Thanksgiving has come and gone, but the memories still linger. I'm quite taken aback by the whole day, as I am kind of a Scrooge of Thanksgiving. I think it started with the typical family fights that my family endured on Thanksgiving. I couldn't stand it. It was too much stress. Then came my five years as a vegetarian and I would have to ask what was in everything and make some mutant version of a side dish. I would sit there apologizing to the turkey in my mind as I thought of the slaughter of the Native Americans. Yes, the wonders of a passionate semi-liberal married to a PETA enthusiast at the time.
Once I started to eat meat and let go of the retahded (Boston has implanted itself into my soul) political aspect of it all, I just didn't give a shit about Thanksgiving. It was just a day where gluttony prevailed and I could take it or leave it. I was as happy being alone as I was either sitting with my family or friends. I'm NOT a fan of Thanksgiving. Or at least I wasn't.
This year was different. I'm not sure what made it different though. Maybe it's that I've grown up. Maybe it's that I've let go. Maybe it's that along with myself, the rest of my family has done both too. This year it was so chill and fun! It was honestly the best Thanksgiving I've ever had, and I couldn't stop laughing.
Now something you must understand with Thanksgiving in the South is that they deep-fry their turkeys here. Yes, I kid you not. They're all about throwing shit into oil here. I was telling Bobby about how at the State Fair this year they were showing news clips of all the deep-fried everything. Deep-fried Coke. Deep-fried cookie dough. Deep-fried Snickers, Oreos, cheesecake...everything. They would show these 300 pound people balancing out a picnic table with three cups of various deep fried goodies, saying how awesome deep fried everything was.
"Mmmmmm-mmmmmm. I love the deep fried everything. I'd like to deep-fry my baby just to make her sweeter. Sweetie, I think we should renew our vows in a vat of boiling oil. I bet your hoo-hah would taste even better."
"You sure are right Bubba," would respond the wife. "I think we should deep fry your hot dog. Fuck the bun! I just need me a bite of the fried goodness with a chaser of deep fried cheesecake! I'm your hot loving oil baby forever!"
Then they'd make out.
Okay, so it didn't go like that exactly, but you get the gist.
So yes, we deep-fry our turkeys here. Yes, it's not good for you. Yes, I hate deep-fried anything. But I have to admit that the turkey is moist from it. Plus it doesn't stay long in your system since you shit it out within 30 minutes. That oil sure makes any Thanksgiving guilt literally pass right through you!
The preparation of dinner seemed to go smoother than any other year. My mom, sister and I laughed and talked as we prepared the dinner. I fucked up our sweet potato puffs, but turned it into what ended up being an awesome casserole. My brother-in-law was handling the deep-fried turkey in the driveway (I guess because it's so flammable, the driveway is where the poor guy gets cooked). Their "friend" had borrowed the basket the turkey rests in while it cooks, and conveniently never returned any calls. So my sister had to jimmy-rig a device that would allow the turkey to be dunked in the oil and pulled back out to check the temperature. This jimmy-rigging ended up being a coat hanger shoved in the turkey's ass, held up with a mop handle.
A few hours into the turkeyness, they went to check the temperature and dropped the meat thermometer into the boiling vat of oil. I was inside and my niece came running in, attempting to climb the counter, followed by my mom laughing and shouting something about mercury. I learned the thermometer had gone swimming and we all stood in the driveway staring at our Southern turkey contemplating whether or not they put mercury in meat thermometers.
The waiting was even great! I went out back and hung out with my niece who sat before a box of toys, wearing sunglasses, eating marshmallows. I was eating marshmallows too. She made me "cheers" to our marshmallows and then asked if I'd be in her parade. She was going to be a ballerina, and I'd be the line leader. "Well do we dance or just eat marshmallows?" I asked.
"Eat marshmallows," she responded and we both laughed and cheered our marshmallows again.
I love her.
The laughter continued throughout dinner, and my mom's boyfriend who joined us shortly before eating, got to experience the Duffin women in all their buzzed wine glory. Laughter, stories, and runs to the bathroom to blow ass.
Even the cleanup rocked! My sister accidentally turned on the mixer when she was cleaning. Mashed potatoes shot all over the kitchen as we ducked and laughed. I did this last year, and we've deemed it an accidental tradition. Mom, it's your turn next year you know.
After dinner as I sat on the toilet laughing, purging my body of the deep friedness of the South, I found that I couldn't stop smiling. As the sound of badness erupted into the bathroom, I continued to laugh. I love my family. I love my friends, though most aren't near. Life is good even when in limbo.
I think I can get used to this whole Thanksgiving thing.
