2003-12-02 - 11:08 p.m.

Thanksgiving was Thanksgiving. More to the point, it was Nanny, Conner, Sabby, my Mom, and Me at my mother's house. My dad was in Mexico. I know . . . poor guy. Thanksgiving was full of trytophan-fueled surprises. For example:

- I actually had an ok Thanksgiving with the small amount of people that were there.

- I didn't eat that much.

- I didn't want to kill anyone when I stopped at my Aunt and Uncle's for dessert. Isn't that charitable of me?

- I didn't get to watch any Pecola.

- I saw more of my family the weekend I was home then any other member of my family did.

- I built a train table for Ian, Todd's son, at Linda and Greg's Wednesday night, which almost made me late for . . .

- . . . Survivor at the Culkin's house. In which one of the most jaw-dropping, sleazy, surprising episodes of television I've ever seen was watched. (Not including the second season finale of Alias of course)

- I didn't go out Wednesday night.

- Lesley Culkin surprised everyone Jimbo style* when she showed up at 2 Anthony Dr. on Thanksgiving morning. (* - "Jimbo style" due to the fact that she wasn't "due home" for another few days and instead orchestrated it so she'd be home early and shock everyone - but without the flaming red bozo hair cut that Jimbo did it with)

- I did go out Thursday night, after being full from two dinners. I had already driven to Tilton and was passing the Shalimar when KP & Shannon called. They convinced me to trek back to the funkiest of primates, the Funky Monkey (a.k.a. - Forever Young, a.k.a. - The Scum). It was truly one funky monkey. If you consider Kendra Peters and Corey Shaw to be funky monkeys. And good Lord do I ever. It was Shannon & Matt, Me, and the Prescotts Three [Shannon, KP, and Marianne]. Marianne was even fashionable enough to not wear her Little League uniform to the bar. KP and Shannon P. kept trying to strong arm me into playing pool, but I was nothin' doin'. Instead, Browher conscripted me into playing that "crack-is-less-addictive-than-this-shit" Photo Hunt game at the bar. We played that thing for a loooong time. And Marianne said that Browher had already been playing for a few hours before I even got there. Photo Hunt can be a cruel mistress. When we were finally pressed into choosing the "Erotic" version (by KP of course), Matt totally called it when he said, "We're totally gonna have to find the missing tit." And sure enough, we had to find the "missing tit." That's when Matt said, "I totaally called that. That whole 'having to find the missing tit.'" And he was right. He did. Did I mention we played for a long time? Seriously, in some alternate reality, I'm still playing that fucking game. Not the same alternate reality that is still performing "Paris Original" from How To Succeed In Business Without Really Trying, but you get the idea. I know I got conned into a game of darts at the very end that couldn't end well, and didn't. We finally had to leave because they were closing (how sad, to be the last ones at the Funk Monk) and I had the shit scared out of me ( I refuse to say I was Punk'd) by Shannon P., who hid in a box in the parking garage and jumped out at me and made me let loose a 10-foot arc of fear pee. How everyone laughed. I know, "Shannon hid in a box and jumped out at me" doesn't sound that scary, but hoo-boy it was. Also, the new "Laos" in LA is apparently "Ecuador", since I swear it was wall-to-wall Latinos. I'm a minority in LA now. Sad. After the Funk Monk, my pet name for it, we drove back to glorious Beech Street and I gave pics to KP from our weekend in Albany. I felt like Jimbo. And by that I mean the one who was at the Prescott's late and then drives off into the moonlight by himself to a far away home. Did I just paint Jimbo out to be a mystery solving eskimo? Because if I didn't, that's what I was hoping for.

- Working Friday, Saturday, Sunday after Thanksgiving was all the fun I thought'd it be and more. Brian, the new kid, just started. He's friends with Jason. And like most new people, he believes absolutely everything I say. Poor guy. Well, not everyone believes everything I say. Shannon (there's too many damn Shannon's in this entry) just likes to eat babies and snack on souls. Ok, ok, "Soy Babies". She's Vegan you know.

- Go Pats. Go Sox. Yeah Curt. Don't go Nomar. Convince me about this long and winding road you call a "master plan" Ainge. I finally got around to washing my Johnny Damon shirt ever since all that . . . "unpleasantness" a while back. And we named the new tiger at work Damon. Well, I named him that and just forced everyone else to go along with it. I'm an ogre like that. Next thing you know I'll crush them all and eat their bones. Besides, I need somebody to keep me company while Melanie is on her extended leave.

- Justin went from the lowest of low: Being shat upon by the cocksuckers at Unicel! - to the highest of highs: Being rechristened as The Mayor of Cigarette City!! I couldn't make this stuff up. Well . . . I suppose I could. But I'm not. Besides, I don't fuck around when someone is bestowed a title from Mayor McCheese himself. No believe me? Go read about it yourself. (For you Mormons in the audience that means click above where Justin is underlined. Jezum Crimus.)

I got nothing else.

It's been real,

HeatMiser

ps - The last poll, "Worst Thing About Thanksgiving" delivered us another clear winner with 1st place going to "Trying to stop Brooke from having 4ths" with 9 votes and 35% of the vote and a tie for 2nd place with "Watching 'You Killed All Your Peoples And Stole Their Land Charlie Brown!'" and "Trying to convince yourself that hanging out at Goodfellas is no way to spend your night off" both getting 5 votes a piece and 19% of the vote each. Now proceed to the new poll . . . or else!

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