All the things you missed by not insisting that I write

November is my favorite month because it has the best holiday ever created: Thanksgiving. It is one of the few holidays that our consumption-driven society has not yet ruined, and this is obviated by the fact that your local stores move immediately from Halloween decorations to Christmas decorations with no real stop in between for all those horns-a-plenty and turkey themed candy dishes. The retail powers that be have not yet figured out a way to cash in on Turkey Day and that means that we still have a holiday that derives its merit simply from gathering all your friends and family together in one spot for a nice, home-cooked meal. As I am fond of saying, any holiday that is centered on food is my favorite holiday!

As is my custom, I flew home for Thanksgiving to glory in my Masshole roots. Anthony (the poor schmuck) decided against the hassle of planning for the furry children and instead drove the whole furry crew from DC to MA. While Thanksgiving is traditionally the worst time of year to attempt long drives and still maintain your sanity, he somehow managed to drive to da' Momma's house in under 8 hours, and then drove back to our house in 7 hours. My self-satisfaction in my ability to plan in advance and mean-spirited joy in looking forward to being able to say, "I told you so," in regards to New England traffic and Thanksgiving were both completely foiled by Anthony's feat. It seems that the traffic gods were on his side this year. I guess that is what happens when you consent to bend to your girlfriend's will only once every three years.

The family was duly excited by Anthony's visit. I'm old hat, but Anthony's last Thanksgiving in Massachusetts occurred in 2004. Apparently, the one introduction barely sufficed to hold them over for the past three years. da' Momma spent the whole week proclaiming that, "Anthony cannot marry my daughter!" And then my Auntie Thomas would pull me aside and tell me, "If you don't marry Anthony, I will." So you now have a slight inkling what my family's intentions are for him. The amazing thing is that he hasn't run off screaming into the wilderness yet.

The month of November also witnessed another one of my favorite yearly traditions: the celebration of my birthday. And like any good six-year-old would, I hosted my very own ice cream party. Oh yes, most of my friends complained bitterly about having to tote a pint of ice cream up that whole flight of stairs, when, my god woman!, that was the space they were planning on devoting to their second case of beer. Pure, unadulterated catastrophe, I tell ya.

Although the purchase of ice cream did not slow down the beer consumption one bit. The whole toasted crew spent the hour between eleven thirty and twelve thirty trying to convince me that we all needed to go out to a bar, when I was perfectly convinced that there was still enough alcohol in the apartment to get them so mindnumbingly
drunk that they would all pass out and it would FINALLY be quiet enough for me to get some homework done. Which, might I add, was the whole reason I opted for the more childish birthday option of celebrating with ice cream instead of dirty Girl Scout shots. These days I am a curmudgeon, but I am a curmudgeon with a 4.0. Nyah.

More seriously though, it was good to see people and listen to Ben tell one unfunny joke after another (Stephanie just would NOT believe that jokes could be that not funny). Thanks to all you crazy kids for helping me ring in another year with stories of moosecock and fungor (sp?). Oh, and Andrew, that Heath bar was AWESOME. It was the best breakfast I've had in ages.

Since I've been back in DC, I have of course been eating ice cream sundaes every night and working maniacally to catch up on the school work I failed to do over Thanksgiving. There are less than two weeks left to the semester and so much cramming to do!