My First Thanksgiving Alone

This last week I was anticipating it to be a bit depressing because in the history of all Query Thanksgivings, I have never missed one. I was always there, awkward in what I was wearing (because I was most likely trying to hard to live up to the beauty of my older cousins), through the accidental times when I had nuts with dessert (I'm allergic, and once vomited all over Aunt Denise's living room as a result), to the most recent, getting a bit tipsy with my relatives, trying hard not to say anything inappropriate. But this year, I wasn't there. And it wouldn't have hurt so much if I would've been with someone's family for dinner. But, I ended up having a microwaved pot-pie and hanging out in my closet room. With a beer. Or two.

But I wasn't really upset. And I will tell you, it's because Mike cares so much that he would plan a dinner party the night before Thanksgiving with his new roommate and his friends just so I could feel like I was part of an actual Thanksgiving. He even made me a special dish (salmon with a blackberry wine reduction yum yum) so I wouldn't have to fill up on green beans and mashed potatoes, as I have for the past four years being a veggie. I love him. And the mashed potato leftovers.

On my way home on the 7 train after Mike had to go to work for rich people who go out to eat on Thanksgiving and have probably never cooked a good meal in their lives, I was annoyed by a girl in broad sunglasses and high black boots and large handbag - the quintessential New York bitch - talking on her phone loud enough for the whole car to hear. We hit one stop and all the sudden through the doors came two Latino men with a guitar and accordion. They were good! Their harmonies were right on, and although I couldn't understand much of what they were singing, I smiled because of all the people who perform on the subways for money, I think I enjoyed them more than any other I encountered. And because they were bugging New York Bitch. She, trying to carry on the conversation on her phone, had to combat the volume of the impromptu mariachi, and frustrated, she yelled "SHUT UP!" That made me laugh more than anything. Here we are on Thanksgiving, a day I would normally spend straining uptight conversation with my relatives, and I'm looking out the window of the subway with all these other schmucks thinking about how great it is that stupid NYC Bitch's conversation was foiled, and how I have a beer and an organic pot pie waiting for me at my room in Brooklyn.

I know it doesn't seem, from my blog posts, much like I hate it here. And it's because I don't. Therefore, the job search begins to find a replacement after my internship. This decision came after much contemplation. I am 22 years old. If I put myself on a 5-year plan, I get experiences here in the center of the publishing universe, move back to the Northwest as a journalism superstar at a good child-bearing age and start a family with my wonderful chef husband in a suburb of Seattle. I just think it's the smartest thing to do. It'll give me enough time to get some real journalism experience, and Mike enough time to make a real name for himself here. The hard part is that we'll both have to live in the most expensive city in America for awhile.



So, in conclusion (this is a junior high school research paper, you know), Thanksgiving wasn't as bad as I thought it might be, I want to try to make it here for awhile, and my boyfriend is the best. I think I can do this.