Wednesday night, I arrived at Kacoon's house. She had ordered pizza, and, after her mother arrived to watch Benjie, she and I were going to head to the grocery store. Unfortunately, Kacoon forgot to tell me that we were taking my car. So Kacoon spent 10 minutes filling two garbage bags with the stuff that was in my front seat so that two people could ride in my car. (If she'd told me that we needed my car beforehand, that could've saved us the time, but, if my car had already been clean and was cleaned regularly, then I guess that would've saved time, too.) Then, we headed to her husband Mike's bookstore to pick up a copy of my favorite Thanksgiving movie, "Planes, Trains and Automobiles," and then we went to Kroger for supplies. That night, Mike, Kacoon and I watched the movie while Kacoon baked biscuits and iron-skillet cornbread for her stuffing.
The weirdest thing, I guess, about all of that is that Mike had never seen "Planes, Trains and Automobiles" before ... EVER. His parents, swear to God, despise movies with foul language in them and are so conservative that they once enrolled their family in some wacky Christian cult. (He calls it that, not me. I loved the time that he said his "special Christian duty" for the cult was putting about 500 folding chairs out for each service.) Mike said the main reason he probably couldn't see "Planes, Trains and Automobiles" - even since he grew older than 17 - is because it was rated R.
I told him that I think my parents took me to see it in theaters once or twice, even though I was only 10 years old when it came out.
Watching it, Mike laughed more than Kacoon and I did, of course, because Kacoon and I were too busy reciting all the catchphrases from it to concentrate.
Also, during the film and sometime afterward, Mike and I were able to finish off a six-pack of my favorite alcoholic beverage to get at the grocery store, Woodpecker Cider. This was the first alcohol we consumed as part of the celebration, which was - dare I say it - pretty much soaked with alcohol once it was done.
We got to bed about midnight, and I slept on Kacoon's floor (because there was no way I would otherwise be on time to help cooking in the morning - and I had to cook the turkey because Kacoon refuses to "touch the uncooked flesh of an animal carcass, let alone eat any of it once it's done").
Thanksgiving came the next morning, of course, with Midget, Kacoon's four-year-old son who has refused to grow for a year now, running into the living room and asking me if I wanted breakfast. (Midget wasn't wearing a shirt because he and his grandmother had spent a few moments watching "Superman" on the Sci Fi Channel. He saw the seen where a toddler Kal-El lifted up the car for the Kents and decided he wanted to be "Superboy.")
Once everyone was awake, Kacoon, her mother and I occupied the kitchen, and I rubbed down the raw, 16-pound turkey with salt and lots of olive oil, then stuffed it with bread stuffing. Then, we put it in the oven to roast for about four hours. I tossed some carrots, celery and some white wine into the roasting pan after a few hours.
Once we opened the white wine for the basting, though, the great winefest began. I had about six glasses that day, I guess. Kacoon, I think, had 35 glasses of some sort of wine throughout the day. (She was so hung over the next day she called in sick to her Black Friday shift at her bookstore, which I find very brave of her to do.)
Because of that, our bickering in the kitchen really entertained all the arriving guests. Kacoon's Sister says the two of us fight like an old married couple.
"I love how they bitch at each other," Kacoon's sister said. "But, if you say anything bitchy to either of them, then they both gang up on you."
At one point, Kacoon told me that I was oiling up the insides of the turkey like it was one of my dates. She said that in front of HER MOTHER.
We had nine people at the dinner and more than enough food and dessert for everyone. Me, who was avoiding my mother's house. Kacoon. Mike. Midget. Kacoon's Mom. Kacoon's Sister. Kacoon's Sister's Hot-as-Hell-yet-Republican Boyfriend. Mike's friend David. His kickass fiancee Jamie, who was there because she wanted to avoid her sister's house.
My toast before the dinner, because we didn't have a prayer, summed up the point of the event, which I started last year.
"For friends, for family and for having a place on the holidays that we actually want to go to, we give thanks," I said, and everyone raised their glasses.
After dinner, while the hot-as-hell-yet-Republican boyfriend guy surfed the channels for football after realizing he was the only one there who would watch it, everyone else pretty much collapsed in Kacoon's living room because of the amount we'd all eaten.
"Wow, this looks like Jonestown - The Day After," David said, looking at all of us lying next to our glasses.
I was there until midnight, when the last guest other than me left, and I think I got on everyone's nerves throughout the day because I became Mr. Obsessive Thanksgiving Cook.
"So do you like the sweet potatoes? Are you sure you liked the sweet potatoes? You're not just saying that, are you? How was the rest of the food? Did anyone besides me try the bread stuffing? How do you like all of it?"
I was even doing that the next day, when I called Kacoon to assure myself that everything had been successful.
"Jesus, Benjamin, everything was GREAT!" she shouted at me. "LET IT GO, ALREADY!!! EVERYONE HAD A GOOD TIME!"
Whether something will be done for Christmas is up-in-the-air because Kacoon said she needs time to reflect upon the victory that was the second year of, and thus "first-annual," Very Kacoon Thanksgiving.
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