Is it over yet?

I'm so looking forward to this 4 day weekend I could cry gravy. 4 whole days. In a row. NO. WORK. It's going to be glorious. Although I'm quite nervous about the next 36 hours since I'm spending Thanksgiving with my family sans whitey and spending the night at my brother's house. With my parents, their 2 dogs and my niece. In a 2 bedroom condo. Pray for me.

I decided not to make the 4 to 5 hour drive since I'm still having that stupid panic attack thing when I'm driving on the freeway (gawd, I feel like an imbecile over that) so I'm taking the train for the very first time. I've been on trains before but not like this so I hope it'll be fun and not a giant suckfest. And there's always the bar car to visit.

I figure that's another good reason not to drive. Since we all haven't been together since Fuckass Christmas 2007 Extravaganza of Shit I'm petrified another show-down will take place so I'm planning on lubricating myself on the way up and then I can drink to forget or celebrate, whichever is required, on the way home Friday night.

I've planned a few things to keep everyone busy, or at least me and the kid, and since my mother won't let me go near the food I don't have to cook. But it's really not my fault that I'm a menace to society when playing chef, my mother never taught me anything, I've had to wing it on my own but I will admit, I, ah, have a little bit of trouble in the kitchen.

The first turkey I ever cooked turned out awesome but it had a slight tinge of a plastic aroma to it since I accidentally left the baggie of turkey guts inside. And I swear I fisted the shit out of that bird and I could not find it. It was exactly like when someone is "changing" a "lightbulb" naked in the "shower" and "slips" off the "ladder" and "falls" onto the flashlight that's now lodged up in their grill. That stuff was jammed way up and in tight. But the people who ate it didn't complain, they just made fun of me a lot.

These days I'm not allowed in the kitchen very often since my idea of a decent dinner is spaghettios straight from the can. And no, I'm not kidding. Don't get me wrong though, I can bake like a fiend. Despite that one banana cream pie that turned out more like banana man creamed in the pie, but I have a pretty big repertoire of goodies that I kick ass making. And I can do a few choice appetizers too. But when things involve, oh, stuff like anything besides cookies it's bound to be a disaster.

Foods such as meat, vegetables and casseroles? Forget it. My chicken is raw in the inside, black on the outside and tastes like whatever was cooked in the pan the time before. With garlic. Burnt garlic.

My vegetables turn gray and my attempt at casseroles resemble the sweepings from a Denney's floor after the dinner rush. I managed to explode an entire Pyrex dish once by putting a rock-solid frozen steak straight from the freezer into a piping hot oven. It's a gift.

Pasta is easy, right? Not when I make it. My al dente will chip a tooth. Want me to add a little extra something to the sauce? No, you don't. Because I will add celery seeds and nutmeg to the ground beef. Those are spices right? Herbs? No? I don't know.

Poultry is cooked at 250 for 3 hours, right? 450 for 5? More salt the better, yes? Would you like another helping? WHY NOT?

Like I said, I blame this on my mother. She never taught me how to cook and even though she can throw some tasty meals together she cuts the mold off cheese and thinks beet juice is better than a fine wine. My father is even worse. The man puts ketchup on lettuce and calls it a salad. When I was in school I'd open my wrinkled re-used utterly embarrassing kill me now full-sized grocery bag at lunchtime to find peanut butter and butter sandwiches. Or peanut butter and mayonnaise. Mayonnaise, people.

And if I was really lucky? Peanut butter and tuna. OK, I made the last one up but I did get the other 2 and how gross is the thought of peanut butter and mayo? Pretty fucking gross, I'll tell you what.

So, I will help where I can on Thursday, trying to stay out of the way. And even though I won't be doing any of the cooking per say, I do have a pretty good recipe for stuffing. Of which I will share with you now. At least this is how I make it.

~ Open pre-made box of stuffing
~ Wrestle with hermetically sealed inner bag
~ Get out sharp knife to finally open stupid impenetrable inner bag
~ Cut finger
~ Silently swear
~ Wrap dirty paper towel around bleeding appendage
~ Drink glass of wine
~ Pour contents of bag into plastic bowl
~ Boil water in glass measuring cup in microwave
~ Sustain steam burn on hand reaching into microwave
~ Swear louder
~ Pour hot water over contents in plastic bowl
~ Splash boiling water on hands and stuffing crumbs into eyes
~ Fucking hell fucking fuck
~ Wipe face with egg-yolk encrusted dish rag
~ Watch plastic bowl melt
~ Stare as contents pour down side of cabinet onto floor
~ God dammit fuckity fuck
~ Drink glass of wine
~ Check to see if someones watching
~ Scoop up contents from floor
~ Transfer to glass bowl
~ Pick out cat hair
~ Stir
~ Drink glass of wine
~ Serve

Voila!

The author takes no responsibility for injuries to important body parts to anyone attempting this recipe. I suggest you have 911 on speed dial.