I remember what I was going to write about: Thanks-fucking-giving.

I didn't go home. This week, I've been training as an evil telemarketer (my new job), and I thought training would be on Thanksgiving Day morning, too. We were informed on Monday, however, that they would be closed, so everyone who wasn't in customer service could have an evil-free Thanksgiving.

Telemarketing is, by the way, wholly and utterly black. High grade evil, not a mild annoyance as Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett have suggested. That is neither here nor there, however.

So I didn't have time to go home anyway, but I did end up spending the entire day around B's extended family. First we went to his aunt and uncle's house (mother's side) and ate too much, then we went to his aunt and uncle's house (father's side) and didn't eat much at all.

I had deep fried turkey for the first time ever for lunch that day. I was wary at first, but it turned out to be really quite good.

Everyone I've been introduced to in B's family is really nice, but there are so many of them. I've met pretty much everyone who was there on a few different occasions. Several of them said things like, "Oh she doesn't remember me," and I felt pretty bad, but I'm not Photographic Memory Girl, and if I only met you once at a big family gathering, it's more than likely I won't know who you are upon seeing you for only the second time more than a month later.

I spent most of the earliest part of the day as B's smiling, nodding, silent shadow.

It's funny, too. B hasn't met anyone in my family except for my dad and half-brother, several months before we started dating, and all he did then was grunt a "hello" and disappear back into the recesses of his bedroom--it was pretty early on a Saturday.

My family also doesn't even remotely have such a strong sense of togetherness, which is probably why I often feel overwhelmed when I'm in the presence of anyone more than his parents.

I will perservere.

Anyway, at his dad's-side-of-the-family-aunt-and-uncle's house, we nibbled a few things, listened to B's cousins play piano, drank coffee, and then I taught B the utter basics of piano playing. I even taught him a little of how to read music. He did pretty well for a beginner with the world's most impatient teacher. I kept slapping his hands off the keys and saying, "you're doing it wrong." I learned something myself, which is you can't actually teach B anything. He's too smart. Seriously. I would tell him how to go about it and that was it. He'd do it all from there and it was a huge battle to get him to listen to any of my suggestions. But he learned how to play Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and Jingle Bells and Row Row Row Your Boat. He was very pleased with himself.

It's been 12 years since I had a piano lesson. I can still remember the intro to my first and only piano recital piece. Other things in my musical repertoire: trumpet (my last marching band season was 6 years ago) and many feeble attempts at rocking hard on my electric guitar (some rusty strings, no amp).

I was in an amazingly bad mood last night during our foray into the world of Rock Band. I don't really remember what he was doing to deserve it, but I was murderously angry at B. On one occasion, I tried to kick him off his chair. I think it all had something to do with the sense of competetiveness a game like Rock Band instills. Even when you're in cooperative mode, there's still the urge to get a better percentage of the song than your peers, and I was mercilessly heckled for my every mistake. Usually that's something I can laugh off, but I was fucking tired and congested and I wasn't going to take anyone's bullshit.

I left and went into B's room to try to sleep, but I ended up watching missed episodes of Metalocalypse instead. Then I got back up and went into the living room to take over the mic for a few songs on Rock Band. I heard Should I Stay or Should I Go, Here It Goes Again, and Learn to Fly so many times last night I think I dreamed music videos. This all happened after ingesting delicious NyQuil, and despite the abundance of noise in the living room, I actually fell asleep on the futon-couch when I wasn't singing girl-rock for them.

Oh, and B drums better when he's drunk.

Edit: I will tear the legs off of the next person who asks me if I am okay. It is before noon on a Saturday and I am at work. No I'm not fucking okay. I'm pissed the fuck off that I'm not in bed. Get out of my face!