A Typical Thanksgiving

My family is pretty small, so they never want to prepare a full, traditional Thanksgiving. Instead, they prefer to go to the HomeGrown Buffet* (*name changed to protect the innocent), wait in the cold for 45 minutes to get a table, and feast amongst the other dregs of society.

Now before you crucify me, let me tell you that I typically like buffets. Sure, the food has been sitting out for a while and some little kid stuck his booger finger in the mac & cheese, but what the hell do you expect for $5.95 a head? But even with my general thriftiness, it somehow seems sacrilegious to go to a buffet on Thanksgiving (especially the HomeGrown Buffet, which is the “Motel 6 Express” equivalent of food service).

Years ago, I begged my mom to let me cook dinner and she got worried that I would burn the house down. Rather than argue, my cousin and I split the cost of one of those pre-made Thanksgiving dinners from the local grocery store. I was quite pleased with the relative ease and inexpensiveness of the meal, but my mother was extremely unhappy.
“Dese yams are shitty,” she said, as she took another bite of the creamed orange goo. “So, mom, next year we won’t buy them.”“Screw it, I vant to go back to da buffet. I like hafing a variety of foods.”

I don’t think “variety” is the right word. My family likes to eat the same food every single time, but they like the idea of having an endless supply of it to “play with”. Mom typically gets a piece of broiled fish that she mashed into a pile of powdered mashed potatoes, beets, corn, and chicken gravy. I think she likes making this concoction more than she likes to eat it, because she usually swirls it around for a while, talks to my aunt, swirls it some more, and then throws it out because it’s cold. This usually happens four or five times.Nagymama also really likes the idea of multiple servings…of cake, more cake, and nothing but the cake. My mom and aunt try to feed her some meat and potatoes, but she usually just stuffs the drumsticks in her purse and reaches for the carrot cake. She usually grabs a piece for herself, realizes that we don’t have any cake, so she places it in front of us, yells at us to eat it, and runs back up to the buffet as if they were running out of the stuff. This also usually happens four or five times. It’s actually kind of cute, but gets old quick when you realize that she’s stuffed cake into the pocket of her pants and you are the one that has to launder it.

In addition to the horrors of eating piles of pastries next to processed turkey fat with mushy stuffing and grape jelly instead of cranberry sauce, Nagymama is a bit hard of hearing and my family is naturally very loud. Like…REALLY loud. On more than one occasion, I’ve noticed people move tables just so they aren’t near us. This usually doesn’t stop Nagymama from running up to adjacent tables and following small children around the restaurant and patting them on the head. People usually think its sweet, but after a few minutes, it gets a little creepy when she doesn’t stop patting and they notice that she has cake and salad dressing on her fingers.

So, although everyone means well, our Thanksgiving usually ends up being an unnecessarily overindulgent, sticky mess. But if you think about it, there actually is something very uniquely “American” about that!

Photo courtesy of Garrison Photography

The Un-Sexy Costume

If you go to any party store, you might notice that there isn't a heck of a lot of selection in terms of theme when it comes to Halloween costumes. Sexy Witch. Sexy Cheerleader. Even Sexy Nun! After my experience with the Medusa costume, I told my mother that there would be no freaking way I would ever give her another "Sexy Halloween Picture", lest she post it on the church bulletin board or tattoo it on some part of her body. But of course, right after Halloween, mom gave me a call.

"You comink home for Thanksgivink? Make sure you brink some sexy pictures from Halloween. Unless you went as dat shark again..."

“It wasn’t a shark, it was a plane, remember? I went as 'Snakes on a Plane'."

“Oh, yeah, yeah, da airo-plane. Vell vhat did you go as this year?”

“I went as a banana.”

My mother was silent for a moment.

“How da hell did you make a banana costume?”

“I bought it at the store.”

“Did anyvon else go as fruit, or vere you the only fruity one?”

“It’s from this cartoon, “Peanut Butter Jelly Time", it's this internet thing where-"

“Vhat? Dere's no bananas in peanut butter and jelly.”

"No, no, it’s this just this song where-"

“Vell, Elvis put fried bananas in his peanut butter sandvitch, but no jelly. Vho else vent vith you? You haf pictures?”

I gave up and changed the subject. How on earth can you explain an internet cartoon about a banana to a woman who thinks a Computer Mouse is a character at Disney World.

At least my friends knew what the "Peanut Butter Jelly" song was. They knew it well enough to steal the pictures off my MySpace Page and turn it into a little joke. You see, this is what happens when all of your friends are animators:



Animation courtsey of Chris Farinella
Photo courtsey of Liesje Kraai

The Medusa Costume

When I was 12 years old, one of my cousins did my hair and makeup for the 8th Grade Dance and for once, it looked pretty darned good (unlike my Prom). To this day, my mother occasionally pulls out the 8th photo, sighs, and says, "You used to be so sexy."

It's amazing because most peoples' mothers would like to have photos of them in their graduation caps, prom dresses, or confirmation gowns. I'm quite certain that my mother would prefer a photo of me airbrushed, bikini-ed up, and straddled over some kinda sports car or bear skin rug. Let’s be realistic - since I have a respect for human life and the persistence of vision, I am going to abstain from any bikini-ing in the near future.

Well, one year during Halloween I was a poor college student and looking around for a costume. I happened to come across about 12 yards of free pink chiffon fabric in my Fashion Design class, so I somehow jerry rigged a toga out of it, pinned some snakes in my hair, did some crazy makeup, and went as Medusa. The only problem with the free fabric was that it was a bit sheer, so just in case, I had to wear beige "pasties" so I didn’t expose myself. I looked "okay", so like most Halloweens, my friends and I took a bunch of pictures, had a grand old time, and weeks later, I forgot about the old Medusa costume.

Eventually, Christmas rolled around and I had no idea what to buy my mother. And as usual, my mom requested “A Sexy Photo.” So I rounded up what I could into a 4x6 photo box, and somehow the Medusa picture ended up in the mix. I thought nothing of it until I went back home for Easter that spring and saw that old Medusa picture – blown up, mounted, and framed on my aunt's piano.

“Where did you get that photo and why the heck is it gi-normous?!”

My aunt shrugged. “Oh, your mom blew it up at the office supply place and gave them out to everybody at the new church so they could see what you look like. What's the big deal?”

“She gave that picture to churchy people? But I’m wearing PASTIES!”

To make matters worse, that evening, I had to go to Easter service with my family. I hoped that everyone just forgot about the weird picture, but of course, the second my mother introduced me one of the Church Ladies, I got a look of judgement and surprise. “Oh, my, Stephanie, you look awfully different from your picture!”

You see, my mother strategically cropped the snakes in my hair of the photo and neglected to tell everyone that this was a Halloween costume. Everyone assumed I just dressed that way because I went to "art school". I covered my face in shame.

The church lady continued, “Well, I like you better without makeup!”

My mom was not pleased. “Oh, no, no, no, the makeup is better.”

I knew what was coming. She reached in her wallet and pulled out the 8th grade photo and shoved it in Church lady’s face. My mother shook her head with disappointment, “See, didn’t she used to be sexy?”

Photo by Julia Freeman-Woolpert