Complex Numbers

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving is sneaking up on us this year.

It's early in the month, of course, but still, it doesn't yet feel like it should be Thanksgiving.

We have several friends who don't have families - at least, not nearby - and so will spend next Thursday all alone in the dark. I had the brilliant idea that we could have a small get-together on Friday for these folks (Kirstin does have family nearby, albeit in Lynchburg, which is never my favorite place to visit), complete with turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes and all the other food that's often associated with Thanksgiving.

At first I got the incredulous attitude, like I've never cooked before, let alone a turkey. Then, when I finally managed to remind people that I do cook (I haven't been, because I've been trying and failing to lose weight), I'm still not getting any positive feedback.

I may just say, "Fuck it," even though it's something I really want to do. I'm not some tireless housewife who trudges on thanklessly; I'm a guy with too few talents - one of them just happens to be cooking. And if I'm not appreciated, I'll just as easily spend the day doing one of the only other thing I'm halfway good at: writing. Or drinking. I've gotten much better at that, recently. Better yet, both, and find support for my theory that a BAC of between 0.038 and 0.040 is ideal for writing creatively. Probably better for me to nuke some goddamn diet food anyway.

I shouldn't have made that chili a couple weeks back. It just made me want to cook something else all the more. I learned to cook, by the way, as a form of survival - my mother was a terrible cook, and my dad knew like three recipes, all of which involved rare and disgusting ingredients. Might have been better for me had I not even bothered - since it's not a traditional gender role, I get funny looks about it anyway; and besides, food makes me fat. I should have instead developed a taste for sports so I could sit on my ass in the living room while the womenfolk slaved in the kitchen. And brought me beers.

Not that my wife's not a good cook - she absolutely is. We just don't cook much around here. Cleaning is too much work.

Everything is too much work, anymore. I'd rather sit on my ass, anyway.