“What are you grateful for?”
On Thanksgiving, families and friends go around the table and answer that question.
At least, they do on TV. My family’s a little different.
We usually skip that part and say something like “Next year in Jerusalem!” because the crowd is identical to the people at our Passover table, and we forget where we are on the calendar.
Of course, now, gratitude isn’t just a holiday thing. It’s a “practice.”
Like yoga, or maybe like a law firm or doctor’s office.
I’m into gratitude, and I guess I practice it. However:
The form it takes in my head isn’t suited for the Thanksgiving table.
Though my gratitude thoughts help me ditch my repeating complaints and get all delighted with my life, they might be a buzzkill right before the turkey.
Why? I’m a little dark.
For instance:
To love my ugly feet
When I’m pissed about my ugly feet, I think, What if my feet were both amputated due to an infection from a dirty nail salon, and my legs ended in cankle stumps? And then a doctor said, there’s a new drug that will grow your feet back, but they’ll be flat, Fred-Flintstone looking feet that turn all kinds of colors when you’re wearing heels. Essentially, we can give you back the feet you had before. I’d be so thrilled. And that’s how I get happy about the feet I have.
To love my body
When I’m pissed that my body isn’t “rock and roll” enough, and wish I had skinny stick legs and small, high boobs that could even go braless, I think how great it is that I don’t have that fungal disease that turns you into a tree person. It’s very rare, I think only in Thailand. Don’t google “tree person” if you don’t want to be haunted by the pictures for the rest of your life. People really become trees, and not pretty trees, either. Trees with messed up bark, that look like they need to be chopped down.
That thought makes me so happy my body is what it is and not covered in bark.
Here’s another thing that makes me grateful for my body as is. Ready?
There’s no such thing as a lady scrotum, so this would never happen, but: I always feel for the guy who got his own show on A&E because his scrotum is so big, he has to haul it around in a shopping cart. He wasn’t born like that. He got hit in the groin one day, and the next morning, BOOM. His scrotum is its own planet. With life on it, no doubt, because it’s hard to wash.
Side note – instead of a reality show, it should’ve been a sitcom, or a cop show like “Scrotum and the Bear.”
Have you ever given gratitude for not having a 250-lb scrotum? Try it, it’s a mindset shift.
To love my apartment
I already do love my apartment. But you know, there are those days when what you have just isn’t enough enough. When I think our apartment is too small, or I’m bummed that it’s the one line in the building that doesn’t have a terrace (I know, boo-hoo), I think about an apocalyptic situation where all the apartments are destroyed and all New Yorkers are in a shantytown called District X, and have to poop in spaghetti pots. In that fantasy, I’m dreaming wistfully about the perfect dwelling structure we used to have. Boom.
To love flying in coach
When I’m squeezed between a linebacker who hogs the armrest and a lady who wants to show me all the photos of her trip, each one featuring a stuffed rabbit doll she calls “Funny Bunny” in front of a landmark (Like I’m two. “And here’s Funny Bunny in front of the Met. Funny Bunny loves art!” ) and I’m cursing my fate that Business Class is such a significant price jump relative to my income, a disaster fantasy comes in handy:
I think, what if the world were about to be destroyed, and the only way to save yourself was to get on this airplane?
There’s only room for like 300 people sitting, and then others would have to cram in and stand. Who cares about legroom and arm rests and warm nuts? I’d be so grateful to have a seat, period!
That is, as long as the people I love were on the plane, too. If not, forget it. I want to go down with them.
And then I think, yay! The people I love are alive and mostly well, and –also mostly –available by phone or email! And the world isn’t being destroyed this week, at least not that I know. (I should read the paper more.)
OK, this one doesn’t work as well as I’d like it to.
Let’s face it, flying coach sucks a big, limp, hairy one no matter how you look at it, and being there for over 2 hours makes you kind of wish the world would get blown up.
But as for the rest, it works for me.
Not great table talk, but effective.
Now you.
Is your gratitude inappropriate for the table?
What else can you tell me?
What’s your favorite Thanksgiving side dish?
TELL ME IN THE COMMENTS.
Why didn’t you warn me not to google the tree person?! 🙂
I was haunted by the tree person reference a year ago and am now re-haunted and repeating to myself “will not google tree person”! I resisted last year and I will again!
I soooo needed this post today, my stress levels are out of control bc of life, and while i’m usually a more optimisitic person, i find when i turn things darker (like you) i can find humor and that usually works.. for so long i’ve been trying the happy light path and i’m getting nowhere but trapped in the mind-f*ck of obsessing about the problems.. so i’m going to sit down when i get a quiet moment and go dark on each issue, laugh and move on. Thank you for helping with my perspective!
Hope you had a Great Thanksgiving!
Now, THAT’S the way to do gratitude 😉
Dammit, I just burned my spag bol. Note to self: don’t read Laura’s posts whilst cooking.
I’m grateful that I have food to burn.
Aw. I owe you some unburnt spag bol. Not that I could make it. I just do the salad, that’s my one cooking job.
Happy T-day all of you. I love to stalk the comments of Lane and Licia, I find them hilarious and comforting…okay that might make me wee bit odd.
You had me at the mushy email Laura, and I am thankful for your blog and totally impressed with you that you post daily.
I am thankful for my boys, they are such sweeties, and my best gifts ever.
I am grateful Laura makes woo woo so palatable and irreverently reverent.
Comment stalker!
I love when you come a’ binging, Jul’s.
Jul’s, apparently, like attracts like!
Love this post Larua! When I’m annoyed at those extra 10lbs… hmmm… ok, maybe it’s 15lbs…. let’s just say 12lbs… My gratitude thoughts are… Wow this extra weight really makes my boobs full … Whoa, this extra weight fills in all the fine fine lines on my face… And my favorite… Thank you Kim Kardashian for making insanely large asses hot!
Yup, you know that saying, at a certain age, you choose between your ass and your face. But that’s assuming you’d choose a small butt. If you choose a big one, you get it all!
OMG. I can’t. I WON”T! You KILLED IT. I couldn’t even get to the end, I was dying to say YOU KILLED IT. I haven’t read ONE reply. I don’t have to. This is it. Killed. Sick. Humor. And, I have No favorite TDay side dish. Not in a long time. No yams in Italy. None. What’s up with that?
Italy don’t need no stinkin’ yams. They got porcini mushrooms. I’ll take those.
Thank you, I like your ENTHUSIASM. GRAZIE
I’m thankful my boyfriend doesn’t have a 250 lb scrotum because well…let just say the extracurriculars would interesting. Or non-existent. No bueno.
I’m really thankful that this year, the past year, has taught me more about myself. My goals and my capabilities. I’m thankful that these incredible resources of inspiration keep crossing my path.
Wait till the 250 lb scrotum crosses your path! Talk about resource of inspiration. Thankful you found my blog!
I’m gonna get a little cheesy mushy on you for this post (and maybe post what I was meant to post on another site your familiar with here):
Why I’m thankful for Laura.
1. Though we only met 8 months ago (!) I feel like I’ve known you many lifetimes – oh wait. We have. Milkmaids 4-evah!
2. You were in my inbox all throughout one of the toughest parts of my life/year. Thank you for always bringing news from the outside world!
3. You have helped me so much in all things bizness. I’ll never look at pricing or saying “no” the same again!
4. I’m thankful for your overall friend wisdom – I don’t know what goes on up there in that brain of yours but it sure is smart.
5. The fact that I will never write like an uptight schmuck again because you taught me how not to write like those fools. Also, because I want to be named the first TS Prodigy. MWAH!
Thank you!!!! xoxo
Wait…Licia, since you’re a psychic, do you get that, “I feel like I’ve known you forever” feeling a lot? Because I feel like I know you, but I don’t. Or do I?…
Lane,
This is a GOOD question! I do get that feeling a lot but what I will say is that I don’t get it with just anyone. I realize that statement doesn’t make ANY sense but trust me – if I say to you “I feel like I’ve known you forever” it means 2 things: 1. We spent a lot of time hanging out in previous lifetimes and 2. You and I will most certainly be the best of friends!
The flip goes for you too. If you feel like you’ve known someone before, it’s because you have! So in that way – yes you already know me it’s just we haven’t officially met yet! Hooray for new friends!
xxoo
Yes, I’m super into the woo woo and have many psychic, energy healing, medium and all around Shirley MacLaine friends and family. That’s why I LOVE your site so much. You (and Laura) did such a good job with the languaging around the woo woo. Acknowledging people’s all-around perceptions and stereotypes about what you do. It’s fantastic. Nothing turns me off more than a rainbows, fairies and unicorn site. It gives me a stomach ache, literally.
Not yours though. Again, good job. ;o)
p.s. I LOVE your website!!!
Thank you!!! I’m so glad you like it. I made Laura write the copy and then I made her become my friend. 🙂
I recognized her brilliant touch. I (kind of) did the same with her thanks to her mucho generosity. Only, I’m cyber-stalking her until she considers me her friend. Here’s to being super creepy.
(Your site copy is fantastic!)
I don’t know if these replies are corresponding with the right comments, but Lane, you should get a reading with Licia. She’s amazing.
I heard my bro-in-law tell my nephew today, “put that down, or I’ll come over there and make your body do it.” Just like how you got me to write your copy.
Laura, just booked an appt. with her! Super excited! Whoop! Whoop!
AW! 1-5: SNIFF! Licia, so grateful for you. Milkmaid Crew, bitches.
I’m ridiculously thankful and grateful that I’ve had the chance to experience Thanksgiving at your parents apartment!
NEXT YEAR IN JERUSALEM…with my pie!
LOVE YOU! Happy Turkey Day!
Is your pie as juicy as my pie?
LOVE YOU TOO! I’m so grateful that the Belgrays have experienced you at Thanksgiving.
Happy TG. xoxo
Wait…”juicy pie”, “experienced you”…you’ve got my attention.
“I’m thankful my husband’s not a douche like yours.”
Yeah, doesn’t go over well at the dinner table.
Am I allowed to say that word here? You said “scrotum,” so I felt like it was okay.
What’re you kidding me? Every word is allowed here. Scrotum is the least of them.
I would have been banned a long time ago, if douche wasn’t even allowed.
Ok, so that’s a great trick for the gratitude game. Think of someone who has it MUCH worse and then be thankful for what you have. Only, there are SO many instances where I think, honestly, I’d just jump off a cliff before I lived with the situation. Looking like a wart tree is one of them. Sorry, I’d love to think that I’m evolved enough in this life to learn whatever lessons come my way, and maybe meet another wart tree to love, but no. Hello cliff.
And the nut the size of a boulder? DEFINITELY cliff jumping. And the good news, is that the weight of my obscenely grotesque nut would pull me to my death quicker.
I like for my spirituality to be convenient and the great thing about me believing in past lives, is that I get to say, “What? Boulder-sized ball? Fuck this shit! I’m gone! Sign me up for another!” And off the cliff I’d go. Convenience.
And…by the way. At the Thanksgiving table. It’s L.A.N.E. Easy to remember, and rhymes with pain.
Gobble, gobble.
Careful what you wish for! At that weight, the nut probably has the spirit of a person. So you could jump off the cliff because of your scrotum and come back AS a scrotum. (See, things really could be worse, no matter where you’re at!)
It strikes me as perverse that we say gobble gobble. That’s like saying “moo” or “oink oink” to celebrate a barbecue. No?
I’m so ironic.