2002-11-27 - 2:54 p.m.
I just bought my David Sedaris tickets, and I'm hoping all my friends are going too so that we can go out to a big dinner beforehand or something. I'm a little bummed that it's on a Monday night. I guess Sonny and I can stay out 'til 11 and still make it in to work. We are weak.
Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. Sigh. I have a love-hate relationship with Thanksgiving. Love the food, hate the company. Doh. No, actually, I love the company, the frantic pace, the stuffed kitchen, the wine, the beer, the mashed potatoes, hanging out with great grandma T on her porch while she smokes etc. But, I'm not looking forward to being the moderator for the passive-aggressive, food-"suggestion" fest again. My Mother-In-Law on one side concerned that the baby is drinking cow's milk instead of goat's milk. After all, cows have five stomachs and babies, like goats, only have one blah blah blah. Gluh. Goat milk. I love goat cheese and we actually give Baby Lou goat yogurt, but something about goat milk gives me the willies. My mother on the other side fretting over the baby not getting to eat any pecan pie or Totino's pizza rolls or whatever deep fat fried thing she's longing to work into the baby's diet. I am officially no longer listening on the subject of my baby's food intake. I need to come up with some random phrase to say when people are trying to be the boss of me on this subject....something to throw them off course and leave them speechless...something that makes us laugh instead of twitch uncontrollably. How about...mmmm, my hands smell like chamomile. That's not any good. I'll need to mull this one over. What if we rotate the actual smell part? We could just announce what our hands smell like whenever it starts up. Could work. Otherwise, I'll just have to continue with the stink-eye tactic, and nobody seems to be noticing.
Nothing else to say. It's gorgeous out and I'm going to go out and try and rake up some of the massive cedar droppings in our front yard. I hate cedar trees. What makes the raking process more exciting is that all the stray cats in the neighborhood have made our front yard their giant, cedar litter box. There are surprises everywhere. My dream is to get enough of it up so that every run through the front yard doesn't result in cat poop on the bottom of Lou's shoe. One day I picked her up and smeared the poo from her shoe all up my pant leg. Right then, my neighbor came over to talk with me and I was thinking, "Dang she stinks," only to find out later that it was I who stunk.
Happy Thanksgiving.
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