Thanksgiving with the in-laws (thirty-two of us altogether) was mighty loud and mighty amusing. My favorite moment was when our 5-year-old nephew chased his 7-year-old cousin around the house while yelling, "Hey, Will, are ya trying to lose me?" Which was, of course, exactly what Will was trying to do.
I slept for three nights in a bed so uncomfortable and a room so cold that I threw a turtleneck on over my pajamas and almost began to weep. It was the kind of ridiculous situation in which you are forced to keep reminding yourself that there are people who have no bed at all, no bed at all, no bed at all. Same technique I use when coveting a $400 pair of shoes...
Wednesday, November 26, 2003
Tuesday, November 25, 2003
I'm pretty sure that this right here is how Britney started out. Let's just hope that this adorable 3-year-old North Korean girl doesn't show up fifteen years from now with her arse hanging out of spandex and black vinyl boy briefs. A nice thought to ponder on this, Thanksgiving week.
Monday, November 24, 2003
A rejection arrived in my mailbox today, the second in as many weeks. There's always that ridiculous moment of hope before I open the envelope. It's just like Charlie peeling open his candy bar thinking that, you know, it's possible that the fifth golden ticket will be wrapped around the chocolate. Of course, he got to savor the sweet and also eventually made it to Willy Wonka's factory. All I got was a papercut. I only had Elmo Band-Aids in my bathroom cabinet, so now every time I catch a glimpse of my finger, a grinning muppet mocks both my physical discomfort and my bruised writer's ego. Fine. That's fine.