We had a pretty hectic week, followed by a very sedate weekend. I leisurely continued my quest to catch up on every little thing that has been lingering around the house for the last two years, while Esteban killed a bunch of things on World of Warcraft. Or so I would assume. Maybe he was watching porn?
On Saturday, I accidentally made Thanksgiving dinner. Honestly, I just intended to cook a turkey breast that was in the frig and wouldn’t make it until Thanksgiving proper, but then on Saturday morning while waiting for Esteban to wake up, I started watching Tyler Florence and he did this whole sage butter infused turkey thing and holy crap, it looked good and reminded me of a sage leaf turkey roll up saltimbocca thing I made once, so I planned to give that a try. And then, because I always underestimate the amount of time it takes to cook turkeys or even breasts of turkeys, while I was putzing around, I decided that I was hungry for mashed potatoes and gravy, so I ran out to the store, where everything was Thanksgiving-ified and whuppah, accidental Thanksgiving dinner. It was yummy though. Sage butter. So much easier than whole sage leaves. Who knew? (Try it.I didn’t actually follow Tyler’s recipe. I just melted a stick of butter in the microwave, mixed it with an eyeballed tablespoon of rubbed sage, then poured it under the skin of the turkey, which I had shoved my gloved hand under to separate from the muscle, god that sounds gruesome.)
I didn’t make a pumpkin pie on Saturday, though, because honestly, I needed to have something left to make on Thanksgiving proper. I made a cherry pie instead.
Earlier this week, on one of the nights when I worked late, Esteban made his incredible chicken and also the man made cheese biscuits. From scratch. Maybe I was feeling my role as the family cook was being threatened, because seriously, he’s on chicken duty from now on because it was absolutely incredible. As with scrambled eggs and spaghetti sauce, I am fully willing to bow to the master. We’ve come a long way from the time that he figured that mixing Kitchen Bouquet and soy sauce would make gravy. Thank you, Food Network.
(Note to self: review above paragraphs in January when complaining about mysterious ass enlargement)
As much as I love to shop, I really try to avoid the stores during this time of year. Hate stupid crowds. Oh the hate. I probably wouldn’t hate them as much if everyone didn’t lose their sensibility when they get into crowded places. Stand in the middle of the thoroughfare talking in groups of five or six? You go right ahead and catch up on old times. Don’t mind the fact that you’ve caused a bottleneck for the hundreds of people trying to get past you. Malls need to employ some herd dogs to bark at the heels of the stubborn and the misguided. Get along, you! Maybe even a few ranch hands on horseback. Also, I might be coaxed out to the mall again by the idea of people stepping around horse piles to get an Orange Julius.
I plan to do my gift purchasing via the internet again this year. It cuts on a lot of the pre-holiday anxiety that I get and it was a life saver last year. Plus, with the realization that I can earn frequent flier miles by shopping through the American portal, fuck that noise. I’ll stay home. Maybe I’ll even put up the tree this year.
However, Amazon’s demographic tracking is starting to really freak me out. I don’t trust you, Amazon. You know too much about me. Thankfully, during Christmas, it’s the one time when I throw everything Amazon believes into a tizzy. It’s taken eleven months before it figured out that I don’t have the reading appetite of a 16-year-old boy and has started throwing Martha Stewart books, Le Crueset cookware and bento boxes at me again. Nice recovery, but what’s this? I need to buy Eragon for my brother. Nice try, Amazon, thanks for playing.
Really, I think the thing that offends me the most about Amazon’s profiling is that it suggests things that I have no interest in. Gilmore Girls? Just because I enjoy The OC doesn’t make me a Gilmore Girl enthusiast, although according to my demographic, I should be worried constantly about Lorelai’s fashion choices or something. Meh. I think I have unnecessary baggage about single moms who dress too hoopty. Also, what’s with the Josh Groban suggestions? I’m somewhat appalled. If you only could see my iTunes, Amazon Dot Com, you’d know that Josh Groban would get his pretty boy ass kicked if I put him in there. I mean, Death Cab for Cutie may sound like a bunch of pansy ass white boys, but you know those hipsters will cut a poser just to watch him die.
I have to get accustomed to updating regularly again, so I’ve signed up for Holidailies this year. Because I was just complaining about how I go insane during the holidays and felt the need to have another self-imposed commitment. Dr. Phil that!
Speaking of which, there are a few spots left on the Holiday Card exchange. The prospect of sending out 40 seasonal cards is such a little thing to do and you get a huge payout: 40 wonderful cards coming to you from all over the place, spread out all month long!
Also, to clarify: while I call it the ‘holiday card exchange’, it doesn’t mean that you have to be nondenominational. Send out your Christmas cards, your Kwanzaa cards, your solstice cards, your politically correct Season’s Greetings, whatever you want. (And now’s the part of the Holiday Card Exchange where we have a group sing of ‘We Are The World’. I call the Cyndi Lauper ‘Well well well welluh’ section.)
Also, in case you missed it, there was a big announcement over the weekend. Well, a big one for us at Casa Weetabix. (No, not that. Sorry June!)
This entry is brought to you by the fact that my bangs are too long and it is pissing me right the hell off. The end.
