Crossed Giblets of Death: The SJ Thanksgiving Family Therapy Thread

Heineken married into the Focker clan, I'm thinking.

 

My only story is this:
We were supposed to eat at 2 p.m., but when I got up at noon I was told the start time had been pushed back to 4 p.m. When I queried as to why, I was told my mother-in-law put the turkey in the oven and turned on the temperature but forgot to turn the oven to bake. So, said turkey sat in a cold oven for two hours without anyone noticing. I just tried not to laugh hysterically.
Also, mother-in-law tried to tell me we needed to turn off the TV during dinner. Since we were at my house I kindly informed her that not only was the TV not being turned off, I am turning it up so I can hear what the heck is going on with the game.
My in-laws have been in town for seven days now and the countdown until they leave is at: 17 hours, 10 minutes. God, that clock needs to get to ticking faster.

 

I'm told that sporks debuted at the 'Beat family Thanksgiving. Sporks, ladies and gentlemen. Fucking sporks.

 

Did they eat at 7-Eleven?

 

There has never been a greater utensil than the spork.

 

No. Six months of eating KFC two-to-three nights a week allowed them to stockpile all the sporks they could ever need or want. Oh, and my father's going deaf.

 

Let us bump this puppy as a tease... kind of like showing a movie on TV a couple of weeks before the sequel comes out in the theater...

 

Working in the newspaper industry has mercifully meant that I haven't spent a Thanksgiving with the whole assembled family in a decade.

"Gee mom . . . . I gotta work. I know, I'll miss out, but the news, even sports, doesn't stop for holidays."

Then I go over the day after and get a massive Tupperware full of leftovers.

 

Thanksgiving was the one time I would get off; would work Christmas, but I wanted Thanksgiving. At my first stop, dinner wasn't going to be ready for me on time, so my mom sent dad to Bakers Square for a full meal for me to take back.
At my next stop, I was No. 2 in seniority in the newsroom -- behind my boss. He put down for both and I finally said "look, you have to give me one of them. I don't care which, but give me one." When he said I don't have to give you anything, I was about ready to pop a vein, but he then followed and said "but you can have Thanksgiving."

 

I am seriously tempted to call my buddy from college and get the full story behind the year his increasingly-senile grandmother forget to buy an actual turkey and tried to pass off a chicken, then write the whole thing up.

We'll see...

 

For the first time in a decade, I will be off on Thanksgiving. My sister, the Angel of Death, has decided that we should visit our parents for Thanksgiving because "no one should be alone on Thanksgiving."

Oh Dear God, no. And you want to know what He/She/It said? "Fuck you, yes.''

I get a call Saturday from Momsbeat. "Oh we're looking forward to Thanksgiving. Arthur is going to be there. You remember Arthur, don't you?" Arthur worked with my father and grandmother (mom's mom) in the early 70s. He's also a gay Phillipino.

"HB, do you remember when you were a baby and Arthur held you? He is such a nice man. He always liked you kids."

Ma, I'm 30. I barely remember the last week.

"Oh HB, I'm sure you remember. Anyway, here's your fa-tha."

Hey Pop.

"WHAT?"

Hey Pop!

"WHAT?''

Hey Pop!! (beginning to lose patience)

"WHAT?"

HEY POP!!!

"HEY! You don't need to yell!"

Kill me now.

Six-thirty this morning, I get a call.

Mmph?

"Hi-lo?"

Huh?

"Is this HB?"

Yeah, who's this?

"My name is Sangri. I work at a Mobil gas station in Patchogue (Long Island)."

Okay, terrific.

"Someone left their phone here and I want to give it back to them."

Oh. I look at the caller ID and it belongs to my Aunt Kathy. God, you magnificent, vindictive motherfucker.

"Okay Sangri. Here's what we're going to do. I'll call my aunt and have her pick up the phone."

Deep breath. One, two, three.

Start dialing.

"Hell-low!"

Aunt Kathy, it's HB.

"HB! How are ya? Why are you calling?"

Well I gotta call from the Mobil station in Patchogue. The attendant has your cell phone and wants to give it back to you.

"I was just headed out to get it! Your Uncle My-kull called the numb-bah and we talked to the guy! Why did he call you?"

Because Jesus hates me?

"Oh you, you're so funny. Maybe you should come out here for Thanksgiving!"

Oh no.

"This year, we're not going to cook."

Thank God.

"We're going to Old Country Buffet!"

You really do hate me God, don't you? At least there won't be sporks. Or Janice.

"HB, before I forget, Janice still talks about you, ya know. She's still single."

Seventeen days 'til Thanksgiving and my will has been sapped. Pray for me.

 

Once 21 begins, all other posting must cease.
I am serious about this.