Our First Thanksgiving

It is a momentous occasion when a person accepts the challenge to host his or her first homemade Thanksgiving dinner. If you were to observe four friends making the attempt together, you would soon find four otherwise-competent young professionals on their cell phones with their mothers desperately seeking answers to such questions as "What does it mean to 'lace a turkey'?" and "Is a meat thermometer really necessary?" or "Can you please come over and show me how to carve a turkey??".

Matt and I did not plan on having a Thanksgiving this year, as we could not afford the $500 plane tickets to Seattle, and all of our friends had other plans. We were content making reservations at some quaint restaurant and enjoying a nice, quiet evening out. Somehow everything changed at noon on Thanksgiving day when both Matt and I realized how jealous we were of all the people who would soon be sitting down to a full turkey dinner. And even moreso, we were jealous of all of those turkey leftovers.

And in the perfect example of how desperate food cravings call for desperate measures, I found myself standing next to Matt at the Ralph's deli. My mouth was moving and apparently words were coming out as the lady behind the counter seemed to understand whatever language I was speaking. But I claim no ownership of the words that were coming out of my mouth.

"Excuse me, but do you--by any small chance--have any pre-made Thanksgiving dinners left?"

In disbelief, I stared at the large cardboard box labeled "Holiday Home Homestyle Meal" in Matt's hands.

It was the last packaged turkey dinner in the store. I couldn't help but laugh. This experience went against everything I believe in and everything I try to stand for. Thanksgiving in a box.

A whole, fully-cooked turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, cranberry sauce and yams.

We got our box home, unpacked all of the various-shaped cartons and preheated the oven. Matt had to learn to carve a turkey and I worked to make the meal seem more homemade. I added spices, put everything in nice dishes and made absolutely nothing from scratch. Two hours later we sat down to a large and entirely home-heated Thanksgiving dinner.

Can it compare to my mom's and grandma's turkey dinners? Absolutely not. Will it work in a bind when cravings sneak up on you? Ok, I'll admit it. Yeah. It will. I have to say, it tasted good. In the college-student-anything-not-from-the-caf-tastes-incredible sort of way.

As Matt said, "Baby steps. Maybe next year we'll actually make our own dinner from scratch. At least we know how to carve a turkey now!" I guess this is what happens when you marry a boy whose favorite dinner is Kraft Macaroni and Cheese.

Not all addictions are bad...

There are certain habits and addictions in my life that I am not proud of. When I was little, I picked my nose. I still struggle to not bite my nails. In recent years, I have had a serious obsession with watching HGTV home improvement and design shows.

In the coffeeroom at work, I would try to sidestep questions regarding my plans for that evening or weekend. If unsuccessful, I would ho-hum about playing with Marsh and desperately try to change the subject.

This all changed last summer when, after an evening of non-stop HGTV programming, a brilliant idea flashed before me. I was sitting on the couch, gazing at our stark white walls and trying to figure out what we could do to make the place feel like home. I saw such potential in the room, but could not get past the binds of our rental agreement. And then...why not embrace the benefits of living in Los Angeles and apply for someone else to do the work?!

A few Google searches later and I found myself vigorously typing my answers on a Design on a Dime application. I was in full Sales-Kristy form.

Being the apparent persuader that I am, we were interviewed, taped, and finally chosen to be on the show! Dates for filming were set and now all we had to do was wait. For 4 months. I spent many evenings staring at the walls and wondering what they would do with our place. And suddenly the date arrived and we were standing outside our apartment, handing our keys over to the producer--bags in hand and Marsh on leash. As we walked away, feeling strangely of being evicted, reality began to sink in. We just handed our apartment over to complete strangers. That night I dreampt that they painted our place bright, sunshine yellow and over that had painted the city of Florence in metallic gold paint.

That next morning, as we waited in the hallway outside our apartment, my brain replayed the images from my dream over and over. I wasn't nervous, I was just quietly sitting there, half-expecting to be disappointed. The reveal of our living room was incredible. It was all more than we had ever imagined--and no gold paint, nonetheless!

I guess that not all addictions are bad...