Happy Freaking Thanksgiving

I am Chandler Bing. If you don’t know who Chandler Bing is then stop reading, as we can’t be friends anymore.

I don’t like Thanksgiving. It’s not my favorite holiday, at all. It’s not even in the running. No consideration whatsoever. I have no thanks for Thanksgiving.

We “celebrate” (the quotation marks are for sarcastic measure and will be a theme) Thanksgiving twice. Once in the early afternoon and once in the late afternoon. Yes, I am aware that the math doesn’t make sense in that sentence. Welcome to my life.

The first “celebration” is with the in-laws. This, one would think, would be easy as they all live here. Well, except that we all gather in one house with not nearly enough seating and it is approximately 5000 degrees in said house.

Every once in awhile to add to the fun, my m-i-l will invite random aunts or cousins.
Also, add in that the sister-in-law invites her sister and brother, both of which are probably featured in at least one episode of COPS. So, not only do we “celebrate” twice, we “celebrate” with people we don’t like and would never associate with. Yea, yea for us.

Oh, have I mentioned not enough seating? Yeah. This is a problem. My nephew-in-law ALWAYS stretches out in one of the recliners and falls asleep. While I admire the coping technique of sleeping through the holiday, get your 25-year-old ass (I mean this literally and figuratively) out of the chair and let one of the adults sit down. (And I am talking about my father-in-law, not myself. I sit at the kitchen table and read the paper or play Solitaire with actual cards.)

Then as if that’s not enough, let’s mention the loser nephew: The Jon Lovitz perpetual liar of the family. He stretches out in the middle of the floor and sleeps. This, I find immensely rude and irritating, and I must admit I laugh with sadistic glee when my grand-nephew either jumps on him or shrieks a sound only four-year-olds can emit.
Although, conversely, if he’s sleeping, we don’t have to listen to his bullshit stories of how he is a semi-pro football player or is going to fight in a MMA fight.

Dinner is always late, there is always way too much food, and the cook is always grouchy. ALWAYS. Without fail. We even attempted using two stoves to alleviate the hassle and it still didn’t help. The Mad Genius and I have offered to have dinner at our house, with two caveats: we order dinner and the COPS regulars aren’t invited. So far, we’ve been turned down. “Because it’s *FAMILY*” Um, no, it’s not MY family. It’s not even my in-laws; it’s not my pretend family. It’s not, it’s not, IT’S NOT! *foot stomp*

Our forks barely touch our plates as we finish and we are in the car to drive 45 minutes to my parent’s house. Here is the exact opposite of the first “celebration”. It’s quiet, the house is cool, the cook (my mom & brother) is happy and there is enough seating.

What’s the problem here? Well, there’s the fact that my younger brother is always late and my mother insists on waiting for him. (Because this holiday seems to be a surprise to him every single year) We always get to watch fascinating television like CURLING. (I’m not kidding, people)

But the Piece de Résistance is the “Who’s Going to Take the Lord’s Name in Vain Game?” We play this on Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter. I am still not kidding.
Usually, we can count on my Dad to win this game. It became such a shoo-in, we added on a time limit: within fifteen minutes of arrival, or thirty?
My eldest brother caught us laughing one year and wanted in on the joke. We told him, so now he gets to play along too.

Another fun part of that game is every once in awhile; my nieces will chime in with a singsong “Language!” warning after the offending utterance has occurred.

We usually eat buffet style, which is genius of my mother. So much easier! And no one usually notices how little the Mad Genius and I don’t eat.

Then we drive back 45 minutes about 9:00 at night to our own house. We usually try to sneak past the house so that our phone doesn’t ring with the inquiry “Do you want pie?” as soon as we step foot inside. No, we don’t want pie. We want Prozac. We want bed. We want you people to go away.

So, now you know why I don’t like Thanksgiving. And, hopefully, you can now go celebrate with your family and think, “Thank God I only have to celebrate with my family!” Because I know, my families make most families look like the Cleavers.
You’re welcome. Enjoy.