Thanksgiving has come and gone and all my various relatives have checked in and now checked out. Fortunately (or not, for those of you hoping to encounter real disaster), my family was on its best behavior.
Only one nephew came. The other stayed in his southern state with his southern relatives and so we had to dodge calls from his mom who thought he was here. Why my brother couldn’t just tell his ex that their son was with her family is a question for the ages.
My listtle nephew, however, was a riot. He would regularly kiss my mom and then run in to my dad and say, “I kissed your wife!” Then my dad would play fight him for my mom’s honor and he would laugh and run back to my mom and kiss her again.
Also, my nephew spent most of Thanksgiving draped over the Professor. She was wearing her fuzzy sweater, which she uses to lure her Spinoza classmates into rubbing her on Wednesday nights, and it also worked its magic on my nephew. At one point, I was afraid we were going to have to call the Sheik and arrange a marriage in order to preserve the Professor’s family honor.
I made my first pecan pie. I was shocked to learn that a pecan pie is actually just a giant sugar pie with some nuts. My crust almost worked out, which is a marked improvement from my usual crusts, which never work out. Next time I’m going to use a little more shortening and let it rest a little longer in the fridge. One day, when I conquer the art of pie crusts, I’m going to throw a party.
Speaking of parties, there will be no couch party. I couldn’t talk my dad in to shelling out money for what he called “an old lady couch.” So, we got a couch I think the Butcher will like. Should the Butcher ever move out, he will be the proud owner of a green suede couch.
I can live with the green couch, but I’m not that excited about it. As I told Miss J., as it was happening, it seemed very logical, but then, after the deed was done, and I was sitting at home, I was really pissed that I didn’t get a couch I liked.
Of course, that’s the problem with taking money from people: they then have a say in how the money is spent.
I know I complain about this all the time, but I’m tired of not having any money. I’m tired of not being able to live how I want to and surrounding myself with things I’m in love with because I can’t afford it.
Why can’t I have a job I love and live in a place I love surrounded by things I love with enough cash left over to do things with the people I love?
Is this punishment for voting straight Democrat?
Oh you fucking Reganites, can’t a little more trickle down on me?
… yes, apparently, I did just ask to be peed on a little harder by Republicans… Well, if I can’t have a nice couch, at least I can have a kinky fantasy life. Still, I wonder what it means that so much of my life, fantasy and real, lately revolves around pee?