Kitchen Unicorn

Thanksgiving was great. This post is not. It only a little bit inappropriate but not really.

So we stopped in Michigan to pick up the mother-in-law and pushed on to Pittsburgh.

We left Blue at home but we took Chiquita because Roy’s dog is a total dick and Chick is so little that I can keep his tiny squirrel feet from touching the ground, thus keeping him safe.


Baby carrier

It was a good call because Bitey attacked Maggie and Pablo’s puppy and left her with a pretty nasty gash on her nose.

She probably had it coming because who wouldn’t want to bite this face?


Totally provoked

Because I am stupid about my big dog, I was all over the dog sitter. I like lots of communication about how he’s doing. I updated her on the dog situation.

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Thanksgiving day came around and first and foremost, I didn’t have cook in my own kitchen which in and of itself makes the 26 hour worth it. Why?


For one, my sister-in-law Vivian (her real name, crazy right?) actually notices and appreciates my help unlike some people I know.


The two Vivian/Vivienne’s beating up on Perry. Doctor! Lawyer! Engineer! Study harder!

And B, guest starring in someone else’s kitchen is like babysitting someone else’s kid. I can swoop in with boundless amounts of energy, leave the kitchen perfect with a hot and perfectly timed meal on the table, and be a hero.


Swooping in to adore his new niece, and hand her back.

Then I get to leave and not deal with the inevitable fact that the kitchen will get messy again and more meals must be cooked. AKA: Real Life.

It’s this perfect moment in time, like a dry and sleeping baby delivered into the arms of a refreshed and grateful mother. Never mind that baby will crap his diaper at 3am.

Not my problem.

Or it could be like being a Unicorn. I get to play with new tools and sample new dishes without having to deal with the marital disaster I leave in my wake.

Not that I would know.

I like that better. I’m a Kitchen Unicorn. That’s way sexier than my babysitter metaphor.


Who else would make a turkey with a six-pack?


Cooking turkeys breast down makes them juicier. And gives them 6-packs.

I warmed up for Thanksgiving with some empty belly inversions.


I actually do handstands without my adorable trainer holding me up. It isn’t as much fun because I have to worry about falling over.

While Vivian and I cooked, a political debate raged. Or maybe it was a race debate. Either way I think I was a little overly gleeful about it because after I took all these pictures of them fighting, they kind of clammed up.

Let me just say that Pablo is my hero.


That’s drag because I was just starting to enjoy myself. I loves me a heated debate that I don’t have to actually participate in. Any attempt to argue with Roy usually ends in hot, impotent tears of rage.

Here’s some pictures.

The evening went well and the food was delicious. My only bone of contention is this,

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The next day we went out for brunch because we were all malnourished and hungry. But I got to take some nice photos of this handsome guy.

Then we went to the Andy Warhol museum, which I thoroughly enjoyed. After being faced with the daunting task of the Musée d’Orsay (not even a big museum in Paris) Warhol felt entirely do-able.

The only remotely inappropriate thing I did was comment that the local dog grooming shop named The Golden Bone sounded more like an award at a porn convention.

“And the winner of this year’s Golden Bone for outstanding male performance goes to … Jack Hammer!”

Grandma didn’t appreciate that joke.

Tomorrow we drive.

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