...And Thursday dawned crisp and warmish. I slept till about 9am and found myself scowling at the clock. I didn't get why it was ringing neither why I had to get up but it was insisting. So I heaved a huge sigh of irritation and pulled myself out of a perfectly comfortable warm and snugly bed. I passed by the mirror and squeaked in horror before rushing to the shower.
After making myself somewhat presentable, I faced the epic challenge of packing for the next several days. For those South Asian women out there, you will appreciate the fact that the task of packing is about the most painful experience for us (close second to a root canal). Mind you it's no less painful for women all over the universe but for us we have an extra added layer of pain-in-the-assishness (yes, this too is now a word). Not only do we have to figure out all the normal stuff but add to it bangles, bindi's, petticoats, blouses (for sari's not for pant and shirts), whether we wear a sari or a salwar and then accessories which are and should always be over-the-top. Desi bling I tell ya.
Anyhow this did not put me in a good mood particularly because I had to couple all that mess with needing to get together 'regular' clothes. P was in good spirits (which pissed me off because I hadn't had coffee and well generally am not a morning person) and he kept encouraging me to "look forward" to the next few days. Um...yea so not there at that moment. All I could do was frown at him and give him warning looks. The good thing about being married for 16 years? He knows when to back off and make himself scarce. Boy did he make tracks!
I had at some point decided that the best course of action was to simply grab anything that I had already worn, stuff all that into the bag and get going. Which is what I did and also which probably can explain why I (think) closely resembled a bag lady during the oncoming days. But we were on the road by 2 and at my parents place by 3.
As soon as we got home, things seemed to kick into high gear since not only were there tons of people milling around rehearsing or hanging out, but also there was the added bonus of Thanksgiving craziness. My mother even had a turkey which one of her friends had marinaded and was ready to be trussed and stuffed into the oven. I took a quick trip with Big Bro to his "office" (a very generous term to be used in connection with this hovel that had seen more parties then actual work done in it) to scoop up last years competition decorations. Once back at the abode the turkey took center stage. Something about sticking your hand up the butt of a big over sized piece of dead poultry just screams "happy thanksgiving"! And something about not actually having the roasted bird on the table is a slight bit depressing...so we have one, no matter what.
In-between preparing a few of the side dishes (mostly out of boxes since this year scratch food was not happening) my mother was also in the midst of crazy desi cooking. Not everyone likes turkey so we always have to double up. *sigh*. Past Thanksgivings have been hell on earth for me when I hosted because I had to always take into account the varied tastes of my family. I admit that there had been times when I wanted to fling mashed potatoes at certain members of the clan and tell them to either eat or trot their butts off to McD's. But that's neither here nor there. The fact was that chaos reigned supreme in that kitchen as we bumped, weaved, grabbed, stirred, spiced, strained, added and all those other culinary terms to our evening meal.
The funniest moment was when I was staring at a box of mashed potatoes reading the directions trying to figure out how to make it. Being one who has only made fresh mush in the past, this box thing was a bit put-offish so I read the instructions then went to gather the ingredients together. When I got to the refrigerator I saw that we had no milk. I asked my mom, who was busy stirring something at the stove, where the liquid white stuff was. She looked at me and said "oh we're out of milk". I did a mental 'huh'. "So how do I make this?" I asked her while waving the box feeling confused and dreading the mere thought of heading out to the store that day. She said without missing a beat, "just use powdered milk". My eyes bugged, my heart stopped and every molecule in my body screamed NO! She pulls out a familiar red and white tin of Dano powdered milk, hands it to me and turns back to her task as if the problem were solved. No, the problem was not at all solved in my book! It was seriously sacrilege, what she suggested, and I was beyond appalled yet again the daunting task of going out to get one stupid carton of milk was not appealing in the least therefore...well let's just say that I made it with the powdery stuff and um...hey it wasn't bad. So in case you find yourself without milk and a box of mashed potatoes, keep a stash of powdered milk somewhere in your cupboards. *still flinches*
The plan was to serve dinner at around 8:00ish, then leave for the competition hall to get things set up around 8:30. I pointed out the flaw of this plan to my bro who was sure that everyone could scarf their food down in a half hour then haul ass. Hey we're desi's...we always work at least an hour behind schedule, if not more. I can assure you this wonderful schedule never even came close to being adhered to. Sure enough dinner was at 8:30 and people seemed to lounge around eating till about 9:30ish and even then the leave taking was reluctant at best. As the guys grunted and groaned under the weight of speakers and other paraphernalia we women cleaned up the kitchen.
Oh did I mention that I burned my hand whilst basking in the heat of the turkey? Yup, as all the females gathered around the oven to check out the bird (emitting the proper amounts of ohh's and ahh's of appreciation), I was in the process of manhandling it when the back of my hand came into direct contact with the side of the oven. Talk about a second feeling like eternity. My first instinct was to drop the blasted thing, screech like a banshee while running around in small circles flapping my hand and sobbing like a 2 year old. I repressed this urge in the face of my mother who looked on the verge of collapse and who, if she had a clue I had injured myself, was liable to go over the deep end and curl up into a nervous ball on the floor. Never mind I wasn't taking a chance so I did the mature thing, blinked back tears of pain and went on with all that I had left to do.
Suffice it to say the rest of the evening was physically painful for me but that's okay cause hanging around with our friends consuming various delectable eats was the balm. And boy did we have a lotta people that day. Impromptu gathering of random folks. It was nice but the clean up of that mess...so not nice. As it were my girl R was on her way to help with the decoration of the competition venue therefore I had some major ass hauling to do myself in the form of dishes. Everyone else was far too slow for my taste therefore I manned the sink and probably blazed through about 100 individual pieces of pots, pans, serving platters, cups and utensils...that too with a burned hand. Am I a stud or what? (May be not a total stud cause although I had every intent of hiding the burn from my mother, I couldn't help but actually yelp in pain when I was walking by the counter and accidental whacked the very spot that was burned. Ammi swooped down on me in a hot second and berated me for not telling her. *sigh*)
R did make it (and she was on time) and helped out in the putting away of the food (which BTW I absolutely loath boxing up leftovers...I mean I seriously rather be run over by stampeding water buffalo) and soon R, my cousin P and I were off to the university Fine Arts building to do some decorating.
The night when we do the set-up is always a sort of silly precursor to the 3 intense days yet to come. And it's also a re-establishment as well as reintroductions to old friends. It basically 'set's the stage' (no pun intended) for the congenial atmosphere that will fall over the competition within the next 24 hours (and also we sort of find solidarity in exhaustion so there's that other aspect). The guys set up sound and then spend about 3 hours testing it which translates to them getting up on stage for impromptu performances. The rest of us are typically busy putting up banners and lights and whatnot to make the space at least look presentable although by now after years of use of the same crap we so need to get new decorations for next year. *sigh*
This year it was bitterly cold and when it was time to go I kept thinking to myself 'no no, it's okay, I'll just sleep here for the night' for the prospect of being blown straight to Canada was so not what I needed but plans had been made to do some Black Friday shopping with my Cuz and R had to skedaddle back to PA. Now you wonder, after all this...Black Friday (hence known as "BF")? Well yea. I mean I'm a woman after all and who knows what I can score, may be my 100th scarf, a bit of bling or even a pair of terribly uncomfortable but cheap pair of shoes? The possibilities are truly endless. Besides in the past several years, the competition has robbed me of the ability to indulge BF hence I will find anytime I can spare, even if I'm exhausted and draggin' big time boo-tay.
Oh and talkin' about BF...so many years ago, I'd say about 8, I was mad for these certain pair of boots but they were in Nordstrom's and the one near my parents place had run out. I was informed that there was one pair at Tyson's Corner Mall. I think my mother agreed to let me go only because of the crazy glint of determination in my eyes. My cousins decided to tag along and so there we were zooming down Route 29 in Columbia. If anyone has traversed this one particular stretch of by-way before, you'll be well aware that cops seem to troll this space endlessly. Go 10 miles above the 'suggested' posted sign and you're spam. Knowing this but blatantly ignoring it I pushed pedal to metal and hurled down the street weaving expertly in and out of traffic while my cousins egged me on and sang at the top of their lungs some Hindi song that was the rage then. I was feeling good with my shades in place and the sunroof wide open the prospect of sexy boots close within my grasp.
Of course for me nothing good lasts too long and therefore was I surprised to see the flashing lights in my rear view? Nope. And when I glanced at the speedometer it read '78mph' I did a mental 'wtf?'. Um...when did that happen? Talk about being lead-footed. As I pulled over my mind raced with all the quick explanations I could give him: my dog died and I had only a few hours left to get it stuffed, my gophers in the emergency room due to a heart attack, my bird flew the (real, not proverbial) coop and I was chasing it but it was hard to formulate much of an explanation that sounded plausible with my cousins sort of freaking out in the car. I told them to zip it and patiently waited for the guy to approach.
He was probably in his 50's with a lot of grey hair neatly trimmed. Sporting the traditional aviator sunglasses he had a white toothy smile and his uniform looked starched. I thought to myself 'the devil approacheth' and plastered what I thought would be a half pathetic pout on my face. Surely he'd let me go with a warning, right? He politely asked me for my drivers license and registration, then asked me the one singular question that just plain ol' irritates me... "do you know why I stopped you?" Is that a trick question? Again another moment in my life where I had to repress the total urge to say something super inappropriate to a person of authority and in this case it was biting back the following sentence: "why in the world would I actually answer that question truthfully? and besides don't YOU know?"
Instead I said "I was going a bit fast."
He quirks his eyebrow and says "just a bit? You were going nearly 18 miles above the speed limit, another 2 and I would have to slap you with a reckless driving charge and take you to jail." He didn't say this in a mean way and smiled when I sort of cringed (the smile wasn't vicious either). Then he said in a kind-ish voice, "where in the world were you going in such a rush?"
All those excuses that had sounded reasonable in my head went right out the sunroof as I stared at him, wrung my hands together and said in an almost exasperated voice, "well there are these pair of boots at the Tyson's Nordstroms that they have on hold for me for only the next two hours and if I don't get there by..." My cousins literally gasped and smothered laughter while the cop stared at me in shock, his mouth slightly hanging open. "...and seriously I've been looking for these things for so long and I just have to get there before they..." By the time the last word had left my mouth, he was barely repressing a full out guffaw. When I went silent, he finally let go throwing his head back and laughed, a booming sound that seemed to echo through my car. When he was finally able to control himself he leaned in and said to me "that was one of the more honest explanations I've heard." He handed me my license, registration, a ticket for 250 smackeroos, told me to go to court and wished me good luck with the boots. :| (P.S. Those ended up being some of the most expensive boots I had ever purchased and super uncomfy as well...damn it.)
Oh, so anyhow back to present day and shockingly enough my cousin and I got to Columbia Mall and actually found parking in less then 15 minutes. The whole time we were there I was asking my cousin who were the nutcases that felt the need to shop at midnight? She pointed out to me with a rather sweet smile 'us?'. I hate it when she states the obvious. *scowl* We both bought a few things but more or less our intent was to wander around, spend some time together and were home early, just by 2:30am. Later as I crawled into bed beyond tired with burning eyes and an aching back, I thought to myself that I was probably about the stupidest human being alive and that when I could have rested I hadn't while when I wouldn't be able to later on, I'd be begging for it.
*sigh*
Day end.
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