Everything is wrong with me
Tuesday, November 23, 2004
Ah, Thanksgiving: the holiest day in the Christian calendar and my personal favorite holiday.

Many non-Christians don’t know this, but in the Christian faith Thanksgiving celebrates the day in 1961 when Jesus Christ beat Satan in the now infamous “Shake ‘Em Down, Break ‘Em Down” arm wrestling match in Santa Ana, California. Historians and theologians alike are still debating about the exact circumstances and sequence of events, but what most agree on is that Satan had way too much sangria before the match and was not at the top of his game and Jesus was saying really, really racist things (apparently, two days prior, a group of African-American youths had stolen His car, a sweet cherry red ‘vette that He had picked up at a state auction only three weeks before, and He was very upset about this).

I’m not quite sure how “pilgrims” and “Indians” got involved in Thanksgiving, since historical research has proven that the pilgrims actually never left mainland Korea and Indians, just like the unicorn, the phoenix, and women who aren’t completely fucking nuts, are a myth. I blame the bastardization of the Thanksgiving holiday entirely on the Jews, who have had it out for Christ for over 4,000 years and have been trying to take the “Christ” out of “Thanksgiving” since at least the early 1980’s, possibly even before then.

[I’m really coming out firing today, eh? In two paragraphs, I’ve made fun of Christians, blacks, women, Native Americans and Jews. Do you see what the holidays do to me? What kind of stress they put me under? I knew I should have waited until January to stop taking that damn Lexapro.]

Also, Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday, for fairly obvious reasons. Any day on which all I have to do is wake up and eat until I throw up is ok with me.

Thanksgiving, which is often held on a Thursday, gives rise to the night before Thanksgiving, which is the “biggest drinking night of the year.” The entire American population, knowing that they have the day off work the next day and only have to overeat, spends the night before Thanksgiving getting bombed. Yours truly has a Thanksgiving Eve ritual which involves a $10 all you can drink draft special for five hours, followed by an evening-ending Reuben and bowl of French Onion soup at 3am, and a drive to check out the hookers at 12th & Locust to see if Touchy Heather is around (I never loved anyway like I loved Touchy Heather. Let’s talk about something else before I fucking lose it.).

In addition to the traditional Thanksgiving activities – eating, drinking, trying to ignore the smell of marijuana smoke wafting from the bathroom after Uncle Teddy and his new girlfriend Starla come out of it – my family has its own unique Thanksgiving tradition: gambling about whether this is the year I finally come out of the closet.

Yes, it’s an age-old tradition in the Mulgrew household. This lil’ game started in 1997 during my senior year of high school after my dad caught me singing, “Everything I Do (I Do It For You)” to a poster of Johnny Depp. Two months after that at Thanksgiving dinner, I had fallen asleep after my third slice of pie and fourth Percocet, but as I drifted in and out of consciousness, I overheard my family talking about the following five topics:

1) Jason is gay, right?
2) I don’t think so.
3) No, I’m pretty sure he is.
4) Yeah, you’re right.
5) When do you think he’ll tell everyone?

I vaguely recall (the Percocets were very delicious) that many of my family members chose 2004 as the date that I would come, nay, hop, skip, and jump out of the closet, and there’s like a $400 pot at stake here.

So to any family members reading this, for a 40% cut, I’ll tell everyone I’m gay. Seriously, I really need the cash. Just make sure you talk to me about this before I hit the egg nog, because you know what kind of terrible drunk I am when I get all filled with alcohol-laced dairy.

In the meantime, it is very important this time of year to be thankful for what we have. So below I have whipped up a short list of what I am thankful for, in no particular order (but the last one is my favorite).

I am thankful for:

- baked macaroni and cheese
- the push-up bra
- easily spreadable butter products (i.e. Country Crock)
- fat women who don’t care that they’re fat and really know how to have fun
- the live version of Elvis Costello’s “Motel Matches” from “Goodbye Cruel World”
- getting letters in the mail
- ice cold cans of Natural Light
- the Pill
- having my own bathroom
- a really fucking good cheeseburger
- my iPod
- $3 shots at Blue & Gold
- the lovely Hispanic women who do my laundry for me
- really, really gay men
- potatoes au gratin
- Terrell Owens
- pooping
- Alprazolam
- slow dancing
- dads with moustaches
- taking egregiously long hot showers
- women who tan
- VH1 Classic
- my bookcase which makes me look really smart
- my job (seriously)
- Red Bull
- when women wear blouses and they move a certain way that the fabric between buttons collapses and you catch a glimpse of their boobies
- creamed chipped beef
- growing a beard
- Otis Redding
- Sam Smith’s Nut Brown Ale, Guinness, Newcastle
- baked ziti
- throwing the old pigskin around
- King Charles II
- hotel rooms
- my family and friends and blah blah blah
- breakfast meat
- Adriana Lima (good lord)
- Luden’s Wild Cherry cough drops
- sour cream
- Glenn Tilbrook’s live performances
- being hungover on a Saturday in the fall when it’s 47º and rainy and staying in bed in the cold sheets, blankets and pillows until 3pm
- Citrico Gatorade
- my beard/pubes/chest hair/back hair trimmer
- when women wear skirts
- old people who curse a lot
- fat black women who can really fucking sing
- keg beer
- Bloomsbury, London
- getting high and listening to Beulah’s “Hello Resolven” fifty times in a row
- watching people beat the shit out of each other
- Bill Murray
- Limewire and the entire Gnutella network
- you all passing on this site/linking me on your sites so that I’ve obtained a modicum of “fame”, which in turn has gone straight to my head and when my roommates ask me to do the dishes or clean up causes me to yell, “Do you know who the fuck I am?”
- cleavage

[I won’t be posting for the rest of the week, since I will be out of work and home in Philly resting. And by “resting” I mean worsening my relationship with my family by refusing to wear pants. Have a happy and safe Thanksgiving, and for those not in the US, have a good rest of the week.]

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