This Thanksgiving I opted to avoid the big, huge family deal that was going to be at my parent's house. Instead my sister and I cloistered ourselves at her house and thanked baby Jesus that we didn't have to deal with our extended family.

Melissa has four children and I know what most of you are saying "OH MY GOD! FOUR!" Yes, four. There are four of us siblings and so four doesn't seem that odd to us, but apparently today anything more than two is seen as people who never learned how to properly use birth control. The only thing about having 4 children, 3 of them young girls is the talking. Oh my god, the talking. It goes on an on, I really think that if we wanted to solve issues in the Middle East we should ship those very talky girls over there and both sides would easily capitulate after 4 days just to make them stop talking. I know all kids go through this phase but as a childless single it was quite a bit to be thrown into all at once. Although in my brilliance I taught the girls a very fun game, it's called manicure time. During manicure time I will paint their nails and then in order not to smudge them they have to sit quietly for 45 minutes. It totally worked, they got pretty manicured hands and I saved a tiny bit of my sanity.

Her oldest is 10, I remember when he was born and was this tiny little peanut who would take naps while curled up on my chest. Now he is 5 inches shorter than me but I've still got a few pounds on him even when he does finally reach my height. Those combined inches and pounds I've still got on him came in very handy this weekend when I had to take him down and tickle the hell out of him. Of course the moment I decided to do this I was wearing a blond Hannah Montana wig so I'm sure it looked even funnier. I honestly think he was surprised that I could pin him down so effectively since we are starting become of equal size.

It started on Wednesday night when we were eating dinner and one of my nieces asked me if I had a boyfriend (a question I thought I would be not be asked since I was not going home to the massive family extravaganza). After I said that I didn't have a boyfriend my nephew pipes up "Yeah, you don't have one because you are so ugly."

What a little smartass.

In return for his insolence I made him laugh so hard he threw up his dinner. At the table.

Then in a later conversation my 7 year old niece told me "I want to be like you when I grow up." Which is such a very sweet sentiment but then it's followed with "Because I never want to get married."

So everyone take note, I'm an ugly 27 year old spinster at this point in the game.

Then as some sort of freudian slip my nephew was saying goodnight to me and he called me 'dad'. For everyone keeping score at home I'm an ugly 27 year old spinster who looks like man.

There is nothing like small children insulting the hell out of you, I guess it is a good thing that I left on Sunday because who knows what I would have become if I'd stayed any longer.



Last night after I told my trainer all I could think about was all the delicious food I was going to eat on Thanksgiving he made me do 25 minutes of ab work. Bastard.

Actually it was great but I just like to tease him sometimes. He actually said he can tell I'm getting stronger, now whether not not he was lying is beyond me. But frankly I don't care, just tell me the good things and keep the rest to yourself. Thankyouverymuch.

I've recently come to the conclusion that regardless of how hard I work out my bottom will never look like Heidi Klum's and anyone that doesn't like my bottom shouldn't be in my bed.

It is more than a little ridiculous for me to feel bad about the size of my ass just because we glamorize people who won the genetic lottery and then expect everyone else to live up to their perfection.

Up to my old tricks again.

Friday night was honestly the most fun I've had in a long time. Add in so much alcohol and I think I may have killed my liver.

The mere fact that it took me a full 24 hours to recover should give you some idea of how completely blitzed I was. But honestly I wouldn't trade one moment of it for anything. Even if my partner and I got thoroughly spanked during the last hand of euchre. We didn't even score one point. Pathetic.

Really, most of the last game was spent dispensing dating advice to another player. Yes, me, giving dating advice. Now I know that might seem laughable but I hope it helped him out. I wasn't the only one piping up with helpfulness so hopefully we didn't steer him too wrong. I can't remember too much of conversations that were had after that since things become a blur. I remember talking a friend's ear off about my goddamn triathlon. Which probably sounded something like "God, it was so awesome. Seriously. Awesome. I was so happy. It was like the greatest high ever. Awesome."

Adding to the tortuousness of the hangover from hell I had to work early on Saturday morning. There were more than a few moments when I thought my head was going to explode from pure unadulterated pain. Ugh.

In an effort to speed my recovery along, at least make my head stop pounding since I consider my liver a lost cause I spent Saturday evening in. Sitting at home in my robe with mayonnaise in my hair with is covered with Saran wrap. Watching Friday Night Lights.

It was pretty damn un-sexy, but now at least I've got super shiny and glossy hair.

If anyone would like to donate a portion of their liver to me please email me.

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Friday night my brother proposed to his girlfriend and will finally be giving my parents the wedding of their dreams. They have 4 grown children ranging in ages from 37 to 26 and up until this point they've been denied a big, fancy wedding. The only one of us that is married is my sister Melissa, and she eloped. But really in the end that is fine since my brother appears to be more girl than his actual sisters.

He is having 8 groomsmen. Eight.

Actually the whole thing is very sweet and I'm really happy for both of them. He was absolutely adorable in the way he proposed and all I have to say is that he clearly benefited from being the baby brother of 3 older sisters. All those hours we dressed him, did his hair, put make up on him and painted his nails only seem to have made him a very smushy romantic guy on the inside with an Army Lieutenant coating. It is perfect really, since I've never wanted a big splashy wedding and I was truely afraid I would be roped into having one since I'm the last girl and all.

In other family-related news, Melissa has become a Friday Night Lights addict. And like any good older sisters she's involved me in my her addiction. I spent all of Sunday camped out on the couch watching the first two discs of FNL, in my defense it was raining and shitty out. I also got a ton of laundry and knitting done. I don't care if that is justification of my burgeoning addiction, I can stop any time I like. I just don't want to.

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Internet Stalking

We all do it, lets not pretend we don't. The googling of exes, lovers, family members, friends, former friends, and coworkers.

Well, maybe not the coworkers. And mostly just the exes, lovers and former friends. First I must take a moment to walk outside and kick my own ass for using the term "lovers". Ugh, god, it's like some mutant person and come and possessed my body.

I seriously fail at searching for boyfriends, former boyfriends or men I just have a crush on. I have a small problem of being interested in men with completely common names. Thus the search terms for them explode with guys from Poughkeepsie who were closest to the pin winners at this year's "Poughkeepsie Cares: It's for the children" golf tournament.

Even when I add terms to try to narrow out those who clearly I've not dated it does me no good. And until the day I can search google with a term like "Stephen Brown, former boyfriend of Skeezix" I'm bound to come up empty handed. Although if that search term worked then clearly I've got some problems on my hands potentially with either a stalker or some sort of international database that is keeping track of my love interests. Either of which is freaking scary.

Another option would just to be date guys with less generic names. But that would be too easy.

I'm much more successful googling former friends.

Martini Sunday

I've decided to institute a new policy at Chez Skeezix, Martini Sunday. Every Sunday afternoon I will whip a martini to drink. Down it will go, thus soothing the pain that comes from knowing I have to go to work tomorrow.

At least that is the theory.

I love a good dirty martini but mine never seem to come out as delicious as the ones I get at bars, why is that? It's like they sprinkle some magical fairy dust over the drinks before they arrive at the table or the alternate theory is that I'm just a terrible bartender.

I came up with the lovely idea of Martini Sunday after having to go into work yesterday. Yes, a Sunday workday. Which absolutely blew. I hate working on the weekends for the man, the only acceptable weekend working I can do is for freelance. Freelance money is nice. Come to me freelance. I love you.

On Friday night some my friends met out for happy hour, some played pool and other (ahem, me) just sat at the table drinking beer and after beer. Yumi and I decided to head down for a hot dog, delicious little hot dog sent from heaven. And since I wasn't ready to call it a night we went next door to play some darts. Not only did I win twice but I beat Yumi, which since she is a pretty kick ass dart player made my night.

Not making my night was the guy who hit on me at the bar, within the first few minutes he says- in response to my question of what he does for a living- "I work in construction, contracting for the government. Basically I rape the government."

Uh, wow.

Then he proceeds to tell me he hates Al Gore (after I say I love him) and doesn't believe in global warming. At that point I tell him I can't talk to him anymore. He's said entirely too many things I just can't abide and he goes back to his friends at the bar.

It may seem that I'm blunt and brutal but I've gotten to the point that I'm not wasting any more time feigning interest in people who I clearly am not going to get along with. Ever. Plus I'm nailing down more and more what I'm looking for and someone who doesn't believe in global warming and "rapes the government" is not it.

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Half a bottle of wine while conversing with a friend will do an amazing job of numbing those wicked bad cramps.

Throw in some salty crackers and you've got pre-ladytime heaven.