November 25, 2007 7:15pm

Back in WV :-(

But now, for what you have all been waiting for....

My Big Fat Thanksgiving Dinner 2007 Edition!!

Arrived at my uncle Ray's house around noon. Unlike most dysfunctional family gatherings on Thanksgiving, there is no blaring television here. There is no football to distract us from our bitterness. No children to direct our aggression at. Worst of all, there are no pets to take for a walk when one just *must* escape.

Basically, once you walk in the door, you're trapped. It's just you, the low-carb cheese tray, and the family.

This year's cast of characters included a friend of my uncle's named Rich, who has been unemployed for as long as I've known him, does not drive, has no television, and is extremely eccentric (cough: crazy). Ray's wife invited her cousin, Barbara, who lives alone, has no visible source of income and is prone to moments of extreme emotion directed at people or events with which she has no personal connection.

There was also my aunt Joanne and uncle Marty, my mom, and me.

Marty was on Jamesons on ice #2 by the time we arrived. Joanne was engrossed in a dramatic telling of the tragedy of the denim skirt she tried to sew in high school, bu was too fearful to make the first stitch. This went on for nearly 30 minutes. The anxiety she had. What would have happened if she did something wrong? The feeling of failure for never having finished the skirt.

I remarked that it sounded like she was suffering from PTSD- Post Traumatic Sewing Disorder.

nobody laughed

Except my mom, who nearly spewed her Ginger Ale.

After the skirt story, it was just about time for dinner/lunch/breakfast. We sit down at the table (after the yearly discussion of where should everyone sit...only for us to sit in the EXACT SAME PLACES we have all sat for the last 15 years). Marty and Rich get into a heated discussion about 9/11 and the firefighters/policemen not wearing proper respiratory protection and how Marty worked oh so hard for 30 days with no days off with the EPA. And now the EPA is being blamed for their respiratory problems blah blah blah fucking blah.

I kept trying to change the subject. After all, the mashed potatoes hadn't even been put on the table yet! For Chrissakes! Save the conspiracy theories for the pumpkin pie!

Jamesons #3 also helped this along.

Poor Ray didn't speak at all through dinner. Every second of the conversation was either absurd, surreal, or angry.

Here are some of the topics we covered:
- the 2008 election and our mutual dislike of Hilary (a rare moment of agreement)
- the 2008 election and my family's dislike of Guiliani, while my mom and I say he's the only one who can beat Hilary and everyone else refusing to admit that and, thusly, getting upset with my mom and I
- Anger over one's father abandoning them when they were 5.....45 years ago.
-why all people with mental illness (of any kind) should be locked up in an "asylum". This happened because I mentioned I was on my psych rotation. I seriously wanted to pull out my Prozac bottle at that point and ask if that meant I should go find the nearest "asylum".
-why it isn't polite to call people with down's syndrome "Mongoloid" and why they should or should not be locked up in the aforementioned "asylum".
-"colored people" and their negative effect on the world
-joanne and marty's recent trip to a fancy shmancy restaurant and their very poor review of it- everything they hated about it made it sound more and more appealing to me. seasonal menu, great wine list, "tiny portions" ie really great quality food in normal human serving sizes, but not big enough for the fat asses of my family who prefer the biggie size value meal size dinners.

I think I'm going to try to talk more at christmas eve dinner. This might keep the conversation on a better track.

Poor ray didn't even speak at all until everyone except my mom and I left. Then he talked to us for about an hour. That was a nice, normal visit.

On a sad note, my great uncle Stanley's dog, Duke, died. He wasn't eating for a few days, so my mom took him to the vet yesterday. He was breathing fast and the vet hospital ran some tests. They found lots of fluid in his abdomen and they suspected cancer. I'm not a big advocate of putting these animals through all sorts of wild surgeries and chemo treatments only to extend their life by a month or two. $1500 just for the "tests" was enough to convince us it was time to let him go. Stanley is okay with it (Stan is 80 and has a home health aid because he is quite elderly), but now he wants another dog. Mom's mission now is to find him another golden retriever...preferably one who likes to watch Hockey and Football and doesn't expect too much activity. Duke seemed to fit that role perfectly.

I'm back down in WV and another week of fun starts tomorrow!