I am quilting my ass off right now. Drunk.
Not really. I am in my brain.
Yeah. Quilting. This year, everyone's getting a fucking quilt. And they're gonna fucking like it. Probably just my dad. Whatever. I think I'm going to cut up one of Poppy's old suits and use that fabric. At least I want to, but I don't know how well that's going to work. We'll see.
I've never made a quilt before. This is some intricate shit. It's harder than that one time I made a New York Times-ish crossword puzzle about M.E. for her birthday, and that took weeks. Everyone was all pissed off. Jesus, Rass, why did you make it so hard? Shut up Sallies and deal with it, I can't help it if I'm a way awesomer present-giver ergo friend than all you guys.
Thanksgiving is a good day for white russians. Much like the day the spetznaz beat the green berets. Also: turkey exists, and that's pretty cool. So thanks.
Other things that I am thankful for: my dog, the "Be a Man" song from Mulan, my parents' washer and dryer, alcohol, and my Double Dare sweatpants. Best Thanksgiving ever. Oh, and you guys. Don't you be thinkin I forgot.
By the way, my cousin's wife strolled on into my parents house with a diamond necklace, and I was all drunk and , "Bitch, where'd you get that platinum chain with them diamonds in it?" and she just looked confused and said that it wasn't a real diamond and it wasn't platinum, and I tried explaining to her that me and MoLinder have been listening to a lo-hot of Ludacris lately and she was like, "Ohhhhh, I get it." But I'm pretty sure that was just so she could eventually segway into something far more relevant, like cornacopias or organic turkey something, neither of which are disrespectful to women nor straight up gangsta. Pilgrims are gangsta, though, because they will get all up in your shit and steal the fuck out of your land.
So after a delicious dinner of turkey, stuffing, and that green bean shit with all the crunchy business on top of it (I fucking love that green bean shit with crunchy business) me and the sisters were talking about how Katsisch's least favorite thing in the world was iPhones, right after asymmetry and cheese that is not parmesan. And I hate long fingernails and pretentious fucks who snootily say the name of a city in the accent that is local to that particular city ("Have you been to Pareee? We stopped through there on our way to Moon-chen, which is of course Deutsch for Munich." Really, skunkface? You smell like day-after-Thanksgiving toilet.)
And my Uncle Dick folded his arms and was like, "You girls should go on television. You all talk like those kids on TV, you know, the ones that you watch and you think, 'No one talks like that.' But you DO. You girls really do. This is wild."