Monday, November 24, 2014

Last year, Thanksgiving fell eight days after my son was born.  After I'd been sliced open from gullet to gills, and sent on my way, I was warned to not do anything too strenuous.  So I cooked the entire meal, by my self.  The Fixer can't cook for shit, and his mom wasn't offering.

I fucking hate you all.

This year, in a strange parallel, on the anniversary of my son's birth and the reception of the largest scar on my body, My Lady Mother (In-Law) had a similar procedure performed.  Only, she had her reproductive organs removed.  I don't know, I had those weird Maiden-Mother-Crone-Cycle-Of-Life trains of thought that day.  Anyhoo, I'm not cooking Thanksgiving dinner this year.  Fuck it.  I could be a dick and insist on how important family celebrations, like this one, are.  Remind her that if I could cook with umpteen staples holding me together, she could manage with a few laparoscopic punctures. 

No laying down on the job!

But I'm a nicer person that that, and Albertson's has deli and sandwich trays starting at $12.99!

Maybe not the best picture to put right under that last one.

Posts are going to be a bit sparse for a while, because, you know, holidays.  And, also, no privacy whatsoever. But I'll try to get one good one in before the New Year.  I also promise to try to learn proper grammar, syntax, and sentence structure. 

I'm lying, of course.  I promise nothing but disappointment.

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