Monday, August 9, 2010

Smell My Can of Coke

There's Nothing Special about Thanksgiving

Boy, I hate this holiday. I've never, ever, ever had a good Thanksgiving.
Family gatherings are only fun when they're impromptu. The second anyone plans anything, my mother has a week-long hissy fit and my older sister decides to take out all of her issues and put them on the dinner table.
My little sister is usually depressed about something, and my brother-in-law and nephew know to keep their mouths shut. I, on the other hand, try to intervene in whatever stupid argument erupts and end up taking the wrath from all involved. My cousin, who is mentally disabled, usually bugs the living crap out of my mom for acting like a person who is mentally disabled.
In recent years, my older sister, brother-in-law, and nephew have been taking off to see my aunt in Chicago. This is a wise move, and I applaud it.
This year, my younger sister is going as well. So, basically, I'm stuck with my mom's poor-me-shit and my cousin asking my mom for more "caffeine free" that will usually send my mom into a rage for no reason.
So, I was smart this year: I made sure and planned to have breakfast with ma and Glenna, instead of dinner. Why? You give my mom a good enough amount of time and she'll find someone who's fucking her over for every minute.
Don't get me wrong, I love my family and understand they're all fucked up just like everyone else, but you have to be realistic about them.
If it's pizza and beer on a Sunday in the middle of September, chances are they're going to be the funnest people to be around in the world. Now, if it's Mother's Day, Christmas, Halloween, President's Day, etc...they're going to be nuttier than a can of....well, nuts.
Another reason I hate Thanksgiving is the food. Not that I don't normally drink my dinner anyway. But, man, fucking turkey is just plain nasty looking. You put out this large, dead animal and you stuff it full of shit it would probably eat while alive and then you put it in an oven and bake it (or whatever) in its own juices. Soon, it's out on the table and some savage takes out a small chain saw and cuts it into smaller bits of flesh so that it can be easily devoured with mayo on rye the next day.
Mashed potatoes are good, but not with gravy. Thanks, I'll skip the dead animal runoff. And, what's the deal with the black box? Why don't they make the whole plane out of....
I hate Thanksgiving. But, this year could be different.
Just joking, it's going to suck, whether I get there at 10 or five. My mom will be in the kitchen cooking quiche for breakfast, then something along the lines of turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, gravy, salad, donuts, candied apples, pizza, tacos, ice cream cake, regular cake, bread, etc...
She'll try to "prepare" all of her angst away in what will amount to nine weeks of food for my cousin to eat.
This is why her freezer will erupt in an avalanche of food when you open it. For every pork roast or turkey/chick 3/11, there's some sort of bastard who has helped to ruin her life.
I remember my brother-in-law was hit with turkey/chick 3/11 one year and he responded "3/11? But, what year?! What year?!"
Yeah, he can be funny sometimes.
So, it'll be me drinking coffee and asking if she's heard from the girls. I'll ask Glenna what she had for breakfast, if she had been coloring in her coloring books, and whether she's excited for Christmas.
At some point in time, my mom will lose it on my cousin.
Now, my mom is not a demon. When she "loses it" on my mentally handicapped cousin, it's in the form of scrunching her face up until her eyebrows make a "V" while her eyes pop out of her head. This will be accompanied by a sigh or an under-the-breath utterance.
I completely understand it to. My cousin is great in small doses, but the three-year-old nature of her condition can be a bit of a burden. Like, when she fakes coughing, falls on her knees, or goes batshit for no other reason than the fact that we haven't been paying attention to her for more than two minutes.
This is the kind of thing that I understand, but if I had to live with it everyday, I think I'd take to stuffing my freezer full of my problems as well.
I'm just hoping my mom doesn't go into some crying jag that I'm forced to try to talk her out of (never works) or starts blaming me for ruining her life. These are rarities, but without anyone around, you never know.
Look, it could be worse: I could be having Thanksgiving with my dad, who has been known to throw a temper tantrum when my little sister and I start laughing at something.
I remember one year the old man tried to make something with beets and it tasted like crayon. Trust me, I know what a crayon tastes like.
He fucking lost it and we had to sit through a speechless dinner after he went batshit and started telling us what rotten kids we were.
Yeah, the good times begin and end in my family.
Again, don't get me wrong, all of these people are awesome, but being awesome makes for sappy writing. So, let me continue to rip them apart.
Back in the day, my dad would take us to the Keg for Thanksgiving. It was lame as shit, cuz I was too young to drink and the only thing I wanted to eat was salad. Going out there was so depressing as well. When you're a kid, no kids go out on Thanksgiving and "play." So, you only have TV to rely on, and by the time I would get back there'd be a Hallmark Family Sapathon on every channel. Some shit about a white family that's kind enough to condescend to give a poor black dude some food for a night. I think every channel had the same black guy on it and he may have really been homeless. Just going from set to set, playing broke and taking Ivy league douchebags for all they're worth.
That would be an awesome Thanksgiving special "generic homeless person sticks it to the man in this special edition of Hallmark Portrait of a Family."
It writes itself.
At the Keg, my father would act like a jackass because of the fact that he knew most of the wait staff from the bar. He would know them all, and he'd introduce us and I couldn't help but wonder if they thought he was a complete jackass, putz, or asshole.
You could never tell, and this was before I knew that my dad didn't go to the Keg and have just one beer. For some reason, it never occurred to me that my dad would go to a bar to drink. I don't know why. It wasn't denial either, because, I don't think I would've really cared.
Well, that's my story about Thanksgiving and how it sucks ass. If you actually like Thanksgiving, well, by all means, celebrate.
But, if not, drop me a comment about a silly Thanksgiving you had and maybe, if you're lucky, I'll give you a free membership in my fan club. It comes with a promotional CD ROM for three months free internet. Also, a carrot will be shipped to some homeless black dude in your name.
Bless you all on this shitty fucking holiday.
Marjorie Simpson

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