ThanksKilling

(The title of this post has nothing to do with the content of the post - it's just an eye catcher, really. It's also a suggestion to go watch one of the worst/most hilarious 'horror' movies ever. It's called, surprise, surprise, ThanksKilling, and it's about a homicidal turkey. It's terrible... terribly AWESOME.)

Normally, our Thanksgiving involves my very stressed out mother feeding a house full of immediate family members and a bunch of drunken foreigners and grad students. However, this year, much to my relief, we departed from the usual.

What we got instead was probably the most pathetic Thanksgiving ever.

As opposed to hosting way too many people in a cramped dining room, we instead had a handful of acquaintances over for hors d'oeuvres. And that was it. My dad was cooking oysters (which only he and one other person out of the ~10 there ate) and mom had laid out a spread of several different kinds of chips and dip. No turkey, not even any of the sweet potato casserole my dad had already made. Just... chips and dip. 

Along with the unsatisfying food options, I was forced to socialize with people I barely knew. That's never fun. 

After a while I just ducked upstairs and crouched in front of my computer, wishing I had some actual protein to chow down on. I could have technically gone over to my aunt-in-law's house (which is where my brother and sister-in-law had darted off to an hour and a half after our 4 PM Thanksgiving snack-a-thon began) for real Thanksgiving food, but my lack of effort and desire to interact with my fellow man won out.

Instead, I just had microwaved pot roast leftovers for supper. Yum, yum.

Needless to say, I didn't have much fun. The best part was when I had a glass of pink champagne (with my mother's permission, hoo hoo), but that's because I'm a stupid little girl that actually /likes/ that stuff. 

In general, though, Thanksgiving's alright. Not my favorite, but not my least favorite, either. You get yummy food, but you have to pay the price of interacting with people you'd rather not interact with. 

To answer the entire prompt, I think my strangest memory of the holiday is from when I was about 8 and obsessed with Napoleon Dynamite and decided to end the evening by doing the dance that Napoleon does for all of our inebriated guests.

I look back upon that memory with utmost shame.