Did you ever dream that you were a dog agility super champ except then it switched and you were at some germy, grungy, derelict seaside park in the dark and the carnies were actually drug addled zombies that were shambling after you with hammers and their big teeth? And then as you're trying to escape your way out from under their oily, horrible claws by clambering up a rat infested palm tree, you're all, this is about dog agility like, how?
27 November 2008
Thanksgiving for Lame Asses-a primer.
Hmm. Am somewhat disgruntled here. Let's all take a cleansing Oraphtude breath together.
Last night, sort of noticed that hey, tomorow is Thanksgiving (which is now today-hi!) and no one has invited us to a feast nor did we invite anyone to a feast and HEY! What kind of Thanksgiving is this? Where are my hand whittled pinecone centerpieces with taxidermied turkey gams and handspun placemat/beanie sets knitted from autumn color yarn from only the softest alpaca pastern fur? And my massive oak farm table and bar area and joke cracking uncles and nephews and everybody?
Oh, Palm Springs? They all went to Palm Springs? Hi Everybody out there in Palm Springs! We're up here in no cooking land and going to putter through another Thanksgving for Lame Asses. How you do that, you ask?
A yam. I bought a yam. Cook it? Shit.
Cranberries. I did buy the cranberries. I think you stick in a pot with orange juice and dump in some sugar and boil for a while. I can dig you, my friend cranberry.
Aha. I have a husband who at least knows he wants a pie and in our refrigerator, One Pumpkin Pie from the expensive bakery! Aha!
Cerveza. We have a lot of cerveza. This one is pilgrimmy. Has a bear on the label. Bears ate a lot of pilgrims, back in the day. I'll take it! Goes with fish tacos. But I think we used up all the fish.
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You can really make a yam look gross, girl.
I hear that there will be extreme negative low tide at 4:41 p.m. today.
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