3:10 a.m. - 11/28/03
ohhhhhhh hell
Good lord. Easily the best Thanksgiving EVER. Woke up around ten, ate the hell out of my mom's cheesy, sausaged omlette concoction. Started drinking mimosas with friends, brother, parents and football. For four hours. Experienced mild disapproval for wearing pants with holes, went to a party at my parents' friends' badass house with their only cool friends and schmoozed and drank wine by the fistful and devoured unbelievable cheese/appetizer stuff.
Then, on the way home, I finally experienced the bizarre phenom of smoking pot with my father. Surprisingly, rather than being awkward, it cued us into having a really amazing, non-cheesy, sincere conversation.
I had been spending a lot of the morning looking at pictures of my parents in the late '70s, before I was born. They looked so fucking young. My dad looked sort of similar, but my mom was a knockout.
"Your mom is probably already onto you," my dad said. "She's one of the smartest, most perceptive people you'll ever meet. You know, she likes to smoke too, but she's the most relaxed and moral person at the same time. She's the most amazing woman I've ever met."
And that was pretty amazing. I've never really thought that my parents were all that fond of each other anymore, that their relationship was a facade of sorts. Just for show. But I'm really starting to see that they still love each other, as crazy as it makes them. And it's sort of nice. T-Day was also their anniversary, so you know the source of the tangent.
Anyway, after, we consumed rabid amounts of turkey/potatoes/world class stuffing/etc. to the point of actual immobility. Continued drinking and yammering and laughing with the folks over random trivia questions everyone lost interest in answering accurately.
I am currently riding my second wind and finishing the amazing stuffing. Tomorrow marks a lark of a trip up to Whitefish, hopefully preceeded by sledding near Blacktail. Life is an absolute fucking joy right now.
Walking out onto a deck and staring down at a murky Flathead lake, with Nick and Aaron at my side, rabidly consuming smokes and babbling about the excess of the generously open bar. Oh hell. I am so happy right now I don't give a FUCK what my obsessive crush is doing right now. Not at all...
3 a.m. Post-script
Things I forgot to mention shall now be thrown out in a jumble. Prepare thyselves. I was talking about my parents' ridiculous dog, Dodger as he eats his own shit outside. I was theorizing with my friend Aaron that he had eatten all the puppy shit all his youth, and that was why he was still derranged and (not)sweetly retarded and puppyish.
"The psychotropic hayride that is Dodger," Aaron said, which may be the funniest thing I've fucking heard.
Which reminds me, my underground sensation of a novel is going to be called Psychotropic of Cancer and is going to be way more badass than any lily-livered expat porn that Miller EVER wrote.
My mom also got Hawaiin puka shells for the whole dining crowd. My mom's capacity for peculiar gift-giving continues, as most of us are not fratfags. However, I will consider rocking it now and then once my new image transition is complete. Right now, I'm growing out the reddish brown beard all to hell - people are loving it, and I sort of am too, but gods know what the euro-soujourn will bring about.
I'm thinking of growing my hair out though keeping it messy as now is proving a pretty solid system. Things to come: new piercings. I think I'm going to do the labrie and the the industrial, probably both while trotting around the continent. I'm going to force my brother to get my a sharktooth, in the interest of playing at being a more Californian non-hipster. Oh my stars, I am sounding so image-consumed, by that is my mind right now. Also, tattoos need to start happening: I'm going to get the fleur-de-lis on my shoulder/upper-arm junction, and I was struck by a hilarious idea today. I'm going to get the Indian shooting the star on my forearm. I can think of nothing more intensely appropriate to stain permanently into my flesh. Though I may skip the fleur and save the space...it would be an awfully New Orleans derrived permanence.
My new style thoughts were prompted by the return of my wayward threads, just in from Cali on Tuesday afternoon. The only thing missing is the British flag sweater. I'm really fucking sad about it, but it's the end of an era. I should have retired it when I put the magma-style red hair to rest. Anyway, I'm just scrambling for change, as always. I am making myself fucking MAD because I keep trying to be all the people I want to be at once and it's impossible to do. Luckily, all the coats and back, and I cannot wait to strike poses in Missoula-ed area codes in the coming weeks.
Also, must commence crazy, last-ditch, going-to-Europe diet. This coupled with my propensity toward walking eight hours a day and eatting apples will leave me looking smashingly emaciated for school in the spring. Why can I not stop myself from projecting forward...constantly.
Anyway, if anyone made it through this shitstorm of a ramble, I'll know you truly care.
