Sometimes (ok, many times), I have no idea what I’m going to write until it comes kicking and screaming into the world, mucus and bits of placenta still clinging to it’s body like barnacles on weathered old sea captain’s ship. This is one of those times.
As you can tell, I have no problem mixing metaphors into barely intelligible sentences, adding pieces as I go like Dr. Frankenstein. I do it for the craft, people. I do it for you.
"Happy Thanksgiving, Charlie Brown! Let's watch Woodstock eat his father-in-law!"
What can I say about Thanksgiving that hasn’t been said a million times before? First, and most applicable to this blog, Thanksgiving is probably the easiest day of the year to eat at home. They give you the day off, just so you can eat at home. Most restaurants are closed. It’s a no brainer.
That being said, I have to admit that I don’t really like Thanksgiving food all that much. Of all of it, the thing I like best is pumpkin pie, and thanksgiving leftover sandwiches the next day. Turkey by itself has never really done it for me, as I have no idea how to cook it myself, and in my experience it’s usually either dryer than a saw pit or not quite cooked. Stuffing is a really nasty food. Why cook something inside of a turkey’s asshole and then eat it? This food usually reminds me of something my cat might puke up, so I have problems eating more than about two tablespoons of the stuff before I start dry heaving (although, by the time I start eating stuffing, I’m pretty crammed full of beer, so I guess ‘dry heave’ isn’t the best choice of words). Cranberry sauce is fine, as long as it’s coating a turkey. By itself, I can take it or leave it. Yams (or sweet potatoes, if ya nasty) are pretty great, but let’s be honest- they’re only like a quarter step away from dessert.
This is why, for me, Thanksgiving is more about spending quality time with my family, and almost killing all of them by the end of the day. Until I met Meg’s family, get-togethers like Thanksgiving were simply a time to remember why I hate most of my family and want to spend as little time with them as I possibly can. Most Thanksgivings weren’t complete without at least one drunken haymaker punch attempted at another family member, two to three drunken mumblings of, “You think you’re better than me? (Yathhhinkyerbettr’nme),” four attacks by the host’s cocker spaniel while everyone drunkenly laughs, and a couple uncontrollable fits of drunken hysterics. It’s like the song ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas’ except for drunks and white trash.
The point I’m trying to make (If I am making a point at all) is that I really, really like my new family, and every single holiday reminds me how great they all are. I want to spend every single holiday with them, just to revel in how nice they all to each other, and how they can actually have fun without being forced to solve their problems in ‘The Cage’ (honestly, don’t even ask. There’s a lot of chicken wire in The Cage, I can tell you that).
And if nothing else, we can spend one out of every five Thanksgivings with my family just to remember that some people actually have problems, but manage to love each other anyway. I don’t know how they do it, but that’s the beauty of family, I guess.
Happy Turkey Murder Day.