My Dog, Plus Rice

It was a good idea until it went very wrong. Give dog the rice inside the container, that way she can eat it and not get it everywhere, right?

this is a fun game. 

I suppose it is time to vacuum now. 

I am feeling about as creative as a moldy broken banjo. twang, twang twing.

Dear January, please snow. Barring that, please send me some ironic wit with which to write either 1. a dissertation, 2. several blog posts, or 3. a novel.

Barring that, please send zombies, so I have something to hit with a large stick. That will help a LOT.

Thanks. You're swell. 

I was supposed to start my dissertation today and instead we bought a house.

I am the GOD OF PROCRASTINATION.


the end.

The Idea of New Years Eve Often Differs From the Reality

One often assumes that New Years Eve will look something like this: 

We are sophisticated and shiny and we are having a sophisticated shiny conversation about shiny worldly things!!! Yay New Years Eve!!

But I bartended for too many years and I know better. New Year's almost never ends pretty, or well, or sober, or as something you want to talk about and share the details from with your parents the next morning. In fact, this is more like it:

For New Years Eve is amateur night. 

And even if you are a seasoned bar veteran, if you go out you will very likely end up at one point in the evening doing Jaeger shots that some dude named Mikey who you just met and looks like he has just turned 18 bought you, and talking about your feelings with some nice lady who looks like your Aunt Mildred because it's New Years and there's that incredible sense of FuckItAll coupled with a profound need to do something really, really epic on the last night of the year. It gets to everyone. 

It is almost always impossible to reach this goal, however, and in the festering wake of anticlimax, usually everyone just gets Hammered. 

Tip your bartender, people. Drive safe. I'm going to bed at 9 pm. I am a party animal. <3

The Problems With Cooking an 18lb Turkey For Two People Are Numerous

We stayed home for Christmas this year, as the dog is bitey and Special Needs (on 'roids, has issues, likes to nom things like human calves) and so I made an epic EPIC dinner of turkey and stuffing and cranberry and taters and salad (which neither of us ate, but it looked pretty!) and pie (which I bought. I do not understand the baking.) and it was awesome as I've never cooked a turkey before in my life. 

It turned out perfectly. Cpt Awesomepants even took a pretty picture:

HELL TO THE YEAH (sorry vegetarians, I can't help myself. If it makes you feel any better, it was Hutterite born and raised, lived a very happy life, and probably never saw a single hormone injection or the inside of a "free range" cage.

And then we ate as much as we possibly could between the two of us before falling asleep while watching Hogfather (which I love and Cpt Awesomepants puts up with, which seems to work just fine for everyone). 

Problems occurred shortly thereafter. The turkey was 18 pounds. An 18 pound turkey is just slightly too much for two people. 

My fridge: 

I am awash in turkey bits. I think we might have eaten about 4 pounds now? 14 to go.
We will win, turkey, we will win.