For the fifth Thanksgiving in a row, I've managed to be too drunk to appreciate my dinner.
Indeed, since I moved to Los Angeles and began celebrating with my friends instead of my family, this holiday's become more about the morning-to-afternoon-to-evening drinking. Bloody marys and mimosas in the morning. Beer and wine in the afternoon. And then by the evening someone gets the terrible idea to break open the whiskey and have a few shots.
This year about 25 of us gathered at the house my friend Ryan is house sitting (don't worry, the owners of the property are aware of, and in fact encourage, our parties there). The weather was great and I spent the day sipping wine, snacking on things, and being cute and sweet to Devin (much to his surprise).
Occasionally I wandered into the kitchen, where two of my friends had been cooking tirelessly. I felt bad about it and offered to help, and usually they'd request I go outside to fetch them more drinks. As it got closer to dinner time (which could have been 3 or 5:40 or 9:15...I have no clue), I made the big dish of sweet potatoes. This and dinner rolls were my assigned foods. Things went well until I had to take the pan out of the oven, at which point the thin, disposable metal pan sort of buckled in the middle and a wave of sweet potato juice rushed over the side, spread over the open oven door, and then fell onto the floor and my feet. I shrieked and then stood there uselessly until someone rushed to my aid. To my surprise, my feet weren't burnt, just sticky. It only took a minute to clean up, but I think the hassle I caused was enough to keep me out of the kitchen for the rest of the day.
All in all it was a great party and I loved spending time with all of my friends. Here are a few pictures, courtesy of Barry, our resident photographer.
This is Barry:
Yes, the party had it all!
Construction paper feather headdresses.
Seamus! (Who refused to wear the headdress, but looked handsome nevertheless.)
And after dinner hot tub action!