November 2004

I Hate Thanksgiving

Other than the fact that Thanksgiving represents the day of Turkey Genocide (which, in fact, hardly bothers me) I despise the holiday. So I boycott it, at least as far as my family's concerned. Last year I hid in my sisters' apartment in Philadelphia while my mom left maniacal voicemail messages on my cell phone. This year, I made my way to my friend's house. I was invited to go to Boston and some town in South Carolina, but since I am going to be unemployed in a month, traveling far isn't an option.

I hate Thanksgiving. It's such a big horrible family mess of a holiday that's supposed to be about…thanks and giving. Well, those are the two words in the name of the holiday, so humor me. The purpose of the holiday seems very thoughtful, but the actual application has turned terribly and horribly off course.

This is a sequence of events that happens every year and an explanation of why I boycott: my grandparents arrive(except for a 3 year break after the Great Passover Debacle in the 90's). I comment to my sister how I don't like old people. She tells me I'm a sick little girl who is going to grow up to be a serial killer. I pout.

Side Note: My grandparents, they were not bad people, but they always told me how I was not allowed to talk back to my mother. 'Respect', they say, it's all about respect. I consistently responded with, if she said less stupid things, I might attempt to respect her. This was never appropriate. Old people are all about the 'respect your elders' bullshit, and for that, I do not like old people. Honestly, I don't respect my father either, so I'm very fair.

Twenty minutes into the dinner, my dad complains about feeling sick, and my sisters and I tell him he says that every year. He denies it and tells me (possibly my eldest sister too) to shut the fuck up, and naturally, I flip out at him (every year). Then my dad sputters out a few awful things about how I contribute nothing to his life. I point out, that as a daughter, it is not really my obligation to contribute to his life. Sometimes I mention that he's a bank, a fat bank, and he's going to die in 6 years anyway. After he tells me what a screw-up I am, and how I should move out NOW, I go to my room and smoke or cry or both.

Around 30 minutes later, my mom starts to scream how no one is helping her. The dog barks for food (any food), and I come downstairs to amuse him. My mom yells at everybody for not helping. She takes out something from the oven and has a nervous breakdown over something not baking evenly or correctly, and she then discusses how for the past (fill in my age) years, that oven has been nothing but a piece of shit along with the entire house. My mom starts to screech about how she hates the entire kitchen. 'The entire kitchen is shit', and she digresses into screaming out random noises as though she was returning to the womb. I start to ponder the promise of alcoholism in my future.

Twenty minutes later, my mom asks me how I like the pumpkin bread. I stupidly tell her, I don't…eat pumpkin bread. I don't eat strawberry bread. I don't eat ANY of the breads, which releases her inner banshee. She asks, "WELL WHY DID I MAKE IT?" I shrug and point to the rest of the people at the table, who declare, "Oh this is SO delicious!" They call me a spoiled bitch for not saying so. I insist that I have never LIKED the fucking bread, but I'm still apparently a little spoiled brat. I remind myself, internally, that therapy will someday fix this.

Someone (my eldest sister) changes the topic, eventually, after I've been beaten down by my entire life history, re-edited by the power of my mother's memory and my father's lack of. Another person (my mother, my middle sister, grandmother, or my father) says some obnoxious non sequitur, and two other women at the table (my mother, my middle sister, or my grandmother) listen in as though someone discovered how life on earth began. Everyone at the table, excluding my eldest sister and myself, discusses a random ridiculous topic for ten minutes. I feel my blood start to boil from annoyance. I stupidly explain to them how it's possibly a bad idea to discuss topics they know nothing about. At this point, I'm called an asshole, selfish bitch, and an ungrateful child. But how can you say this movie critic is a complete jerk if you NEVER read his column? How can you base your entire opinion on a Rosie O'Donnell stand up routine from 1992? That's unreasonable. They are unreasonable. At this point, my blood starts to thin and a migraine forms.

Side story: One year we had illegal cable in the den, and my sister's put on porn when we finished Thanksgiving dinner. They forced me to watch. My mom walked in, saw what was going on, and laughed. It wasn't the porn that bothered me, it was just that the guy on it was so horribly ugly. It amazes me how ugly some people are and have no idea they are ugly. I loved the illegal black box because I got to watch pay per movies all the time. But I also hated the black box. When I went downstairs in the morning (any morning), I pressed the last channel button to see what my dad was watching the night before. I think the non-shocker of this story is that the last channel was always SPICE. It felt so wrong. I never felt comfortable sitting on the couch.

That is why I hate Thanksgiving.