Ack! The magazine truck failed to arrive at the bookstore before siesta, so we'll have to try again today. I tell ya, it got pretty ugly yesterday, what with the two of us fighting over The Atlantic Monthly. Which I'm getting close to not liking anymore, Istvan Banyai illustrations or no.

It's also Thanksgiving, and even though my lovely man gave me beautiful holiday sentiments, and my friend Tom sent me a sweet holiday e-mail, I'm still a little sad. Sad that I'm not cooking dinner for everyone, sad I didn't get my shit together to at least make a pumpkin pie, sad that I didn't do something festive at school for the holiday, sad that I'm not at least hearing a football game on TV. Basically, I'm on the pity pot. When Fuzz would get on the pity pot -- a surprisingly frequent occurance for a cat -- I would scoop her up and squeeze her, so I think I'm gonna log off and get me one of those.

Eat some crispy skin for me, everybody!