So, I bought myself a small damn turkey for me to cook Thanksgiving day… that was the plan… but it seems, like always, my plans change… Now I have this thawed damn turkey and no time to cook it, let alone eat it… I’ve got a full schedule now for the whole 4 days I’m off. My only option, cook it the night before or throw it in the trash.

7pm I’m getting the damn turkey in the oven. I figure if I gotta cook the damn turkey, I’m gonna eat the damn turkey which means I need mashed potatoes, gravy, etc…

For some reason, I think it’s a good idea get into the booze once the damn turkey is in the oven. Damn Irish blood… and I’m a total lightweight.

My Gal Pal was in the area and decided to stop by and pay me a visit… He arrives to:

• The stereo full blast with Jump Around playing (the floor and walls were vibrating)
• Me running down the steps with my 2nd glass of booze in my hand (later it was sliding down the steps on my ass)
• Me extremely energized and happy, talking a hundred miles an hour with my hands flying around while I talk.

All he could do was stare at the drunken mess that is me, laugh, and repeat there’s gonna be a trip to the ER tonight. And he felt the need to point out I had a southern accent… I said wait til the New Yorker comes out… He was sure my mood was gonna change and we would end up in a fist fight.

and I was only getting started…

So… a couple more glasses (Again, I am a lightweight, so I’m a really really really happy girl at this point. )

Then I decide it’s time to peel potatoes… with a knife… and numb hands, cause the booze is really starting to hit. Oh, and maybe I should mention I was dancing too… with a knife in my hands…

So I peel the first one, a russet potato (I used a blend of types for the best mashed tators ever!) and grab a sharper knife to cut it up… Well, russets are a bit tough, so the potato went flying when I applied pressure with the knife… The quote from my Gal Pal the following day:

“You went at that bitch like a drunken Edward Scissorhands who was hell bent on losing a finger.”

Well, I managed to keep all my fingers, sustain no major injuries, and eat… and promptly fall asleep directly after eating… Although my Gal Pal says next time, he’s putting a helmet and kneepads on me if I’ve been drinking.

And for the record, it was a perfectly cooked damn turkey that was super yummy and juicy. The mashed potatoes ended up with pieces of the mixer in them when my mixer broke… but I have a shiny new mixer now that even has a boob guard (cause my Gal Pal said he’s never seen anyone nearly get their boob caught in the beaters while mashing potatoes.) I, however, do not recall this.