the apartment. With a fire station just across the street, who are we to depend on for assistance in a real disaster?

Oh no, here come the meat sweats again.

Next year, I'll let someone else do the cooking. I'll bring the tofurkey.