Hey, You Want To Go To Mickey’s Diner?

At about eleven PM each night I get a phone call from Cake Woman. I will admit that on Friday I was at Grumpy’s partly because I wanted to be not available for once, but of course I took her call, and when Stan and I finished our beers I went home and called her back. Tonight was her Friday night, so she was eager to get out and… have breakfast? I don’t have to be at work until eleven, so I figured having a late dinner of eggs and pancakes would be a reasonable activity for a Sunday night — certainly more appropriate than the previous Sunday where Cake Woman took me out and poured booze into me until she threw up.

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Gobble gobble



Actually, the after picture is from after browning the skin at 500, but before the hours in the oven becoming moist and delicious. I learned a lesson, though: make the roux first so you can refrigerate it until it is time to make the gravy. That’s right, I said roux. Really, this was a genius Thanksgiving dinner. Six people finished four bottles of wine, not counting me because I only had half a glass before someone bussed it while I was uploading my mom’s Mexico photos.

By the way, I had Stan take me to Grumpy’s Friday night, and then came home and drank some more while making an ill-advised phone call that lasted a couple of hours. It was a mess. The things that I had promised my friends that I would say before going out were said and then slowly and painfully retracted, point by point. Afterwards, I called Melody for advice and consolation, and was thankful that the two hour time difference made the phone call not be at the butt crack of dawn for her. She returned the favor by drunk dialing me from the Rasputina concert.

More people should drunk dial me. I still have a karmic debt from New York City, and my phone actually works now.

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As a sophomore, I had to wait until December 2nd to register for classes. I went to sign up for my “all Sturtivant, all the time” semester (because I am losing my ability to tolerate other professors and I am sick of math in every mathematical form). Also, photography.

Name: Mullan, Jesse
Hold Type: College Adviser Approval
Description: Before registering, you must have an appointment with your academic adviser.
Effective Date: 01/10/2005
First Effective Term: Spring 2006

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I Got a Turkey In the Oven

You know, everything that I say ends up sounding like scatalogical euphamisms. We are having a make up Thanksgiving today. I accidentally picked a 20 pound turkey. Whoa. This thing is a freak of nature.

Are they supposed to have two necks?

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I just bought a ticket from http://www.indietickets.com/ to Doomtree’s show at the Varsity on the 10th. Paul bought two. Go, buy your own ticket! Do it! Be there for awesome!

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Good Morning!

I’ve said it before:

I am not a morning person.

When I mention that I have difficulty waking up in the morning, this sort of exchange happens:
“Can you set two alarms?”
“I have two alarms, plus my computer plays music, and I have a light on a timer.”
“Oh, well, yes, I guess you have that fairly well covered. Are they loud enough?”
“One of my alarm clocks is designed for deaf and hard of hearing persons — it has a vibrating attachment that slides under my pillow.”
“Well. Um, can you have someone call you in the morning?”
“Are you volunteering?”
“No, well, uh…”

Jerks. In the past a lot of the time I just couldn’t sleep at night. Now I’m down to one cup of coffee in the morning and no caffiene any other time (except for chocolate, which is my real weakness of late, but still I don’t indulge in more than half a bag of Reese’s Mini Peanut Butter Cups at a time). So, when I don’t have last-minute homework I can usually fall asleep by midnight. Okay, two. Three? I have no idea any more, because tonight I did have last minute homework.

Well, I’m going to sleep. I left a note for Lisa to call in the nine thirty AM region of time. That’s right after the nine AM region of time.

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Winter Wonderland

I don’t know what I was afraid of, riding in falling snow is amazing — except for the parts where I almost wiped out on the crunchy snow bricks left behind by snow plows. Some dudes hung out of their door and yelled at me, but otherwise there was just the hush of my tires on fresh snow. When I stood up I could spin my rear tire for sweet smoky burnout action.

I told Cake Woman that I had ridden my bike and she called me retarded.

I’ve been trying to roll my weekend into a hilarious story, but mostly it just comes out weird and confusing. It makes me look like a dumbass, and not just for getting drunk. Oh well.

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I read a few biking blogs, mostly for inspiration, but I haven’t seen a surge in commentary on how much fun it is to ride in the snow. Maybe I’m just weird. I’m so glad that I finally broke my week long sabbatical from riding my bike. However, all of my girl parts are cold.

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New Shoes

I gave up on that paper for the night, then took the slicks off of my bike and put the semi-knobbies on. Apparently I have no concept of time, since as I finished putting the unbent front fender back on my bike I found myself sitting and staring at it. So. Yeah. It’s almost 5am. At least I made some money tonight. Don’t ask.

I am seriously going to bike to work tomorrow. I mean it.

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Melody drew robots for me!

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Sometimes I ask Melody heads or tails because I am too lazy to make up my mind or even find a coin.

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So far, none of her recommendations have led me astray.

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