I Don't Heart Raccoons

raccoon, a photo by tobin eckian on Flickr.

Dear Racoon-Who-Invades-My-Garbage-Can-Like-a-Maurauding-Vampire-Every-Night,

Did you enjoy the 25 pound weight that I put on the garbage can last night? And the red pepper flakes I spread on it in order to make it more appetizing?  Did you enjoy those, too?  How about the bungy cord criss-crossed all over all of that? Are you thinking twice about choosing my place as you All-You-Can-Tear-into-and-Destroy Buffet? If not, I hope you will carefully re-think your choice in the coming nights. Cause it's on, brother. I will eff you up.

So, what drew you to my house in the first place? Was it the trees? The lovely, well-cared-for yard? The feeling of peace and serenity? Or was it the overwhelming feeling that, yes, this MUST be the house where a nice black lady with an over-arching sense of order will REALLY go crazy if I spread all of last night's dinner and most of this past week's peelings all over her driveway and porch? I'm curious.....

For the record, aren't you suppose to be a wild animal? Isn't there is a forest a few miles away that would take you with open arms? Where if you actually made the effort to access the hunting skills that Nature programmed into your DNA, you might find dinner? But you don't wanna do that now, do you? No, because that would actually be classified as work, right? And it looks to me like you'd rather spend your nights busting into easy prey (sponsored by Rubbermaid) than actually get busy on something you might have to chase.

Yours is not a discriminating palate either, is it, fella? Stale bread? Old chicken carcasses? This is your fist choice for food, huh? Interesting.  And is it more delicious when you eat them under my car, or is that just where you had a party with the eggshells afterwards? I don't mean to pry but it's what I was thinking about when I was prying them off of the asphalt.  The same asphalt that the sun shone on for a few hours before I discovered them making the driveway and entire surrounding area smell like a slaughterhouse. Oh, and a big thank you for really grinding them in there. Nice touch! It's was especially nice trailing them indoors and pick them out of the carpet for three- No, four! - days afterwards. You are a scamp!

Have you figured it out, yet? Have you figured out that you chose the wrong lady to piss off? That I hate you? That of all the houses, in all of this town that you could have chosen you, you made a mistake in choosing mine? If I haven't then come by again tonight. I've been thinking of the millions of ways I'd like to wipe that mask off of your face and I'd love to try a few of them out.

Every year come Thanksgiving, my thoughts inevitably turn, not to overeating and dysfunctional family dynamics, but to my wedding.  Yes, I was technically married on same date in July that only my mother-in-law seems to remember (July 24? Or is it the 25th?) but it was on Thanksgiving weekend that we had the reception. And as we all know, it's the reception where the real fun happens.  Mine was no exception.

Every year we run through some of the highlights from that special day and they never fail to crack us up.  Here are a few of my favourite moments (In certain cases, I have changed names to protect the innocent:

• My friend, Jim, from The Jim Show, juggled bowling balls during the dinner.  He wanted to juggle frozen turkeys but I couldn't find any on such short notice.

• A friend of the groom's got so drunk that he ended up falling asleep on the floor of the restaurant where our reception was taking place. Don't worry. It was under a table. We ended up taking him home to our honeymoon suite because he couldn't remember the address of the place where he was staying that night.  Good times.

• A friend of the bride's had a nap half-way through the reception. She slept on three chairs and used a table cloth as a blanket.  She woke up, continued partying and was one of the last to leave.  I have since used this technique at other weddings.

• My 75- year old Nana introduced herself to everyone as "a friend of the family". Later on in the evening, she walked in on two friends getting it on in the ladies restroom.  She told them to make sure that they washed their hands afterwards. They assure me that they did.

• I drank 400 gin and tonics and never got a buzz.  Much to my chagrin, I have not been able to duplicate this since that day.  

Enjoy your Turkey Day!