Thanksgiving

Unwilling to take the flight back to the East Coast, I had a family-less Thanksgiving this year, opting instead to road-trip with friends to San Francisco to visit the hilarious Kurosh. It was great, but the whole time I kept comparing how my experience would be different if I were with my family. Together, the seven of us comprised a group of people who are not the most competent cooks. I had never peeled a potato before: I managed to not only cut myself, but stab Desiree in the process -- there were probably no knife wounds at my family's. None of us knew how to cook a turkey, so we tried the ol' guess and check method in the oven. Unsure of how to baste it properly, we dumped any available liquid on top to keep it moist. Furthermore, there was difficulty discerning the bird's head from its ass, leading to a genuine fear that we might have shoved the stuffing up the butt rather than the neck -- there were probably no anatomy errors at my family's.

Surprisingly, everything turned out fantastic: both the potatoes and the turkey were perhaps the best I've ever had. The dinner conversation consisted of Joan regaling us with stories including the time she got her first period and when her cousin once secretly traded her soiled panties with Joan's so that she wouldn't get in trouble. Now I can't be sure, but I'm going to go out on a limb and say those topics were probably not discussed at my family's.