So, Thanksgiving wasn’t terribly horrid. Kind of boring – how much fun can it be to hang out with a bunch of people you don’t know, after all? – but not actually painful.

Except for my butt, which hurt from sitting on a cement step and watching Fred and a bunch of old guys toss the football around.

Fred’s sister’s husband’s family (got that?) was there – his parents, and sister and her family – and they made up the majority of the attendants. They were all very nice, though.

Fred’s mother was funny as hell. We were sitting about eating, and she said that she’d never had devilled eggs with sugar in them. Becky (Fred’s sister) gave her a look and said "What? There’s not sugar in them!", and Fred’s mom said "Oh, I guess it must be from the sweet dickle relish." Man, did her face get red when Fred and Becky started laughing. She also told a story about how she’d bought a new pair of jeans and some part of it was sticking up funny or something (I was eating and didn’t catch every detail, all right?) and so she cut part of something off, and there was all this white powdery stuff, and she immediately thought to herself "There’s anthrax in my pants!"

Let me tell y’all something. The phrase "anthrax in my pants" is FUCKING FUNNY when it’s spoken by a sixty-three year old woman.

It would also be a good code phrase. If any of you ever see me in public, just walk up to me and say "I have anthrax in my pants!"


I didn’t bring the camera with me, but Fred’s sister’s husband (let’s call him Ron) has a digital camera and spent a good part of the afternoon taking pictures of everyone and printing them out. The one of Fred, the spud and I came out so well that I had Fred call and ask him to email me a copy, but he must have deleted it or something, because I haven’t gotten it yet. I scanned what we had, and the scan didn’t come out that great, but considering it’s a scan of a printed-out picture, it’s not bad.

Note that I’m wearing my blue sweater. I love that sweater, and I’ll hate it when it’s too big to wear.

Fred dressed up.

That fakey smile on my face means "Take the fucking picture and get it over with, damnit!"

Thrilled to see the camera, as usual.

And hell, while I’m sharing pictures, there’s always:

The cats basking in front of the fireplace.

Miz Poo warms her ass on the dvd player, while we watch The Grinch.

Saturday afternoon, a large part of Alabama got hit with bad weather and tornadoes. This is what the sky looked like late afternoon (click on the picture to see the full-size version). It was awesome and scary.

Cute spud story alert: While at home bored the day before Thanksgiving, the spud decided to write a letter to my parents, and gave it to me to send for her. I glanced down at it as I was folding it to put in the envelope, and caught this:

Fred is making sweet potato cassarole and coconut cake to bring for Thanksgiving. Fred’s coconut cake is superbe.

Superbe! Hee!

Okay, quick Thanksgiving coverage, a buttload of pictures, cute spud story. I think that covers it!