I know, I know, I just keep posting about the birds. One day I will stop taking blurry pictures and posting OMG BIRDS posts, but that day is not today.

I’ve never seen so many in flight at once, it was actually really beautiful, and although it’s totally cliched to say it’s like the sky was full of grace, I just said it anyway.

On Friday, I had another Friend Thanksgiving meal, hosted by the delightful Emily and her husband Tom; in attendance were Tonya, Anne & Jim, Boolia & Jason, Shannon, Chantal & her daughter Sophie, and I dragged Tristan along into the den of the harpies. I believe it was Boolia who cracked, “I love it when the guys meet one another–they give each other a look like ‘Oh, you’re a survivor, too.'”

We all ate entirely too much, given that Emily & co had prepared a staggering amount of food, which tested the limits of what a countertop could possibly hold, told stories, and laughed. After dinner, I learned that homes in finer neighborhoods come complete with ‘murder holes’ underneath for storage of bodies and extra tables and whatever all else you might need to hide in a jiffy. The contractors even left a chilling message written on the walls of the murder hole in case anyone was uncertain of their purpose:

Since murdering is a solitary business and four of us went down there which means alltogether too many witnesses, all of us made it back upstairs alive and proceeded to watch Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, John Hughes’ tribute to everything annoying about travel and other people in the days before the cell phone–my grandfather loved this movie and often laughed himself to tears watching it.

After the movie, we drank MORE wine, and played a full round of Apples to Apples before giving up on it entirely–eleven people might be too many, especially when there’s booze involved and attention spans are short to begin with, plus there’s pie yet to be had.

Then, because I wouldn’t recognize a holiday unless someone was crying, I ended up bursting into tears when I realized that my wonderful friends are the family I’ve made for myself, and while we might CALL it Friends Thanksgiving, I’m really calling it Family Thanksgiving as I had so many of the people who have made my life special around and none of the people who make me feel badly about myself. I can’t believe I just met most of these girls this year–it feels like I’ve known them forever.

And then when I finished being the world’s biggest baby, I wore Emily’s weirdo S&M cat like a stole.

On Saturday night, a group of girls gathered to eat chicken and watch porn, as we do when we’re not having naked pillowfights or brushing one another’s hair. It would have been just chicken and porn, as with the car bullshit, I didn’t get an opportunity to go out and pick up pinata supplies* or a cake, but Emily totally saved my ass with a visit to the erotic bakery. I knew it was going to be epic when she texted me, “Dude. Have your camera ready, you are not going to believe the cake.”

She was right.

Holy shit.

This was a same day special order cake. Emily had called earlier in the day to find out what the deal was with their cakes, if they were all made-to-order or if they had them premade, and supposedly they fly out the door fast enough that they keep a regular stock on hand. She went to check them out, and the more she thought about it, the less she was comfortable with a giant dong cake on a night that was supposed to be about ladies and their pleasure. She then saw a cake which from a distance appeared to be covered in pretty flowers but of course, on closer inspection, turned out to be a bunch of teeny tiny vajayjays. Georgia O’Keefe, we are onto you. She didn’t see anything that was quite right, and explained to the baker that we needed a cake for a group of girls who would not be embarrassed or shocked by anything, and a couple of hours later, this is the miracle we were presented with.

Emily and her husband also had a splendid time picking out pinata stuffins, and we ended up having to cut a much larger slit in the pinata to accommodate the wind-up masturbating doll, the double-dong wine-opener, and handfuls of other fun things; we then used Mardi’s sexy vinyl tie-up tape to keep said stuffins from falling out.

First, I subjected everyone to my ‘sexy party’ playlist, which was full of songs from the porno musical and winners from The Frogs like “Grandma sitting in the corner with a penis in her hand going no, no, no, no, no.” When we got around to starting the porn, I subjected everyone to Cap’n Mongo’s Porno Playhouse, a dvd acquired on ‘Family Porn Night’**. This particular porn hits pretty much every single one of my entertainment buttons, and it’s something I subject others to often–with its pirates, midgets, clowns, horrendous fake titties, and seriously twisted sense of humor, I’m not certain that it was ever actually intended to be sexy, especially considering they cut between positions with leering clown faces and big fat pirates strolling across the screen.

Yes. That IS someone being eaten out on my tv.

Some of the ladies objected strenuously to clown porn, so we eventually switched to Space Nuts which is a parody of a parody and also quite entertaining.

When Mardi dragged out her Suitcase Of Broken Dreams, we discovered that Napoleon, who tends to believe that anything brought into the apartment belongs to him, ALSO applies this belief to dildos. He is nothing if not consistent; however, the following pictures might ALSO explain the lack of dudes willing to step foot in my place.

Ladies and gentlemen, the Screwnicorn is not a myth!

After Mardi finished presenting her wares, it was time for me to don the strap-on for a rousing round of ‘strap-on ring toss’. I picked up a bunch of penis-shaped bath bombs from Bliss to give as prizes, a local gay-owned shop run by the sweetest guys EVER–Phil ended up giving me everything dong-shaped in my basket for free as he felt that “No one should have to pay for penis.”

You know, it was amazing how powerful I felt with a great big dong strapped to my hips, and it didn’t hurt that I’d maybe also had a little to drink. A little. Which may well explain why when a garter was successfully tossed onto it, I felt the need to try and hula-hoop the garter around the strap-on. Maybe.

I also discovered that the dick looks much bigger when you’re wearing it than it does from the side, which explains why so many guys walk around like they’re carrying a club for killing baby seals in between their legs. It’s an optical illusion, dudes. Trust.

A photo may exist of me somewhere, wearing the strap on, while a fine, fine lady gives me a reach-around. I’m not encouraging this picture to be posted, and I might not even post it if I had it, but I felt it was important for people to know it exists so that everyone knows my chances of a political career are over.

When I hung the pinata from the hook that was already in my ceiling when I moved in, I expected said hook to be a bit more firmly anchored; the pinata stayed up for all of thirty seconds before pulling the hook out. We ended up hanging the pinata off the end of a fireplace poker and having ladies take their cracks at it with the anal beads that way. Mardi told me that the last time she had done this, it took the girls FOREVER to break open the pinata. Either my girlfriends are all terrifyingly angry or possess the brute strength of gorillas, as it didn’t take us very long at all to crack this thing wide open.

Hey, I was a little champagne-y, and decided wearing the busted-up pinata was a good idea. Don’t judge me.

All of the laughing and the porn and the wine tends to wipe a fine, fine lady out, and the love sac lulled more than one to sleep. Carrie and I finished out the night, both exhausted, sitting on the couch watching Space Nuts, trading observations, while Tonya lay zonked out on my floor.

“I bet THOSE noises aren’t faked.” “Well, yeah, look at that thing, she’s being ripped in half.”

All in all, it was an excellent night, and I knew it had been a success when I woke up and it looked like a sexy bomb had exploded in my apartment. I might NEVER get all of the pinata scraps cleaned up.

*A couple years ago, Aisling’s mom gave me a gift basket from Lover’s package with a bunch of sexytimes scratch off cards. This is not a gift to give a girl that ain’t getting any and that basket has sat in my room FOR TWO YEARS, mocking me. Every single scratch card went into the pinata.

**When I worked at Lanstorm, we were across the street from a porn shop; Dave, Drew, and I used to go there every Friday and pick something up from the Porno Bargain Bin.