So I'm freaking out.
You wanna know why?
I'm cooking Thanksgiving dinner for TWELVE people. TWELVE. A full dozen.
And not only am I cooking Thanksgiving dinner for more than twice as many people as I've ever cooked for at one time, I'm not doing it in my kitchen. Where, you might ask, am I taking on this colossal task? In a farmhouse well outside of town. Which raises two questions:
1: Why was this decision come to basically without my input???
and 2: HOW THE HELL AM I GOING TO GET THE FOOD OVER THERE???????
Yep, I'm officially FREAKING OUT.
I explained all this to my little brother, who paused for a moment, lost in thought. Before I could make a suggestion on what to say, (that being something along the lines of a Benderesque, "Yup, you're boned,") he begins with his statement:
"Here's a little song I wrote, you might want to sing it note for note. Don't worry. Be happy..."
Last five
Farewell! at 3:57 pm, Jul. 01, 2005
urf. at 10:33 am, May. 03, 2005
Trainwreck lady. at 10:16 am, May. 03, 2005
gvf hbb jnghvbh jlkm jhfgcc at 9:42 am, May. 03, 2005
My Dland is my dream journal now. at 8:43 am, Mar. 25, 2005