last night i had every intention of reading most of beloved and then coming and telling you all about my thanksgiving-eve adventure of last year. but i didn’t read for long before the pages blurred, the book slid from my hands and dropped to the floor, and i didn’t wake up until just now, fully dressed from last night, scrunched and icky on the couch.
so now it’s pointless to tell you about how last year on the night before thanksgiving, amanda and i went to the brewery to drink free alcohol, as was our custom, and we got marvelously toasted before amanda met some guy named charles that went to a & m, and he invited us back to his house where he was having a party.
so charles drew us a map and we followed him to his house which was not actually a house but the biggest, most ornate museum-like residence i had ever been in. the swimming pool was bigger than the wet bar was bigger than the pool table was smaller than the kitschy little wooden bridge over the ditch in front of their mansion. so intimidating, and yet so fascinating, and amanda and i walked around for most of the time we were there, looking at all the living rooms and kitchens.
we did this because we’d discovered after our arrival that charles’s friends were just like everyone we’d known in high school, and were kind of boring. lengthy discussions of the senior trip to acapulco (remember that? mitzy got so drunk!), the head cheerleader’s pregnancy, and private jokes told in scottish accents. we left at about 4am, after seeing all the suburban ostentation there was to see.
but now it’s thanksgiving, so my whole “one year ago today i was doing this…” gimmick is completely wasted. instead i want to bitch about the fact that even though i am now a complete expert, my dad will not let me carve the turkey.