Happy turkey, tofurkey, turducken day!

This is the turkey and cranberry sammich from last years Turkey-day post, enjoy!

As an avid cynic of all holidays, I have been particularly chipper this season. The thrill of the slaughter and burning flesh has been enticing me like none other. It's all of the anticipation for the holidays, or rather the two weeks following the holidays, as I pull little cards out of the mailbox and with trembling hands open them. The electric bill is festive too. They send them just for the holidays where all of the words are written in red, giving the gift of disconnection. We don't need electricity, not with all of the love in this house. And it's all  thanks to the little presents given to the kids that are in the garbage already, having eaten through the first round of batteries  run out or disassembled and tortured due to boredom. They have a program entitled "Coats for kids" I wonder if they have any "unused crap for utilities" program. 

But it's the whole thing that gets me excited. Spending countless hours with the kids inside with no school while they practice their 9-1-1 screams or the mating screeches of 4 AM cats. Whatever sound it might be, it's guaranteed to curdle you blood and gives you an excuse to pour your leftover rum into your 6 AM coffee. But hey! It's the holidays. 

Last night after an invigorating exercise class that doesn't stop until each and everyone of us puke, I went to the corner Food-Martishness to pick up edible accessories for the turkey, after all, what's a turkey without maraschino cherry nipples? 

In front of the store there were a few women spewing love and good will as well as flyers for their church. "Hello dearie! We are here to invite YOU to a blessed celebration of Thanksgiving at the Holy Rollin' Baptist Church for a lovely tradition dinner."

I took a deep appreciative breath and smiled. " Look at you! This is wonderful! Celebrating Thanksgiving just like Jesus did with the Indians. He must be so proud."

The little mother of 35 children stood, face stricken, took three backwards steps away from the ignoramus standing in front of her (moi), then switched back into adoring worshipper mode returning to her calling.

Sometimes I think that they feel it's better to move on than to make the crusade through my theologically deranged psyche. Then again, it's better to be so weird that no one wants you at their church than to give a semblance of possibility that you just might be converted. 

Evangelists or other weapons of mass conversion have tried to break through our beliefs only to find them impenetrable. The door to door attack is probably the most entertaining now that I have children. If your in a high conversion traffic zone like I have been in the past, here are some highly successful strategies that can help deter the J.W's and the poor little bastard that they take around with them.

1)Teach your children a few good greetings in Klingon and a few rules of etiquette for answering the door for Door to Door God salesman. If they can click and belch out," Great Zolar is King! Tremble before his presence." It will probably have the poor bible humpers clutching their morals and running as fast as they can. You can also give your children some basic principals behind the Warrior race and the theology this galactic peopled thrived upon. If they can make it convincing enough, you might just have a dumbstruck batch of zealots questioning their own faith on your stoop.

2) For those ballsy enough, answering the door in the nude with a vibrator and when they start talking, pull the cord and set it to "chainsaw" as they talk about their faith. It is in even poorer taste to then begin to pick your teeth with it.

3) The sure fire way to get them away is to say " No thank you, I'm Catholic and I go to the Church downtown". They will smile politely and tag your door for all of the others and you will never be bothered again.

4) During the Holidays most of these folks are pretty relentless and down here in the bible belt, it's even more so. They like to come over the day after holidays when you couldn't be more hung-over and preach about how you should repent from your sins. Then you can say, " well that guy last night pumped me full of them it was specta- oh, you meant sin, my mistake, no thanks I already have plenty, but have a nice day!"

 But the Holidays bring so much more than the unavoidable faithful and their cause to save the heathens. We must alsoremember the heathens themselves, I mean ourselves. I never thought of myself as a heathen, but after further internal investigation, there is no other title more appropriate. Drinking swearing and indulging in a good night of debauchery now and then are common practice in my household. That I am a mother does not necessarily make me one of the obsequious. And I am not alone. We are everywhere, every club, bar, rugby, football and soccer game. Every music festival and every war protest. Anywhere there is an excuse to party, there are heathens ready to go. And the holidays are our bread and beer. We come out of the woodwork. Some are merely dormant for the rest of the year, going to Church and being decent citizens until about this time of year. Then, just as Dr. Jekyll before us, the metamorphosis begins, leaving the rest to suffer our merciless shenanigans. This is the time we spend altogether too much time with the wrong crowd, drink to much in front of our in-laws and make no less than one really poorly thought out comment verbal, causing people to cry, mumble, go on a huge diet and/or a huge bender.

In an effort to appear 'on the ball' I have already written my apology letters to those whom I care about the most and tolerate the least. I'm not proud of what I might do, but at least I've pre-paid the consequences. 

So enjoy, my fellow heathens! Drink up! Have loads of fun. It's okay if you wake up confused and not as lonely as the day before. And the next time you see a brother or sister heathen, raise your glass and be thankful they aren't hauling your ass to church.