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Thursday, December 9, 2010

When it's time to look for a nursing home

I was on the phone with my mother the other day when she locked herself out of the house. Our conversation went something like this.

"Honey, I need you to call your dad and tell him I'm locked out. He can't hear me knocking."

"Mom, why don't you call him?"

"I can't, he's on his cell."

"Why don't you call him on his cell?"

"I don't have a phone."


"Mom, you are on the phone with me. I will hang up with you and you can call him."

"I CAN'T call him, he's on his cell phone."

"Mom, if I hang up with you, then you can call him on his cell."


One of these days I'm going to go home and find my dad stuck on the roof and my mom locked in the garage. I know it. I'm beginning to think my grandmother is the sanest person living in that house.

Unfortunately, she won't hear either one of them calling for help.

One of my least favorite things


Piles of snow on my table.

And my BBQ.

And my car.

Snow deeper than my chihuahua. Okay, deeper than my chihuahua's hanger-downer, which means he doesn't want to go outside to potty. And really, can you blame him? No man would enjoy that. I tried to put him outside and he gave me the stink eye. I actually had to shovel a square for him to do his business in.

How long til spring?!

A Thanksgiving Feast

I love Thanksgiving.

On what other occasion do you actually starve yourself all day and then intentionally wear your stretchiest pants so you can spend the evening wallowing in gluttony?

Best Holiday Ever!

Here's our bird before its encounter with the oven.

Here's Ramona cheating before dinner.

This is an extremely unflattering picture taken of me after dinner by a 9 year old. (I was dared to post this picture. I swear I don't leave my house looking like this. Usually.)

And since Ramona made me post that picture, I would like to post this one of her enjoying sparkling apple cider directly from the bottle.

We are such ladies.

And once again I bring you Anthony, 30 seconds before waking up and demanding pie.

Happy Thanksgiving! May your bird be moist, your stuffing savory, and your pies calorie-free!

Sunday Gravy

Italians are weird.

I make spaghetti like a normal person - tomato sauce, tomato paste, diced tomato, Italian seasonings, garlic, sugar, ground beef and black olives. You know, normal.

Anthony, on the other hand, makes a standard tomato sauce, and then adds every animal he can find at the butcher shop.

Sausages, meatballs, ribs, pork - you name it. Cook 'em up.

Then add it to the sauce.

Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble.

And indigestion. Don't forget the indigestion.

But it is tasty. Anthony makes FABULOUS meatballs.

Mangia! Mangia!