I’m visiting my family and friends in Ohio until
I’m going to get so many presents, eat so many of those sugar cookies with the Hershey’s Kisses pressed into the tops of them, and do so many gay things with my best friend.
Like so:
I’ll miss you, blogfriends!
One of the things about living in NYC that I’ve found hardest to adjust to is not hanging out at people’s apartments. We all either live in places too small to hold more than two people at a time or places too out of the way for anyone to want to travel to. If it’s not one, it’s the other.
But this year, my friend Ash was determined to have a practice Thanksgiving at her apartment and went all-out with impressive invitations, a massive menu, and promises that she would hunt us down and stuff us if we didn’t make it worth her while to take up her entire refrigerator with a brining turkey for two days. So we took cabs or spent three hours navigating weekend subway construction to make it to her and her husband, Michael’s, Queens apartment last Saturday night for a pre-Thanksgiving feast our families will have a hard time topping tomorrow.
Michael and Ash got rid of about half of the furniture in their place to make room for this new dining table they bought especially for the occasion. Well worth it, I say.
Ash carved a turkey for the first time and looked smokin’ doing it.
The turkey was about the moistest meat I’ve ever had in my life. The stuffing was fruity, the sweet potatoes spicy, the twice-baked potatoes bacony, the cauliflower casserole creamy, the green beans smoky, the apple pie belly-warming, the lemon cheesecake rich.
There was gravy, too, but I never eat gravy. Am I the only one who thinks it’s tooooooootally weird stuff?
Michael was in high spirits,
Ash was being Betty Sue Homemaker,
Jack was his usual pleasant self,
Jeff was complaining that the ice cream was regular vanilla and not vanilla bean,
Gizmo was pretending to innocently play with a ball under the table while secretly waiting for dropped turkey,
and Penny, the cat we found in the Hamptons, was acting like all of us would be about two minutes after dinner:
Success!
I haven’t legitimately dressed up for Halloween for ages. Everybody else is already the Internet meme of the moment, and spending the night sweating in a rented gorilla costume doesn’t seem fun, and I don’t have enough boob to be Slutty Strawberry Shortcake or whatever.
But this year, my costume idea happened so organically I couldn’t not do it. My friend Anthony and I were sitting at lunch one day, discussing an article I’d just read about Zooey Deschanel. I may or may not have been rambling, and he may or may not have said Zooey’s name in an offensive voice just to shut me up, and it may or may not have come out sounding like “Doughy Deschanel”.
Okay, actually, it did come out sounding like “Doughy Deschanel”, and I said, “That’s the name of Zooey’s fat sister.”
And then we were both like, “Oh, crap, that’s the greatest Halloween costume ever.” So I bought myself a faux-vintage Modcloth dress, donned my pink velvet shoes that I so rarely get to wear, and used it as an excuse to buy a black wig and have straight hair for a night.
Great Halloween costume or greatest Halloween costume?
My dad, always a little too quick to torture my sister and me when we were kids, probably invented Pinch Day one year when he realized he’d spoiled us with too many gifts yet again. It’s the day after your birthday, the day when everyone can make up for how nicely they treated you the day before by pinching the crap out of you.
Similarly always a little too quick to torture, I’m sure I introduced my best friend, Tracey, to Pinch Day quite soon after we became inseparable in 7th grade. And since she’s the perfect best friend, she had these flowers sent to me at work yesterday:
with this note:
How personal and sweet, right?
My roommate/landlord/co-worker, Jack, recently wrote me this little questionnaire while I was on the phone with Tracey one day:
And it’s true–TV, movies, and leading insanely interesting lives does fuel our conversations. But just plain loving each other for almost 30 years doesn’t hurt anything. Thanks for making my Pinch Day special, Tracey!
I just think it’s so sweet of couples everywhere to join in celebrating my four year, five month anniversary with Kamran today.
Oh, it’s Valentine’s Day, you say? I had no idea.
See, while the rest of you will be busy eating romantic dinners, receiving roses at your various workplaces to make your single co-workers jealous, deciding if you’re going to share any of the chocolates from your Godiva sampler, or in the absolute most embarrassing case, getting proposed to, I’ll be sitting home alone.
My boyfriend of four years and five months will be taking a bar exam prep course for twelve hours and then spending the rest of the evening in the library with his study partners. (Who are both male, if there was some concern.)
He’s promised to take me to dinner and shower me in chocolate once the bar is over in another week and a half, but in the meantime, I’m on my own. We usually do laundry together on Sundays, but he was studying all day yesterday, so I went to my own apartment but foolishly volunteered to come back to his place to do it alone tonight. On Valentine’s Day.
So I’m going to wear my t-shirt that says, “My Boyfriend Totally Loves Me Even Though He’s Making Me Wash His Underwear on Valentine’s Day.” Then I’m going to tap each person in the laundry room on the shoulder and individually tell them that I’m only there because my boyfriend’s training to be a totally important intellectual property attorney.
And then I’ll make a big show of folding the pillowcase I got for him:
That’s not pathetic at all, right?
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