Before we launch into the Thanksgiving photos, I have a nerd question: anyone know why certain blog entries get a shitload of sp@m, and how to make it stop? I know that references to specific pharmaceuticals and gambling encourages it, but I’ve carefully combed over the offending entry and can’t figure out the problem. Help?

Back to Thanksgiving! Where were we? Just arriving at the Casa, it seems.

Dressed for dinner. What is this facial expression, Boy? And speaking of the Boy, I have another question, which I will put into poll form:

I’ve been using “the Boy” to refer to “the Boy” for 6 years now. Is it time for a change?
	Yes! Use his real name! Web anonymity is DEAD!
	No! “the Boy” is perfect! Don’t change it!
	Yes! New name, please! And let ME pick it.
Results

easypollmaker.com – get your free poll

My mother and I had both decided independently that dressing up for Thanksgiving dinner would be nice this year (and why not? we have the same personality!) (and yeah, I plan on perseverating on that for a loooooong time).

I went with the little vintage velveteen number I picked up at “Red Light”.

Crazy about those leggings. Black isn’t the best color to wear at my parents house because of the animal fur, although there’s less now that only two animals are left. My mother put Boo down a couple of weeks ago and told me about it in detail over the phone. Apparently at the end she didn’t fight it, and just gazed for a long time into my mothers eyes.

I think we’ve all decided that we’re over cats now.

“Cat people are just people who haven’t discovered dogs yet,” I told my family, and they nodded their agreement.

“Although,” my dad said, “I know someone who has a really cool cat.”

“And some people can’t handle the responsibility of owning a dog,” added my mother.

Some people don’t like waking up with dog asses on their pillows and dog hair in their coffee? Shocking!

I should curl my hair like that all the time. Too bad I’m so laaazy.

A couple of months ago my brother was really sick–he collapsed at work and was taken to the emergency room and his blood was found to be severely anemic. He lost a great deal of weight and a lot of his hair fell out. He’s doing much better now, and his hair has grown back nicely. The power of vitamins and my mother’s grilled cheese sannies!

My father says he is growing out his luxuriant white beard for “the holidays”. No one questioned his monochromatic tan outfit (just mocked it lightly, as we do).

I taught him the gay meaning for “bear”, and he told me he wished I hadn’t (after his beard received a compliment at Costco and I snickered, “From a guy?”). Then later on we got into a tiny argument about gays, but I’m over it. My parents are deeply conservative and I’m not, they’re not going to change and either am I, but like my mother told me when I was still mad at my father: “We can still love each other even if we don’t agree with each other.” That’s right!

My mother doesn’t really dress up. She did wear a dress at my wedding during the actual ceremony, but immediately changed into pants after we walked down the aisle. She’s almost…phobic with skirts and dresses, total opposite of me.

If only I’d worn my black Converse, we could have been matchy-matchy. Too bad they’re owned by NIKE NOW, UGH CONVERSE WHY?

My father ready at the table, with Maggie close nearby. During meals the animals gather around the table, Bear Cub and Abbie (who is doing well, post-stroke) begging indirectly, while Maggie and Sally stare right into your soul. Labs are like that.

My father proudly announced that he picked out the flower arrangement himself. He’s softening in his old age, alright, just don’t bring up “bears” to him. Good thing I didn’t mention “teabagging”, eh?

11-year-old Sally, rowr rowr rowwwwwrrrrrrrr. We had our usual power struggle for Cutest Blonde Bitch.

Stay tuned for Part 3: Buy Nothing Day! Photos inside the remodel! And discovering the 3-wheeled bike!