on genes, and why they don't so much matter

Best. Thanksgiving. Ever.

And not one person genetically tied to me was there (except my little spawn, of course). There was cub scout boat making, a lot of cooking, tea brewing, inappropriate jokes about pussy, really, truly, awful pictures, the world's smartest dog, and my favorite people in the galaxy. There was china and silver and linen napkins candles and happiness.

You kids? You five, you know who you are, I love you. Each and every one of you. I love you even with boogie noses and pink eye and and even though T now wants his nipples pierced. I love you so much it hurts and don't think I don't know how motherfucking lucky I am for all of you.

I have a lot to be thankful for this year.

The Broncos? Not so much to be thankful for. Jake, honey, you're a quarterback. In case you forgot. Someone is paying you A LOT to play football. Maybe you should start.

I hope yours was as great as mine.

I think I should mention that today marks one whole year since I've talked to my dad. Hmmm. Maybe I'll have more to say about that later. Maybe not.

I guess it's time to start shopping now.