Last night I had this stupid dream where they passed a law that stated that all graphical representations of family trees had to be divided by political leaning. Then I had a vision of what mine would look like, which I dutifully reproduced at 6:00 this morning when my clanking heating pipe woke me up for the 20th day in a row:
Pitiful, isn't it? It's probably not even accurate -- in fact I know it's not accurate -- but that's what my brain said. Anyway, I haven't been home for Thanksgiving in years. I wonder what term my uncle currently uses to refer to all non-white people. Last time it was "gypsies." (Click here for an account of my last Thanksgiving at home.)
It's Nobody Will Shut The Fuck Up Day at work again, so concentrating on anything more complex than my shitty blog is impossible. It's not helping me crack this funk I've been in for about 18 hours now. Last night I fell into this horribly down mood for no reason and then I made Wine Store Guy come over so I could ruin his life with it, and he probably thinks he is dating the manic-depressive dude now. Anyway he's not. Promise.
I fly out in a few hours, so I will be sure to tell you if I get my junk all rearranged by a TSA agent. I really hope I don't get picked because my friends from home can't wait to see my plastic dick cannon. It holds 4 ounces of poison shampoo that only works on fat, white people and has a button that recites passages from the Koran to brainwash your babies. Anyway if they feel it I'll say "Sorry, you just have nice hands. Should've sent the girl agent." I'm a total maverick.
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