Shut Yer Piehole.

I think I have an inner Roller Derby Girl, because for the past three days I have fantasized about punching/elbowing various people straight in the kisser. We just got home from the grocery store, which was, as you might imagine it would be, insane during the days leading up to Thanksgiving. My grocery store has been too uppity to stock regular tabloids in the checkout lines in years past, but today there was a National Enquirer for me to peruse while we waited. Both Eug and the cart were in front of me, and I was standing a comfortable but not ridiculous way back from my better half. We couldn't move the cart forward, because the cashier needed us to wait while he found the code for some items the store had special-ordered for us. The conveyor belt moves forward, because we don't have that many items...but we're stuck for the moment. The old broad behind me seizes upon the six inches of free space on the conveyor belt and pushes me to begin loading her items onto the belt. Oh, wait - she did say "Excuse me"...in a snotty tone of voice. Instantly, I was thinking, "You can go FUCK YOURSELF if you think I'm moving, bitch!" I refused to budge and she continued to push me. When we could finally move, I pushed past her to replace the tabloid on the rack with an equally snotty "Excuse me". Is the ten fucking seconds she saved really worth being so goddamned rude? The problem is likely our grocery store of choice - a dear friend had recently taken his brother in there, upon which said brother remarked, "It smells like old people in here." Indeed. Although I happen to think it's their shitty richer-than-thou attitude that likely stinks.

The Christmas stuff is down from the attic and awaits my attention, and once again I am fantasizing about replacing my Christmas tree lights. I want some fancy LEDs in soft pastels with white wire to go on my Christmas tree, but I don't know that I'm spendy enough to spring for them, as I would need something like 12 strands. Plus, I would be foregoing my all-pink lighting scheme for the first time, and I'm rather sentimental about those fire-y pink lights on my silver tree. I'm not even going to *try* to decorate the outdoors, because I have too much on my plate as it is. The interior, however, will make Liberace proud! If you want me to buy new Christmas stuff, just cover it in glitter - I'm that easy. But first I have to do some major cleaning in the living room, including denuding the couch and washing all of the cushion covers. Four cats and a puppy will do that to you.

The upcoming weeks will be IN. SANE, what with two Thanksgivings, two kids' birthdays, one trip to the Kalahari, a December birthdays family celebration and all of the attendant chaos that comes with Christmas itself. My priorities could likely use some adjustment, given that the overriding desire du jour is to find a Santa hat for Farley to wear. If I ever win the lottery, I've got two words for you: personal assistant. That would rock.

I hope your Thanksgiving is filled with gratitude and pie, and not necessarily in that order. Also, please pray that I don't actually punch anyone in the kisser, wouldya? Thank you evah so.

Super Yum.

Is it wrong that when we speak of disciplining animals and/or children, Eug and I like to imitate Grady from "The Shining"? It's really fun to roll those Rs!




OK, I admit it: I probably love Kubrick's "The Shining" more than I should. I've seen it at least twenty-five times, and two of those viewings with the commentary on, glued to the screen. I've only watched a couple of films all the way through with feature commentary on, and only this film more than once. I just bought the DVD with commentary last month, so I'm sure I'll be watching it additional times, to boot. Creepy? Maybe. But I'm OK with that.

I would really like to corrrrect Farley for sneaking into the cat litter boxes, but instead I think we will install a lockable kitty door on the workroom. That way, when we have cat-allergic folks around, I can still keep the felines locked in when necessary. The rest of the time, they can come and go as they please and Farley will be O-U-T. The trick will be buying a kitty door big enough for Fat Andy but small enough that Farley won't attempt to muscle his way through, thereby requiring emergency surgical removal from the door.

Tracy sweet-talked me into watching this season of "Top Chef", even though I swore that I would boycott it due solely to Padma wearing that Super Dork denim dress in the promos. Tracy turned the tide by first telling me about the narcissist that got hisself kicked off by Tom before he even got to fire up a burner, added another log to the fire by revealing that the vegan chef who hadn't cooked with bacon in over a decade got booted unceremoniously, and sealed the deal by telling me all about the adorable, big black man who turned his life around by making cooking his passion. Check and mate - Tracy wins. I'm all caught up, now, and it's set to season record. (sigh) I still hate Padma and her stupid jean dress, though. Harumph.

Speaking of food, we had a super-duper Friendsgiving this past Sunday with our super-duper co-family! It was the best damned turkey I ever had - hand to God. Eug passed out briefly after dinner, and try though I did, I was unable to sneak my camera out quietly enough to snap a picture. I fear, though, that my hour-long tryptophan-induced coma on Nicole's couch was photographed and will be turning up on Flickr before you can say "Gobble, gobble!" There are far too many pictures of me in some degree of insensibility out there for my liking, people. A couple snaps of our incredible feast:

Do you see the perfectly browned marshmallows atop the sweet potatoes? That's what I'm talkin' about, baby!

Those pesky kids are already getting down to business!

Xanthe knows a good thing - or things - when she sees them!

Is that fine china, you ask? Why, yes - yes it is!

I'm hungry all over again, just looking at this!

Two sweet peas in a pod, they are.

You can bet our newly-minted holiday (courtesy of Nicole's genius) is already an unbreakable tradition in our minds. And for those of you who've yet to partake of The Bird, here's a tip: drop some roughly chopped mirepoix (onions, carrots and celery for you non-foodies out there) into the bottom of the roasting pan underneath the rack upon which your turkey sits. You'll scoop them out before you make your gravy in the roasting pan, but don't throw them away. Put them in a bowl and, when you get a chance, taste them. I'm pretty sure that is on the menu every day in the Hereafter, folks. I hope your holiday preparations are going swimmingly!