Driving to Maryland for apartments, and one of my last Turkey Days in the Valley...
It's becoming crunch time. When myself, Trips, and Caterpillar gallivant to Aunt Fran's in the middle of the night in order to check out apartments and houses in Maryland that I'll be moving into by myself. Or the three of us AGAIN trying to sleep in a bed too small and wrestling for a better part of the night. Or listening to the Twilight soundtrack and having Trips say, "Only listened to it a couple times, honey?" when I know all the words by heart.
It'll be eating crabs in a newfound restaurant with the two of them for the first time, hoping that many more times will follow.
It'll be long drives with rap music that throws all of us back to the early 90s.
It'll be attempting backwards somersaults on my floor at five in the morning because, uh, it sounded like a good idea.
It's wrestling with a friend because you're both bored and why the hell not. It's forgetting how strong he is, and subsequently frightening him because you snarled because you're frustrated. It's sleeping satisfied. That maybe, the world is as it should be.
It's times like these that I will miss. It's gallivanting across the Valley after someone is stabbed outside of my apartment (And no, I'm not elaborating or exaggerating) to Bluejay's house for the before Turkey Day festivities. So far, I've chopped onions, peeled apples, made a few pies, substituted interesting things for cinnamon, and helped Bluejay manhandle a turkey. We've talked about Shink, and new couples, and my moving to Maryland. I made cornbread and sliced eggs (oh Lord, I need to finish the eggs!) and beaten the hell out of a pumpkin pie.
We've been sitting here all night listening to the Twilight soundtrack and jamming out while harassing unsuspecting ingredients with wire whisks. We've balanced cigarettes and sifted flour and sugar. We're run back to my apartment to turn off alarms and retrieve an egg custard pie, along with stopping at Pak Rat to check for my salt-and-pepper shakers (note: currently missing), all in the time it takes to bake a pumpkin pie.
We've harassed Demon (aka Vengeance) because he has consistently tried to either eat the food or get into the dishwasher for some odd reason. "Mommy smells like turkey, doesn't she?" - Bluejay to Demon
She lamented about the fact that the directions for cooking the turkey are in Spanish. Well, ¡Feliz Día del Pavo! to you, too!
We're changed clothes and also run around partially clothed for part of the evening.
Bluejay showed me she has the ability to plan, but didn't use an Almighty Pooh Planner. She used that Calendar feature in that snazzy Outlook.
And we're on time! Go us!
We discussed design decorations, and stated that when I'm unemployed, we'll decorate Bluejay's house, and then she can help me pack.
She has made numerous cracks about the fact that she still has my turkey baster. And subsequently put it in my coat pocket, where I will no doubt forget about it and have interesting questions from my clients. Or the fact that MOMMA sent it to me and made a lewd joke about my sexuality which was AMAZING and HILARIOUS.
Or the fact that while Bluejay was trying to baste the Pavo, she set off the smoke alarm. So I got to wave a towel at the smoke alarm while it beeped angrily. Just like home.
She's so thoughtful.
I called the Floor and figured I might be canceled. And then I made eggs. Then we looked up various YouTube videos, particularly this one, which shows the turkey side of Adam Sandler.
And here is the portion of the obligatory Turkey Day post:
But this is what I'll miss. I'll miss randomly trooping to Whitehall to make turkey. Or the random wrestle fights or straddling of friends. Or calling three different people, along with my coworker Diabloooo to talk about the Stab of Fail. Or spewing verbal diarrhea to Bluejay because I'm halfway between manic and scared. Mania because I'm excited, and scared because I'll be leaving everything I've known for the past seven and a half years for a new and uncharted territory.
Maybe next year, I'll cook a turkey. Or simply just bring more deviled eggs to Bluejay's in the dead of night after driving three hours to sit around a table I helped pick out...
... along with manhandling a turkey and keeping Demon away from the damned dishwasher.
It'll be eating crabs in a newfound restaurant with the two of them for the first time, hoping that many more times will follow.
It'll be long drives with rap music that throws all of us back to the early 90s.
It'll be attempting backwards somersaults on my floor at five in the morning because, uh, it sounded like a good idea.
It's wrestling with a friend because you're both bored and why the hell not. It's forgetting how strong he is, and subsequently frightening him because you snarled because you're frustrated. It's sleeping satisfied. That maybe, the world is as it should be.
It's times like these that I will miss. It's gallivanting across the Valley after someone is stabbed outside of my apartment (And no, I'm not elaborating or exaggerating) to Bluejay's house for the before Turkey Day festivities. So far, I've chopped onions, peeled apples, made a few pies, substituted interesting things for cinnamon, and helped Bluejay manhandle a turkey. We've talked about Shink, and new couples, and my moving to Maryland. I made cornbread and sliced eggs (oh Lord, I need to finish the eggs!) and beaten the hell out of a pumpkin pie.
We've been sitting here all night listening to the Twilight soundtrack and jamming out while harassing unsuspecting ingredients with wire whisks. We've balanced cigarettes and sifted flour and sugar. We're run back to my apartment to turn off alarms and retrieve an egg custard pie, along with stopping at Pak Rat to check for my salt-and-pepper shakers (note: currently missing), all in the time it takes to bake a pumpkin pie.
We've harassed Demon (aka Vengeance) because he has consistently tried to either eat the food or get into the dishwasher for some odd reason. "Mommy smells like turkey, doesn't she?" - Bluejay to Demon
She lamented about the fact that the directions for cooking the turkey are in Spanish. Well, ¡Feliz Día del Pavo! to you, too!
We're changed clothes and also run around partially clothed for part of the evening.
Bluejay showed me she has the ability to plan, but didn't use an Almighty Pooh Planner. She used that Calendar feature in that snazzy Outlook.
And we're on time! Go us!
We discussed design decorations, and stated that when I'm unemployed, we'll decorate Bluejay's house, and then she can help me pack.
She has made numerous cracks about the fact that she still has my turkey baster. And subsequently put it in my coat pocket, where I will no doubt forget about it and have interesting questions from my clients. Or the fact that MOMMA sent it to me and made a lewd joke about my sexuality which was AMAZING and HILARIOUS.
Or the fact that while Bluejay was trying to baste the Pavo, she set off the smoke alarm. So I got to wave a towel at the smoke alarm while it beeped angrily. Just like home.
She's so thoughtful.
I called the Floor and figured I might be canceled. And then I made eggs. Then we looked up various YouTube videos, particularly this one, which shows the turkey side of Adam Sandler.
And here is the portion of the obligatory Turkey Day post:
But this is what I'll miss. I'll miss randomly trooping to Whitehall to make turkey. Or the random wrestle fights or straddling of friends. Or calling three different people, along with my coworker Diabloooo to talk about the Stab of Fail. Or spewing verbal diarrhea to Bluejay because I'm halfway between manic and scared. Mania because I'm excited, and scared because I'll be leaving everything I've known for the past seven and a half years for a new and uncharted territory.
Click to viewMaybe next year, I'll cook a turkey. Or simply just bring more deviled eggs to Bluejay's in the dead of night after driving three hours to sit around a table I helped pick out...
... along with manhandling a turkey and keeping Demon away from the damned dishwasher.