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11.29.2003 - 4:20 p.m.


I did it! I hosted my first Thanksgiving dinner, and nothing caught on fire or tasted like roadkill or was, knock wood, filled with a deadly poison. I feel so full of womanliness (well, and turkey) I can practically ovulate on command.

The hardest part about doing the meal was the notion of everything needing to be served all at once without letting things get cold or congealing or whatever. People seem to expect that they'll get the potatoes and the gravy at the same time, you know? That's hard, especially when your gravy is being a fucking asshole about thickening and the potatoes are threatening to overcook and four other things need to be stirred and you've only got two arms, dammit.

--Product Plug--

If you do not have a potato ricer? And you need to, at some point in your life, produce mashed potatoes? Dude. Get one. Now. Go. Run. To a store. That sells potato ricers.

Because the potato ricer is the best invention ever. You don't have to do any Beetle-Bailey-KP-esque-laboring-in-the-kitchen-all-damn-afternoon-PEELING, for instance. Or mashing. You just load your cooked potato hunks into the ricer and blooooort, they squash through into these wormy little whatchamathingies that magically transform into kick-ass mashed wonderfulness when you mix in your milk, butter, forty thousand tons of garlic, etc.

I also have to give props to the turkey bag. The freaky plastic bag that seals in moisture yet somehow doesn't melt and make your turkey taste like one big horrible Shrinky-Dink.


Anyway, the gravy finally thickened, the stuffing turned out to be freaking awesome (recipe is here; this was also really good), we got everything on the table, JB carved his first roast beast, and we sat down as a family to our holiday dinner. It was great.

If you were celebrating, I hope you had a good holiday too.



At a time of year where we are supposed to be counting our blessings, I am very aware that I'm a lucky person. I think overall I have a life where there is little to complain about, and I never wanted this journal to be about complaining anyway.

Like everyone, though, I do have some elements of my life that give me a lot of stress. (My job, for instance. This past week at Workplace has been one of the worst, hands down. Tuesday especially was a roiling mass of lameness, a day that was just so miserable I went home and bawled in JB's arms until my eyelids puffed completely shut. Beauty tip to self: don't do this again, EVER.)

I try not to dwell on the stressy stuff here. In general, I focus on the lighthearted part of my life in this journal more than the negative (with some, ha ha, exceptions, of course), and I really think it helps me to balance out the crappiness that life can dish up sometimes.

This journal is like a haven for me. It's like a treehouse where I can sit with you and tell you things and you listen and give me advice. It makes me feel good. It cheers me up all the time, is what I'm saying.

If I had a lousy day on Tuesday, I had a great day on Wednesday when I found out I'm a finalist for two different Diarist Awards. I'm so goddamned honored, you guys. That just seriously rocks my world so much. Thank you, whoever nominated me. And thank you (and you!) for reading.


And now from The Department of Do You Want a Biscuit? Do You? Do You?:

I plan my attack. I plot, I crouch, I approach. Stupid humans, lulled by my cowlike eyes and pathetically eager expression. Fools! All of them! And now, when the time is juuuuust right....I am juuuust close enough...



I plan my attack.

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13 comments so far.

I have moved. - 1.03.2005
Obviously, a work in progress. - 12.27.2004
Happy holidays! - 12.24.2004
Listen, I am not a complete dick, it's not like I want Joe to die alone surrounded by cats or something. - 12.23.2004
Plus I am convinced my butt is extra big when it's upside down. - 12.22.2004

yay, diaryland