About as warm and mushy as a freshly used wad of Kleenex...

In case you were wondering, Thanksgiving didn't suck the swinging testicles I expected it to.

Mostly, we holed up in the apartment tangled up on the couch and wallowing in our own grime-- which, as it turns out, is actually pretty enjoyable when you have Boston Market takeout, bad reality tv marathons on VH1, a freshly baked (previously frozen) pie, and the cutest little hundred degree fountain of snot laying across from you looking all appreciative and shit. But we even managed to pull it together towards the end of the day and head out for a spell to go meet my mom's future in-laws and eat half our weight in apple brown betty. Okay, that last part was just me. Eventually we said our goodbyes and practically crawled back to our couch-- him because he was running a fever again and me because I was now carrying around roughly fifty pounds of mcintosh apples and cinnamon in my gut-- and fell asleep in front of House reruns so that we had to be literally carried off to bed in a sugar coma. Actually, again, that last part was just me, but I digress.

Anyway, all in all a lovely day that filled me with thankfulness for three of my very favorite things: Sloth, gluttony, and-- of course-- my family. But um... next Thanksgiving? Well alls I'm saying is somebody had better bring the goddamn caviar.

With love and tryptophan,
a.