Probably the best part of not hosting Thanksgiving besides the obvious “not cooking” and “not having to behave like Martha fucking Stewart” is I don’t actually give a shit if my children eat Thanksgiving food. I mean, I didn’t spend 70 hours slaving over anything, so if you want to eat corn only, be my guest, I’m not crawling up on the cross today.
Traveling to my rival state (Wisconsin) is always a downside because we have to drive behind slow (SLOW!) drivers and listen to the ear-splitting shrieks of my daughter, who was all Furious George. Small children do not travel well. Hm. Let me rephrase that: MY small children do not travel well.
Happy Holidays! We’re all deaf!
After we got home from our uneaten Thanksgiving dinner in Wisconsin, my friend came over. My INTERNET friend.
Pranksters, I have friends. ME. I know!
My feelers have been a little lonesome lately and I was all SAD IN THE PANTS that I was supposed to be alone on Thanksgiving (Wisconsin was a last-minute thing), and my friend Dana was all, “I’LL COME OVER, YO.” And I was all, “AWWW YEAH. MY HOUSE IS BRIGHT YELLOW AND I’M NOT A SERIAL KILLER I SWEAR DON’T MIND THE GIGANTIC FREEZER IN THE GARAGE IT’S NOT FOR YOUR CORPSE.”
She came over anyway.
And she brought a bacon turkey.
I pretty much have the best friends ever.
She’s totally not stuffed into my big freezer, either because even though I am married to a television serial killer, I am not personally a serial killer.
I’m going to have to use her as a reference on my Internet Resume.
Also: The Blogroll is back, yo.