Speaking of Thanksgiving traditions.

Ahh Thanksgiving, the recriminations, the insults, the threats of bodily harm. And that's just on the car ride over to my Mom's house.

Today I will celebrate this holiday of excess with the loving family that I ignore the other 363 days of the year. (I go over for Christmas as well, after all I am in my Mom's will. I get all of her debt once she dies.)

If events unfold as usual there will be plenty of hugging, laughing, and joyful reminiscing, right before the alcohol kicks in.

Then it will be time to bring up embarrassing stories about each other until somebody stomps out of the room sobbing uncontrollably. (My bet is on my brother this year.)

And who doesn't love those stories? Like the time I slept with the big boned girl (She had a pretty face.), or the time my brother peed into the radiator thinking he was in the bathroom (He was ten.), or the time my sister knocked a guy off of his barstool for calling her a bitch. (I taught her that.)

Ahh good times.

My mother will of course announce that we will NOT talk about politics this year, and that will last for just about two glasses of wine, at which time she will turn to me and say "What the fuck is up with that Obama guy you keep voting for?"

It will be a short discussion because I am well equipped with facts and figures while my mother will simply rattle off Right Wing talking points that she read in e-mails. (I really wish she would quit treating spam as if it is actual correspondence.)

Once my mom realizes that she is not doing well, she will do that thing that she does where she switches the conversation to personal attacks on what she perceives as my weak spots. (Gryphen's don't have weak spots.)

"Are you growing a beard, or do you think so little of the family that you could not even bother to shower and shave before leaving the house?"

"When are you going to find another woman to disappoint?"

"I remember when you were a baby and I still had such high hopes for you."

Now it should be mentioned that my mother, and of course my daughter who will be assisting her, are the only ones that can do this without fear of retribution. Everybody else at the table will just quietly giggle to themselves and try to avoid eye constant with me for fear that I will verbally eviscerate them.

But fear not, this will be about the time that my brother and I start discussing our childhood. We will reminisce about how dirt poor we were, the number of unqualified babysitters Mom dumped us off with, and her string of loser boyfriends that shuffled through our lives before she married that asshole who screwed up our adolescence.

Of course we don't remember any of the boyfriends names so we will use the nicknames we assigned to them. Such as Uncle "Always Smells like Whiskey," Uncle "Keeps Calling us by Other Kids Names," and of course Uncle "Don't Answer the Door it Might be the Police."

Then if that does not dissuade Mom from playing dirty, I will be forced to bring up the nicknames SHE had for them, such as Uncle "Lied About Being an Airplane Pilot," Uncle "Hung like a Parakeet," and Uncle "Farts When he Climaxes."

And that will signal the end of our trip down memory lane. And signal an uptick in the drinking.

So then it is time to eat the turkey, compliment each other for staying out of jail, and start talking shit about the relatives that did not show up to defend themselves. ("Have you heard from what's her name, you know the one with the uni-brow?" "How is cousin STD doing these days, is he still trying to convince everybody that he wears loose fitting pants for the comfort and not due to herpes flareups?")

Man I can hardly wait!

P.S. I probably should add that I ADORE my mother and credit her with everything good about my life. She is a very tough lady however, and our teasing peppered with embarrassing anecdotes are accepted in the spirit in which they are given.

With love.

Passive aggressive love.