Gravy Ray won’t be making Thanksgiving dinner this year because he is coming out of a Leaving Las Vegas style drunken binge. The Tenderloin will keep him in its arms this year. Oh well, more gravy for me, I guess.

Rex has been in a board and care for two months because of his hip surgery and no, Rex is not a dog. He can’t feel his foot now because of a blood clot. Rex is loud and loves bourbon. He wont be ruffling my hair this Thanksgiving and I won’t be asking him if he needs another one.

Avery just found out she has cancer, but she feels fine. They’ve stabbed her from the front and twice in the back trying to take samples of part of her insides. They need to see what type of cancer she has. Every cancer needs a name, that way you can suck your breath in, shake your head and say, “Ohh….that’s a bad one,” if such is the case.

The table will be easier to sit at with three less people. It’s always so hard to squish in each year. I guess I should start realizing these people I’ve known since I was a child will be dying eventually. That way, when their seats are permanently empty on Thanksgiving, it won’t feel like such a surprise.