All material on this webpage is protected by an army of slavering hell bunnies that will bite on
command. Ok maybe not, but clearly I have an excess of hostility and am just looking for an
excuse to use it.
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Lying in the bathtub, I can finally feel the tears. I've been waiting for them all week. Sad when you get a point where you suspect even feeling OK. When pain is the only thing you trust. And now it's here and I wish it wasn't. I've got some tequila in a glass, and a big decadent tub full of bubbles.
Still I can feel it.
"Look you and I both know you are going to cry so just accept it" I think to myself.
"You do realize you just used two different pronouns to refer to yourself."
"Hey, look at the upside, at least it wasn't three."
"Look, both you and I know that she is going to cry so just try and accept it."
My mother's inability to comprehend why I would bother with photoblogging all of this insanity has led me to wonder why I am doing it too. The answer, of course, is simple. We were expecting eight people for dinner tomorrow and now four of them look iffy. So I might be doing all of this work to feed just a few people. So part of the photo blogging is to get people to go OOOHHHHHHHHHH look at all that work MMMMMMMmmmmmm that sure looks like some mighty tasty food at Chez Lapin.
The other reason, well, the other reason is I've always wanted to share Thanksgiving with someone outside of my family. You know, go the traditional route and have a boyfriend (notice I won't even bother to use the word husband because that will never happen) come here and hang out in the kitchen, send him to the grocery store, put him in charge of the CD player (just keep the music coming), have him rub my shoulders-sore from chopping afterwards, snuggle up with him all tired under the covers, quietly getting up early in the morning to help Mere Lapin in the kitchen while he sleeps, sending him into the living room with the cheese plate to keep the guests entertained while we in the kitchen enter the home stretch, sharing stories with him and our guests while we finally eat and have wine and drowse afterwards in the living room in front of a fire while we all contemplate what we are thankful for.
Well, no point in wishing.
Since I can't have that, I'm just going to have you all over to Thanksgiving. Virtually of course. My mother and I are listening to French music while we prepare, so you can put on some Yves Montand if you want to get the full effect. I've uploaded some more photos with labels. So you can see how things are developing.
I'm going to take a break with Mere Lapin. We've finished the carrots and parsnips, stuffing, shallots, and the pumkin nut muffins are in the oven.
Technically this post would have been what happened on Tuesday, not Wednesday of last year but, well, just to give an interesting juxtaposition between what I'm doing now and what I was doin' then. Of course, as some of you remember last year I was doing my incredibly misguided Thanksgiving in Vegas. Because what happens in Vegas, should definitely stay in Vegas-and yet somehow it oozes all over the floor and leaving a strange rust colored stain that legend has it will reappear no matter how many times you resand it.
This is the haul from the grocery store we made yesterday. Today she gets the turkey and some other minor things. I'll be preparing the roasted carrots and parsnips as soon as I'm done with this. Later tonight the sweet and russset potato au gratin and the mashed potatoes. Tomorrow will be turkey, stuffing, salad, and haricot vert. And some point we shall be making pumpkin nut muffins and picking up a specially ordered loaf of bread.
I shall be photo blogging the process. To see more pictures of the beginning go here. I'll be letting you know as new pictures are posted. And now off the commence the roasted carrots and parnsips
I woke up this morning at 5, desperately trying to justify staying in bed with my cat rather than going in to teach a hand full of students dreaming about mashed potatoes and stuffing.
OK let's be honest.
I was still a little drunk from last night. I've discovered that my upstairs neighbor bartends around the corner from our building. And he takes my marination seriously.
So last night, I needed an infusion and he was glad to oblige.
Except this morning I had to go into work. Normally I have coffee before my 8 am, but I just couldn't think of drinking that. So I got myself some Mountain Dew and found that the local bodega here has one of my all time favorite post drunken guilty pleasures: Andy Capp Hot Fries.
I don't know what the fuck they are, they are, most likely, the desicated fingers of Bowery winos topped with artificial flavoring, but boy do they suck alcohol out of a stomach lining.
I know that most of us here are contemplating some decent food as compensation for putting up with our evil relatives. (I love that now whenever I start to complain about my family, and someone says "But all families are nuts" I can say "Um do YOU have a convicted pedophile who is about to do time in a federal prison in your family? Otherwise, you can shut the hell up.") But what is your favorite guilty pleasure comfort food? I'm not talkin' buffalo wings and twinkies (mmmmmm twinkies), I'm talking clamato here people. Go on 'fess up.
Well, it is exactly a month until I celebrate the completion of yet another year on this planet. I have begun drawing up the birthday plans, so any of you who are in NYC brave enough to handle a shot or seven in honor of my continued survival, send me an email. This year, I have something special planned. I only hope my miscreant friends are down with it. I shall begin the evening having cocktails at Jekyll and Hyde's Pub. (Fun Fact: I had my first shot at Jekyll and Hyde's when I turned 21.) After marinating for several hours in cocktails, my revelers shall be going to the Buffy the Vampire Slayer Sing-a-Long at IFC.
Oh yes, there will be blood.
Of course, I shall be on hand to hand out splatastic gross out candies as well as slather everyone who comes within a ten foot radius with glittericiousness.
And if you're really good, I might even wear the light up bunny ears.
If you can't attend, and I can't imagine why you can't, you can always send a fabulous gift. Courtesy of amazon, OR you can make me even more glittery at Sephora where I have registered as well.
Or you can, you know, just sit back and wait for me to send you the outrage photos after the event.