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gee thanks
11/28/2005 = 05:04 PM

My darling husband (tribal name Breaks Squaw's Stuff) has managed to convert our DSL modem to a piece of black plastic with four green LEDs that signify precisely nothing at all. I'm thinking of Scotch-taping some tinsel to it and calling it a tree, 'cos it's not serving any other purpose right now.

He didn't schedule said conversion to coincide with The Long Weekend of No Tech Support. It only feels like he did.

I won't front — I am annoyed — but this is by no means a crisis. Even if the DSL issue is not resolved this evening (and I believe it will), life's necessities are covered and I'm doing well in spite of myself.

If you are ever given an opportunity to buy a deep-fried turkey from a caterer or restaurant, as opposed to roasting a turkey in your oven — take it and run like the wind.

I do know how to roast a turkey, I just really didn't feel like it this year. I'll own my Lazy Biznatchosity.

But that wasn't the only reason I opted out of the raw frozen Bird from Hell. I've been hearing people wax poetic about the raptures of deep-fried turkey and I was dying of curiosity. I figured, if it sucked that badly, we could throw it out, grill a couple of steaks, and eat all the sides, which I did prepare from scratch, in case you are Judging Me.

The deep-fried turkey I got reheated nicely (I carved it first and arranged it as evenly as possible over a roasting panful of bread and sage stuffing) and retained all of its juiciness — not once, not twice, but three full times.

It was so damned good we've actually already eaten all of the leftovers (except for the last bit of carcass, which I made into stock yesterday and froze).

I'm already thinking of getting another one for Cristkwaanzukahstistivus dinner, which I don't even do at our house. I was raised Jewish. Dinner on December 25th is usually spent at the Chinese restaurant, after a trip to the movie theater. But damn, that turkey was good.

Jessica Simpson and Nick Lachey have officially separated after three years of speculation marriage.

Their joint statement was worded such that it seemed to be saying that they've been carefully considering separation for the entire past three years, but that's neither here nor there. I'll leave that to everyone else who's already blogging this news with the glee that only comes from misfortune befalling someone who has more money, fame, and power than yourself.

However, I can't resist completely. 'Cos I'm a bitch like that.

I would like to see Nick Lachey date Lisa Loeb on her new show, #1 Single, just because having surrealities collide like that would be really awesome. Like doing Nyquil shots whilst riding the subway. After a while, you're like, oh-kay, this is too fucking weird, but I'm so zooged out it doesn't matter.

drinking: red maxx energy beverage fizzy-lifting drink
listening to: Tchaikovsky, Dance of the Sugar Plum Faery
could go for: a brownie