my favorite holiday

So, happy Thanksgiving, kids.

This is my absolute favorite holiday. I guess I like it so much because it has to do only with family (and eating) and doesn't stem from any pagan-based-Christian-stolen roots. Maybe it's because I grew up in that crazy cult with NO holidays and this is the easiest one to ease into, It's the least offensive to my kind. You know, it was on the bottom of the going-to-hell-for list. Easter and XMas were definitely on the top of that list. Maybe it just amuses me that we made a national holiday based around genocide. "Hey there, we're going to be super nice to you guys and smoke your weed and eat your food and learn your traditions, and then we're going to slaughter you and steal your land." Those pilgrims, no wonder they got thrown out of their home.

Not so loving the genocide, bit still loving Turkey day. I have a lot to give thanks for this year. I am going to spend the day with 5 of those reasons. My friend S and I have been trying to find an excuse to spend holidays together, and WOOHOO for being single and being able to go wherever the hell I want today. And there is no place on earth I'd rather go than to her house, with her family. Except for maybe Molly's house with Molly's family. Tell'm all hi for me Molls, k?

because I forget sometimes

Here are some pictures of my absurdly beautiful children to melt your heart. The first two are at the mall, where they have this giant snowglobe thingy for the kiddies to walk through...

And here's B, and I have to say that this one is one of my mostest favoritest pictures of him...

And L at the hospital the other day. Nothing keeps this girl from a TV, nothing...

And while we're on the subject of painfully cute babies...

From this post you have probably derived that I favor one little girl over two little boys, what with the ratio of pictures. Please know that I don't; It's just that two are at school all day and one is home with me all day and I don't exactly have a job yet and I do exactly have a brand new, very fancy-pants camera and I also have this baby, this baby that makes faces at me like this:

You try going one whole day without taking a picture of her.

the most wonderful time of the year

Do you know what today is? It just so happens to be the greatest day of the year, the first day of Sagittarius. Oh, Sagittarius, how I love thee. We get, like, a whole MONTH of light-hearted joking around, casual sex*, ridiculous flirtation, and all sorts of general happy-go-lucky-ness. We also get a whole month of drug addiction and random acts of callousness, but I digress. Let's stick with the happy stuff.

I have a huge crush on Sagittarians. In general. If your birthday is in the next 28 days, I probably want to do big girl things to you. I can't help it, you're irresistible.

You are probably a little rounder than you want to be, you probably have less hair than you'd like on your head and some spots with more hair than you'd like, like your back or something. You most likely have great big dark circles under your eyes. You are great in the sack. You are viciously passionate about something, whether it be art or music or boobies or social change. Until, of course, you find something else to be viciously passionate about and then you move on quicker than a traveling salesman. You are, in a word, unattainable.

Mmmm, I love you.

Almost every single one of the people I am totally obsessed with are Sag's. Jessica, oh Casa, my love, the girl who left me for the sandy beaches of Costa Rica and dark skinned, Spanish speaking boys with dredlocks, oh my lord is she ever a Sag. My friend Neil, who is the lead singer in a very popular band in Denver, who is going to be Uber Famous someday, I'm betting soon, Neil is a Sag. Neil used to bring me to his house and try to get me to smoke some very questionable sorts of cigarette-looking things, but me and my insistence on a substance free lifestyle would never, ever play along, and so we'd sit and listen to CD"s and talk of very large things until a girl would call who he actually stood a chance with, at which point he would, in the most charming sort of way you could imagine, bid me adieu and set off in search of looser, or perhaps more altered, pastures. Neil, you still make me blush. Hot Gay Russell, curse you and your Sag ways! Of all the things we have in common, why did a particularly strong interest in men have to be one of them? It's not fair. I guess, at least, we can now share a crush on the same boy (yes, you, Thad. I am talking about YOU on the blog. It's not my fault you're smart and funny and nice and hot. Take it up with your parents.) I think I will always and forevers be a little spell-bound by Hot Gay Russell. And Tim. Not the Tim of my-blog fame, the other Tim. The old boyfriend Tim. Tim was 28 when I met him. I was 19. Tim quite literally charmed the pants straight off me. He was from Nashville, and nothing in this world or the next slays me more than the Tennessee twang. He was fat and bald (except for his back) and had a completely psychotic cat and had even better taste in music than I do (and that is saying a large SOMETHING). He was the first drunk I loved, and he topped it with a pretty sturdy coke problem, which I had no clue about due to the fact that I personally have never felt the need to snort anything up my nose** and therefore had no way to know that he was high as a kite most of the time and not just the fucking lunatic I thought him to be by nature. He was in a band, played the drums, the guitar, the trumpet, football and totally, in every way, played me. I muddled through 2 years with him, back and forth, on and off, and then one day he was gone, in the truest Sagittarian style. Poof. I was in L.O.V.E. with him and when he left he broke my heart into 10,000 little pieces. I was only able to find and put back together 9,867 of them.

I got a hole in my heart that goes all the way to China...

Anyway, happy birthday to the collective Sagittarians. You are the shit. If you ever want to drink coffee or talk or make out or something, just call. I'm soooo there.

*None of that for me, of course. Unless you're into that whole Top Ramen family thing. Add hot water, wait three minutes, and Presto. A family!

**Except for that one time when my friend was teasing me for being an old fuddy-duddy who didn't do drugs and then dared me to snort a big fat line of Pixie-Stix. Which I did. Learn from my mistakes here, kids. Snorting big fat lines of Pixie-Stix is no way to pass an afternoon. My left eyeball shriveled up. Shriveled up left eyeballs are painful left eyeballs. Just say no to drugs and candy.

i like the nightlife, i love to boogie

There are a select few things in life that I am willing to stay up all night doing. In the spirit of the family blog, I will not go into the sordid details of any of them.

Rest assured, cradling my baby girl in my arms at the local ER is not on the list.

There are many lovely sounds that children make that endear them to their parents. They coo and shit. It's nice. When they wake up in the middle of the night and sound almost exactly like a harmonica, that is most assuredly not one of those types of sounds.

L did her very best harmonica imitation for me last night. She's good. Turns out, the croup not only causes that awful seal-sounding, barky sort of cough, it also makes them sound like they're wheezing.

So, of course, I totally fucking panicked and we spent a few hours in the ER. Her heart rate was 176 when we got there, and for you non-mommies and daddies, that's way the fuck higher than it should be. A few hours and a bunch of steroids later, she is sleeping at home and I am cross-eyed tired. I had a good, long, sobbing, chunky-tears sort of cry tonight in our little room at the hospital, and I suspect that has been over-due, so at least some good has come of this. Oh, and she doesn't have asthma, which is the best news ever. This is precisely how we found out that B was asthmatic, at right about the same age, 7 years ago.

All of this comes after best night ever at Hot Gay Russell and Thad's house. Russell gave me a very naughty gift and as soon as I can pull my face out of it, I will share some pictures and a heart-breaking tale of unrequieted, pointless, gay boy love with you.

We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of the dreams. Even if they are totally futile gay boy crush dreams.

when life hands you lemons

You should take some of them and soak them in water and sugar to make a tasty ade and then take some others and boil them with cranberries and ginger and scallions and maybe some cinnamon and curry and star anise to make a delicious chutney and then stuff a chicken full of some of them along with an orange, a couple leeks, some garlic and whatever herbs you have layin' around and then whip some of them with eggs whites and pour them over crumbled graham crackers for a sumptous dessert and then dump the rest of them down the garbage disposal because you know you need to disinfect that nasty thing already.

I like to cook. It's fun for me and a nice distraction from whatever else I have going on. I am kind of a good cook, and it gets me in trouble sometimes.

You know those size 6 pants I told you about? Yep, they fit again.