A beer, turkey, and thou
◊ I am sick as a dog, coughing up massive wads of phlegm and rasping like a career smoker. I reek of sweat and, strangely, cunt. I spent almost the whole night sweating and shivering with the electric blanket turned all the way up while I watched the bookshelves and walls crawl and swirl around without the assistance of hallucinogens. I am far, far too sick for Thanksgiving dinner, so my mom dropped off a plate of turkey and gravy and mashed potatoes and a couple of slices of pie, and I am washing them down with a Bass ale while watching Looney Tunes.
There is half a slice of Godiva cheesecake in the fridge, too.
This is actually a pretty decent way to spend Thanksgiving.
My birthday was yesterday. I had five friends remember it instead of the usual two, and my parents and aunt collaborated to get me a seriously sexy new stereo. My undies would get wet just looking at it if I ever wore underwear.
They also gave me cash.
Another friend went all mysterious and snuck a gorgeously-wrapped present to my house that turned out to be two DVDs: Chasing Amy and Mallrats. We're Kevin Smith-buddies now, I guess. Plus Pushpull sent me a ridiculous e-card.
This has been a very, very hard couple of weeks for me and many around me. The only good thing about it being so hard is that I have found out I have many more real friends than I realized.
I have also had much more fun than I thought was possible and it looks like more fun is on the way.
One hard part has been trying to deal with Dan. He has really needed my support and I have been very, very bad at helping him out. He acts like I do terrible things just to hurt him. I keep trying to make him see the hurtful stuff I do is a product of carelessness and lack of foresight. There is no way I could ever be mean or even organized enough to hurt him the way I do and have it be on purpose.
I love him to bits, but I'm so busy falling apart myself that I am almost incapable of gluing someone else back together.
My own rebellious streak isn't helping — we've been broken up for months. Why does he get so hurt that I'm trying to catch up on the fun and the stupidity everyone else got out of the way in high school?
I just want him to be somewhere where my own stupidity can't hurt him further.
And I would like to state for the record that Dean did not kill me with vodka and Vicodin, as funny as that would have been.
Luke referred to babies as "little blank potatoes" in a blog entry. I'm definitely marrying him, too.