Tuesday, November 21, 2006

Thanksgiving Sucks Ass

I received an email from the tall chic I met through Yahoo Personals this morning. It was something pretty lame mentioning “Happy Holidays!” and included some attachment which I of course did not open after reading “Happy Holidays!” My response back to her:

“Bah, humbug. I'm already ditching the family for Thanksgiving and the 2.5 hour car ride to Wisconsin Rapids to see my neanderthal cousins and watch my dad pretend to sleep on the couch when he's really awake and just doesn't want to talk to anyone.”

Her response back: “Eeks! Sorry to hear about that! I'm trying to decide just which side of the family I'm going to see and if I'm traveling. I LOVE the holidays!”

And my way-too-personal email back to her that I wished I hadn’t sent the moment “your message has been sent” popped up on my screen: “Women usually do like the holidays. So why is it for the past five years I have been single for the holiday season? Is it that I subconsciously will myself to be single that time of year or that I consciously ditch whatever hoochie is letting me stick my dick in her when the holiday season approaches?”

Now I’m thinking I should have re-worded that just a little bit as I haven’t gotten an email back from her since. Yes, I have MAD social skills, especially with members of the opposite sex.

The last girlfriend I had over the holidays was the psycho one who tried drinking my beer (that’s a no no) and threw insults at me for three hours while she got totally obliterated at MY corner bar. I just brushed off everything she said which pissed her off even more but anyway, back to the holidays.

You see, I don’t like the holidays. Not that the holidays are bad, but it’s the mandatory family gatherings that I am forced to attend that I hate with a passion. When I informed the family this week that I wouldn’t be joining them for Thanksgiving my mother told me, “Don’t turn your back on your family. You only get to see these people twice a year.” Uh, ya think there’s a reason I only see them twice a year? If they had any resemblance to normal people I’d be hanging out with them and going to Brewers games or something. But that is not the case, far, far from it. Let’s see here, two cousins who are twins, 26 years old, 6’5” and 250 lbs, who have never had girlfriends, let alone kissed a girl, who bought THEIR first car TOGETHER and split the payments, and shockingly, they still live at home with mom and pop (nimrods forced me to flip through their trading card collection last year). Then there’s the family with 6 or 7 kids (I lost track a while back), three of which are adopted, one whose wife up and left him with two kids while she moved back to Kentucky (and one of the kids was from HER previous marriage), one whose wife looks strikingly similar to him, one who is the overly ambitious type who’s trying to find a cure for cancer while she’s still in high school (you know my sister LOVES being compared to her), another that has issues so severe I can’t even write about them without feeling somewhat guilty (I’m guilt free up this point), and lastly, the hot Korean cousin who I wouldn’t mind getting freaky with (it’s ok, she’s adopted, that is ok, right?) (ok, maybe I feel a little guilty now). Not surprisingly these people are all on one side of the family, mom’s side. Dad’s side is fucking cool and a blast to hang out with even though they do the hunting/fishing thing to the extreme (but they do have some funny ass stories!).

Hanging out with the afore mentioned people is quite painful on Thanksgivings. First you have the mandatory small talk, the how are you, how’s your job, do you have a girlfriend (oh I love that one but I can’t reply “Fuck no” in front of the family), how’s the new house, have you managed to fill that five gallon pail with semen yet, you know, just the standard interrogation questions. Please, all I want to do is get in the door so I can sit in the corner and look at my watch every five minutes.

Then there’s the meal at which I’m supposed to talk with family members and try to seem interested in their lives when I’m really just checking out the hot Korean’s thong sticking out the back of her pants (it was purple last year). Not wanting to partake in any of the conversations about how XYZ is studying German, Russian, and Chinese or how ABC and DEF just got engaged (or avoiding beeing caught ogling the cousin’s ass), I always eat as quickly as possible and excuse myself by either saying, “Oh, I’m full.” or “Oh, I have to go masturbate while the image of my cousin’s thong is still fresh in my memory.”

Escaping early from the feasting has two advantages: the first being I get out of the conversations, the second being I then get the choice couch right in front of where a TV should be located. Yes my friends, “where the TV should be located” because there is no TV in the living room. The TV is in the basement. I don’t know too many people who would be comfortable going into someone’s house and sitting alone in their basement to watch the football games which inevitably will be blasted with world record snow storms. Not that it’s actually snowing in the cities holding the games (how often does it snow in Dallas?) but the TV reception is so bad and fuzzy it looks like the heavens opened up and said “fuck you” to Thanksgiving football. Technically it would be “fuck you and go talk to your anything-but-normal relatives and try to be pleasant and don’t leave any sperm deposits on their toothbrushes,” but you get the point.

After the meal everyone I am trying to avoid manage to wedge their asses in the couch I am sitting on in a manner which hip/shoulder/leg touching is unavoidable. Just because we aren’t on a city bus doesn’t mean it’s ok to sit that close to me. Of course this is ok if the hot Korean is sitting next to me but it’s not ok when everyone notices the erection in my pants. “Uh, excuse me, I have to go masturbate again.”

Then the “game of the year” (being the new and hot board game that everyone is talking about) is introduced and everyone gets excited and claps like the Energizer Bunny. Not me. I always have to politely decline offers to play the game as that would require more interaction the clan. It’s not exactly like city folk (me) getting along with country folk (them), but more like city folk (me) getting along with people from Angola who kill their pets for food and stay virgins till they get married (yeah, that would be them). And usually it takes these Angolans at least an hour to get the hang of the game and I certainly don’t have the patience for that.

Three hours later and I’ll try to talk to pops and he’ll ignore me to keep his cover of “sleeping” alive. That leaves me stuck talking to the twins because even though their foreheads protrude at an astonishing angle, there isn’t any extra brain matter to fill the space. I can’t even recall one meaningful conversation I’ve had with them besides the trading card incident. “Oh, that Hayward Workman card from 1997 might be worth something.” Oh yes, memorable conversation indeed.

So I get insanely bored, more bored than an inmate on death row (hey, at least they have weight rooms and stuff). But the boredom is not entirely based on the picture I have painted for you. No, it is also influenced by my own daydreaming, thinking about the things I could be doing if I was not there, and maybe more importantly, things I could be having. You see, nobody smokes (cigarettes) and nobody drinks. If you have read anything about me on any random post you will know that I like beer. A lot. I like cheap vodka and lemonade. I like shots of Southern Comfort. I like test tube shots of some fruity beverage stuck in between two perfectly rounded fake breasts and having my face engulfed in boobies. Sorry, I digressed a bit there. But sad to say, I crave beer just to get me through Thanksgiving. Alcohol might make the situation just a bit more bearable, depending on the level of consumption I deem appropriate, and then doubling that level just to make sure. I can hear the stories now, “Remember that time B got totally wasted and fucked the cat and had to be taken to the hospital because he was allergic to it?” or “Remember that time B got totally wasted and grabbed his adopted cousin’s boob and tried to make out with her?” or “Remember that time B got totally wasted and peed his pants and puked in the washer he was trying to wash his pants in?” But no, my family would not find this funny at all or tell jokes about it in the future. It would be more like, “We need to get B some serious help,” because that’s how they are.

I think you can get my point on why Thanksgiving is such a painful holiday for me. This year it’s supposed to be 60 degrees here so I’m going to mow the lawn and clean out the gutters, oh, and drink some beer. Everyone have a fun and safe Thanksgiving.

2 comments:

Swa said...

It all starts to make sense now....

Anonymous said...

Almost a week with no post?? Has the gravitation come to an end???