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A Very Thankful Karma Girl

Not pictured above: A cat? Also not pictured: A pilgrim cat.

It’s Thanksgiving time. A time when family and friends gather around the dinner table to eat far too much food, fight over politics, religion, or whatever bug Aunt Bertha Better Than You has up her butt, and to give thanks to those wonderful Native Americans whose land we totally stole right from under them. Tell me I’m wrong.

The origin of Thanksgiving is a tricky one to place. We were all taught the story of poor, misguided Squanto, the Wampanoag tribe, and the Plymouth Pilgrims they aided, but technically that so called first Thanksgiving Day dinner was more like a harvest celebration, and historians believe it was probably celebrated in September, anyway. It was a three day feast, so I’m hoping it was a rocking affair for everyone involved. Though I don't know how rocking it could have been what with the fact that it was celebrated by Puritans.

"Goody Putnam hast been in the 'apple cider' again."
"Think thee she wilst show her ankles?"


There were thanksgiving celebrations before Plymouth. The first known record of such an event was celebrated by the Spaniards in the early 16th century, way before the English came on the scene. What is know with any certainty is that our founding fathers-old white slave owners who broke away from the old country to avoid paying taxes, bless their hearts-issued several national days of thanksgiving, a tradition that started around 1782 and was renewed sporadically on various days in various locations. It was made an official Federal holiday in 1863 by Lincoln during the Civil War, mostly to unite the already divided country. Because nothing brings a country together like government approved gluttony.

This Thanksgiving, I have a lot to be thankful for. I know I bitch and moan quite a lot on this blog about my daily first world problems, but I know that I have a lot to be grateful for too. There have been bad times, but the good times have far outnumbered the bad, and I’m happy to share them with you. So, I’ve made a short list of things I am thankful for this year. Stolen land, not withstanding.

Five Things I am Grateful For

1. My Husband

He is my muse, my flame, and I hope I am his. And no, my vagina smells just fine, thanks for asking. We’ve been seeing each other since the late 90’s, and we were newly wed earlier this year in February. I have not always been as grateful as I should to have such a wonderful guy, but I am now, and I hope to be celebrating our anniversary for decades to come. Even if it means transplanting our brains into cybernetic bodies. Because that would just be so cool.

Like this only with more of the romance and less of the violence.


2. My Friends and Family

Who else can you complain to about life’s little hiccups but to the people who know you well enough to know that you’re probably blowing things way the hell out of proportion and are willing to call you on your shit. They’re also there when you really do need a shoulder to cry on or just want to share a good laugh and a few inside jokes. Like the goat on the roof, why there is such a thing as a salt water pool, and feeling it from your Haaaara! Most of you are scratching your heads over those last three statements, but the ones in the know are laughing their asses off, believe me. You know who you are.

But...whyyyyy?!?!?


3. My Job

After watching a non porn related video on how to give a massage, I got it into my brain that I could be a wonderful massage therapist if only I had the schooling. I was leery at first about changing careers considering the amount of biology courses I would have to take. I’m not science smart. I’m not really all that smart about a lot of things, but science has never been my forte. Still, I wanted to give it a shot, even if it meant failing miserably. I didn’t fail. I passed all my exams, I passed all the licensing and certification tests, and I went on to be-I hope-a bad ass massage therapist. I enjoy my current job much more than I did my job as a casino dealer. But then, I don’t get as many death threats, and spa clients are far less likely to meet you out in the parking lot if you don’t effleurage to their satisfaction. Unless it’s a pervert. But I guess that's what mace was invented for.

Pepper spray counts as aromatherapy, right? That shit'll cost ya extra.


4. My Health

Recently, I took a bit of a tumble and twisted my ankle. Of course, I griped about it to anyone who would listen, and even to some who really didn’t give a crap. Because complaining about trivial stuff to uninterested parties is just what I do best. It’s why I have a blog in the first place. That said, I consider myself lucky in the health department. I don’t eat as well as I should, and my exercise regiment consists of me walking the length it takes to get from my car to the elevator that will take me to the spa where I work. In spite of this, I don’t have any heart issues that I’m aware of, even though heart problems run in my family. I don’t have type II diabetes. Although I have a wrist that aches from time to time, the pain is currently manageable, and I don’t believe I’m at risk of having to find a new profession like a lot of massage therapists suffering from repetitive motion injuries. I’m reasonably healthy for my age. I am currently contemplating the future, however, because this bit of good fortune will not last for long. I’m thinking of starting a moderate exercise regiment and posting my results daily either via this blog or YouTube or both, just to have some form of accountability. That, and I’m thinking of joining OA. Yes, I admit I have a problem. I wonder if that counts as taking the first step.


Ha! I'm doomed.


5. Doomtown

I started this blog on June 10, 2005, almost ten years ago. It started out as nothing more than a sporadically updated journal consisting of me ranting about my job and life in general. Not much has changed, but I update more regularly-at least two posts a month for the past two years-and I think I have grown as a writer and as a person because of it. I look back at some of my past posts and wonder what the hell I was thinking. I want to reach out to that past version of myself, beat her senseless, and tell her which stocks to invest in and what numbers to pick for the lotto. Of course, if past me had become rich as Midas, I probably would have ended up as a far different person. But if future me is listening, I’m willing to take that risk. Hint, hint. Nudge, nudge.

I’m thinking of throwing some kind of party or maybe an online event type deal to celebrate Doomtown’s tenth birthday. If anyone has any ideas that won’t require my future self inventing a time machine and traveling through it with paradox inducing information, please leave suggestions in the comments below. And please feel free to follow here and on my Facebook and Twitter accounts. Just be aware, I’m always looking for new material for future posts. So if you’re planning to hit me up because you need, “help taking sperm out” and don’t want your perverted private conversation posted all the fuck over the internet, you’re better off not following me…Unless you are an inventor of a time machine. Then maybe we can work something out.

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