Dear MFD,

Me, I like food porn, that’s who. Fangsgiving was a damn success. There was one little hitch, though. I put the turkey in at exactly the right time and it was a little tight in the oven. The door was the teensiest bit ajar, and since I bought an aluminum turkey pan I knew I could get the door shut anyhow. There is a lock for the oven door that I assumed it was for keeping reckless toddlers (who should be out of the gene pool anyway) out of the proceedings. And…no. The lock is only for the automatic cleaning part of the oven, so as soon as you lock it, the oven SHUTS OFF. What the fuck is up with that? (Rhetorical question, don’t email me with diagrams attached. Again. I like being stupid; it gives me something to write about.)

But I digress. So the turkey “idled” for an hour, which I declared the crucial “standing time.” Take that, Martha. I can make up useless steps, too. Speaking of Martha and gratuitousness, I used her cheesecloth method this year. It really does produce a moist bird that’s a stunning mahogany color. I was a little concerned, too, because I got one of those gotdamn free-ranged, bathed in milk, rocked-to-sleep-wearing-a-custom-Juicy-Couture-jumpsuit that says “Future Mrs. Dinner” on the butt. So I knew it wasn’t going to be all pumped full of extra fluids with a button on it.

A friend made her turkey in a bag, which required no basting, and it had a button so she knew when it was ready. I am going with that method next year, because then I will be able to start drinking sooner.

But the turkey was beautiful, I tells ya. I can tell things were okay because my mom complained only a little, about the dearth of organ meats. What can I say? I don’t enjoy rubbery bits that used to process bodily wastes in my gravy. My mom will thank me when she doesn’t develop the gout. Or maybe she’s looking for a way to get some time off work and I interfered with her master plan. “Can’t come in today, my kid gave me the gout.”

There were loads of nice drinks, including white Russians, one of my favorites, and my homemade eggnog. My mom brought wine and I made cranberry spritzers with cranberries floating it them. When we were done feasting, we watched Legally Blonde, because Thanksgiving is a totally a good day for camp.

Daniel brought stuffing, which was amazing, and as a reward I made him have Frida Kahlo hair with my leftover Halloween braid. It’s his fault for coming to my house with six braids–I couldn’t resist. Motherfucker thinks he’s Coolio or something.

For the pregame show we made hand turkeys for the sliding glass door, and Frannie made lovely napkin rings that everyone enjoyed, though there was some squabbling over the pineapple one (average age of guests: 30).

The next day we went to the opening night of The Nutcracker. There were women in designer gowns, and men in tuxedos. And, this being the PNW, there were also bozos in jeans. Since we don’t own couture or tuxedos, we went the middle road and dressed up the best we could. Frannie was thrilled to have a chance to wear her picture dress again, which only had a little gravy on it from the day before.

And that was the weekend, really. Holidays get better all the time. Unlike when I was married, when I had to spend time with unpleasant people who could care less about what I wanted to do, or would ask me and disregard my opinions. No one argued, no one cried, and everyone liked the cheese. YEAH! WYLD STALLIONS RULE!