A smell from the deepest pits of R'lyeh; A Thanksgiving Story

On Thanksgiving morning my uncle and I bundled up and drove the truck down treacherous roads, seeking to bring Great Granny and her stalwart caretaker Peter cupcakes decorated to look like a turkey. This mission was clearly of the utmost importance.

We trundled out there against the advice from Peter, the world's nicest man. Peter speaks in halting English, primarily learned from the elderly people in his care. I wasn't quite sure, but it sounded a little bit like he said he didn't think coming out to Great Granny's in that weather was a very good idea. (Anybody else notice how frequently people suggest that maybe what I'm doing is not a very good idea?) I told him we'd see him shortly and in spite of weather like this:



we successfully delivered our precious cargo to Great Granny out in the sticks, then returned home triumphant to watch the Thanksgiving Day Parade.

The moment I'd shucked my winter gear and placed my boots on the heat vent, my Auntie called me to the kitchen.

"Smell this," she said. I'm pretty staunchly opposed to sniffing on command, but, it was Thanksgiving. As I opened the oven door, she continued, "Does it smell bad to you?". It wasn't the worst smell ever, but my super-sniffer warned me away. I agreed that it did not smell right. It, being the Thanksgiving turkey.

A mere 3 hours from guest arrival my uncle and I rebundled and headed outside to fight nature and last minute crowds in search of replacement poultry. The supermarket was nearly deserted, and one lone thawed turkey awaited us. A gorgeous twenty two pound bird... with an estimated cook time of 6 hours. A 5 hour gap between guest arrival and dinner sounded a little too long.

So we bought two chickens and a ham, just to be on the safe side and headed home. The first thing we noticed upon the return to the house was that the attic ladder was down. Curious.

As we entered the house the smell wave hit us like a garbage tsunami. I want you to understand that this smell was epic. It was profoundly terrible. At first I thought that all four dogs had eaten something squishy and dead, like a raccoon corpse that didn't agree with them, and resulted in four dog simultaneous in-door pooptastrophe. Times eleventy million.

This smell was Lovecraftian in it's horribleness- like something dredged from Cthulhu's anus.

This smell was our turkey. The turkey my uncle had declared he was going to cook to one hundred and eighty degrees and then consume in an effort to prove that brining the turkey in scalding hot water would not, in fact, kill every one of us.

Our turkey which, upon our return was already sitting outside in the snow, still in its roasting pan. Our turkey, which was so funky, so gnarly, so horrific that the dogs wouldn't go near it. Our dogs, who drag squirrel corpses under the porch to age like kimchi before rolling around in them and eating the squishy bits, and leaving the the empty squirrel fur and bone sacks lying about like deflated maggot balloons, found our Thanksgiving turkey so terrifyingly stinky that they wouldn't go near it.

Auntie had opened every window and door (it was less than 30 degrees), lit every candle in the house (including the holiday candles looted from the attic), and lit the fireplace. Yet the stench was oppressive. Two and a half hours later, when the first guest arrived it still smelled bad enough that he asked what had happened. My dearest friend, the nicest, most polite person in the world- he is from Kansas people, and his mother is Mennonite- asked about the unholy stank.

Other than the unspeakable horror that was the turkey, everything else turned out well. I trussed and roasted the chickens, and we baked up the ham.

Dinner was even on time and, by then, either we'd all adjusted to it, or the noxious cloud had finally dissipated.

But I will never forget the putrescence visited upon us on that day. This Thanksgiving the thing I was most thankful for is that I didn't have to wash the roasting pan.

Halloweeeeeeeeeeenies #1

Saturday Addy, Steve, Angie and I all attended Andrew and Angela's awesome Annual Halloween Bash.

Here are some pix:

Steve at Wendy's. As Wendy. The workers there were most tickled, but my inside pictures did not come out well.
















Speed hump ahead, 20 miles per hour! That's a lot of friction.
Pictured: Steve, me as Max from Where the Wild Things Are, and Addy as a sexy pirate. Ok fine, a regular pirate.

















Here you will see Angie as Britney Spears, Jess as a naughty nurse, and me.
















I believe RAWWWWR is the caption for this picture!
















Angie- note the amazing ink, done by yours truly.





















A bosom. Now pay me the $20, Steve.















Steve after a few beverages....




















Holy crap! It's my giant ass!





















The trouble with tribbles.
















Who's the real Max?
Option #1:

















Option #2:

Happy Halloween!

Watch out for Nature and its lurking!


My big Halloween plans involve leaving a small bowl of Canadian candy outside my door with a sign that says, "Please don't be an asshole." Kidding. I'm not leaving jack!

Instead Steve and I will be on the prowl for cool Dia de los Muertos decorations and such for his birthday party Friday.

Question: Is Steve the coolest person ever?

Answer: Not quite.

Clarification: The coolest person ever who looks like a muppet?

Answer. Sure.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarg!

It be Talk Like a Pirate Day! So ye'll talk like the scurvy scum ye are or walk the plank!


Make it quick or I'll bite ye and give ye the curse of The Rabies.

20 Pounds of Meat = Good Times

Thanksgiving was nice and boring, the way I like it. As was Thanksgiving 2.0 held at my uncle's home shortly after. Know what is better than 20 pounds of meat on Thursday? Another 20 pounds of meat on Saturday.
However the weekend was fraught with the sorrows that frozen water brings.
"Come out and have cannolli, come out and go shopping," cried my loved ones. Were they not aware of the frozen water that was falling from the sky? Did it not occur to them that it is cold enough to freeze water- water the very same abundant natural resource that makes up 75% of my mass?
No, I stayed home and ate peanut butter and honey sandwiches while watching West Wing and Numb3rs in my monkey pajamas. I am quite the saucy minx.
Rawr, still single boys.

Update! Yes, I know that the TV show Numb3rs has a three in it. I just didn't give a damn. Still don't. Thank God for comment moderation.

Enjoy the long weekend

Is it just me, or is the turkey eyeballing the President's nuts? I'm guessing that biting the President's man-bits is a good way to get un-pardoned. Or not, judging by his expression....
Happy Thanksgiving, you turkeys. Eat yourselves silly.

Happy Halloween

Count Duckula.

Exterminate!

Best pumpkin ever: The Dalek Pumpkin.

















In other Dr. Who news, I was listening to KEXP last week and they played a song called Doctorin' the Tardis, by the Timelords. It's on iTunes. It is HIGHLY recommended- if you are a colossal dork. Which, uhm, if you are reading my blog, you are a colossal dork.

Jew for Jesus

So for years I have encountered the strangest thing. During the holidays, I will be in the checkout line and the checker or bagger will be Merry Christmasing the customers as the leave and they'll get to me and say Happy Hanukkah.
Now this is not an occasional occurrence. We are talking nearly every time I would go to the store in Philly and even 30% of the time now.
All this time I've wondered if there is some kind of Global Grocery Checker Zionist Conspiracy.
It turns out there is.
I've known about having Jewish relatives- though it is not talked about too often in my family (red neck, red neck, red neck). Now my mother drops that I am, in the technical sense, a Jew. Judaism runs in the female line, this woman is apparently my some increment of greats granny, thus I am one of God's chosen people. Eat your hearts out bitches.

Hello JDate.

Kidding! Sort of. I actually dated a phenomenal Jewish guy briefly in college and we eventually ended it when he found out that:
1. I wasn't Jewish (maybe he was led to believe I was Jewish by the constant phone calls from my female relatives to settle down and raise some kids.)
2. I wasn't going to switch.

So I'm just saying, David, if you are out there stalking me over the interweb, looking for just this sort of technicality, call me!