Friday, November 23, 2007

It snowed last night in Albuquerque. We spent most of the day eating candy canes and watching a four and a half hour Bob Dylan documentary while waiting for the turkey to defrost, since we had bought it at midnight on Wednesday.

Making the turkey was one of the most horrible experiences of my life. It felt like a cold dead baby. I cried. Jason said, Are you really crying? I took out the giblets but couldn't find the neck so we ended up cooking the neck inside it. Oh well. It tasted good. Jason said, How are you going to be a housewife if you won't make the turkey? I said I'll make sure I always have somewhere to go for Thanksgiving in the future, somewhere where there is a woman who is happy to handle the raw body.

I feel cozy today. It looks cold outside, and bright, and I just had two cups of caramel flavored coffee, and sat on the couch under a fluffy blanket and read an article in an old New Yorker about FBI profiling.


the teacup tragedy said...
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Anonymous said...

Oh, I love Dylan.
Are you talking about No Direction Home? I seem to remember it's atrocious (in the best meaning of the word) length. It had some good music clips too.

Willa said...

Hey, next time tell HIM to cook the turkey! It is not necessarily "woman's work!". My husband, in fact, insisted that it was HIS job to cook the turkey. They are just too darn heavy anyway! It should be the man's job!