I'm making sausage apple stuffing, in the oven, to bring to my mom's house tomorrow, where we will enjoy a Thanksgiving dinner much quieter than the one I had last week at Josh's family's friend's house.
There, Josh beat me at Taboo and I got hella pissed when he gloated. His ninety-something year old grandma told me about how she recently misunderstood her new granddaughter-in-law, and was under the impression that she spent five grand on a new picture frame. My name was mistaken twice, first Ingrid then Amy. I had the most delicious sweet potatoes ever, plus there was a twelve layer cake.
New York is a strange place. It's somehow both the greatest and worst place ever. I'm glad to know that in such a stress and anxiety ridden place there can still be kindness. Josh and I were sort of yelled at twice for walking, but then neither of us had exact change for the bus, but the driver let us on anyway. The food was excellent, but everywhere we went I felt underdressed. Even in the Peruvian place. Williamsburg seems like a very surreal place, with a lot of cool shit, but I'd rather relish in the quest of finding cool shit than have it handed to me on an expensive platter.
I'm thankful that New York exists, and is not too far away. I'm also thankful for being able to live in Portland and feel like I'm part of a community.
