"Time for pie?!?"

Oh the holidays...how I loathe thee. Family functions always freak me out. Between dodging my great grandmother's insistant "why don't you have a boyfriend?" questions and vaguely answering the "what are you going to do when you graduate in six months?" question, there is little time for me to loaf about as a generally like to do. And staying with my retired grandparents severely limits my ability to be a "wild child"; ie. no drinking or sex. Balls.

Despite the many drawbacks to coming home for the holidays, I do get to hang out with the ever fabulous Liz. As an unemployed Chicago resident, Liz is always able to make me feel better about my own life. The only work she's done in the last four months is at shitty temp agencies. At least she's not a bartender at Applebees--the tragic fate that has apparently befallen another high school acquaintence. Besides, if she had a real job, I wouldn't get to steal quality lines like "I was a prostitute for Quill Office Supplies". Crack with your turkey is nice and all, but nothing says marketing quite like pussy with ink jet refills and ballpoint pens.

As a grand ol' fuck you to the boy who said I was completely uninterested in love, I have a crush on a boy...and it's not him. That'll teach him to tell a chick with PMS what she is and is not interested in. I know I suck at being spiteful.

And now, a quote from the Three Huskateers favorite show.

"I'm not an Indian! My love of gambling and drinking and my knack for catching syphillis is just a coincidence!"

Happy Thanksgiving.