Here we sit on the eve of the most obese holiday ever created, baking pies, stuffing turkeys, and seeing how much whipped cream we can fit in our mouths from the aerosol can on the counter. Boy, life is grand, I’ll tell you what.
For full effect, download “Kind and Generous” by Natalie Merchant, and play at maximum volume throughout the duration of this post.
During this festival of fatness there are more than likely a grouping of traditions that all of our families participate in. Aside from the potential murdering of innocent grandmothers during black Friday, my family has one of the most corny, most overworked traditions imaginable: We all sit around the table with Jell-O in our bellies and tears in our eyes, and tell one another what we’re thankful for.
I know. Gag my mature way of thinking with a spoon.
The thing that gets me about this tradition is that we’re all saying the same things in an overly dramatic cycle. “…thankful for my family, thankful for my friends, thankful for this food that has been placed before us.” Those are all things every member of my family already knows we’re thankful for. So you know what? I’m going rogue this year and using this blog to tell you what I’m REALLY thankful for.
I’m thankful for a DVR that allows me to tape a six-hour broadcast of Modern Family to watch at a later date while I’m stuck at home in my underwear.
I’m thankful for No-Shave November being created and exploding as a viral way of hygiene just so I can have everything above my neckline impersonate a homeless man.
I’m thankful for Wal-Mart, which allows my personal self-esteem to grow while watching the tomfoolery of other people around me.
I’m thankful for Craigslist being used as an exploitation of people selling really nice things at really dirtcheap prices. Because of you, I have found my furniture, my barstools, and my road bike.
I’m thankful for my height, which allows women who are 5’10”, not be forced to write off their entire high heel collection if by some chance we start dating.
I’m thankful for places such as Gold’s Gym, which allows me to fine-tune my physical character as a modern day Greek God, but at the same time allows me laugh at stick figures yelling in agony just so all the women in spandex will notice them.
I’m thankful for Asphalt Pie at Winger’s.
I’m thankful that Chuck Palahniuk, Rick Reilly, Joseph Gordon-Leavitt, and the Cohen Brothers have been birthed, only to help shape the kind of writer I want to become.
I’m thankful for my Mom’s pomegranate-pineapple raspberry Jell-O she makes every year, that could easily win a dessert contest at any Relief Society bake-off in Utah.
Don’t tell anyone about this, but as of last Friday night, I’m secretly thankful for Pinterest.
I’m thankful for past roommates who taught me how to cook, which I now use as one of my main strategies in wooing the heart of a woman.
I’m thankful for having a sports team to cheer for that doesn’t suck every single year. How could I have a motivation for life if I were only a Cubs fan?
I’m thankful that I’ve never taken a duck-faced selfie.
I’m thankful that I don’t have an Instagram account, because if I did, all I would see tomorrow are filtered pictures showcasing how unhealthy everyone is eating.
I’m thankful that the Twilight series has officially been killed off.
I’m thankful for my ability to tell a story in less than 700 words and still keep an audience entertained whether in person, or on paper.
And most of all, I’m thankful that you keep clicking on my links every three days as a follower, giving me the motivation to keep documenting my life through social media.
In the words of John Wayne, “Happy Thanksgiving, Pilgrims.”