Hello, friends. It’s that special time of year again. The time of year to gather round loved ones, share a hot meal, have a good laugh, say one appropriate thing after having too much wine, have your mother overreact, tell her she’s a goddamn micromanager and that she should mind her own fucking business, listen to your sister pipe in with some whiny bullshit, and then leave town early.

I keed, I keed. I’d say, by the time you hit your 20’s, you make the transition to enjoying Thanksgiving more than Christmas. It really is the best holiday in the history of everything ever. There’s food, wine, football, napping, and at least one family member who accidentally farts, triggering a round of farting and laughing from everyone else in your clan. What, that doesn’t happen at your house? Pfft. Whatever.

Now, we all know the tradition behind Thanksgiving. I learned it in kindergarten. The Pilgrims landed at Plymouth Rock because the English made fun of their gay shiny shoe buckles. Then they met up with the savage Indians. But they managed to tame the wild beasts with delicious brown whiskey and games of chance. Then Squanto taught the Pilgrims how to plant corn by putting dead fish in the ground. Then they all sat at a big table and broke bread. Then John Smith nailed the shit out of Pocahontas after dessert. Then the Indians busted out the peyote and moonshine and they all played dice. That’s what I was taught, so it must be true.

And, in that same tradition, I will share with you my schedule for tomorrow’s Turkey Day festivities. I’m a dad, so I wake up early now. Your schedule may vary. Feel free to post yours in the comments.

7AM – The Girl (my daughter) wakes up. Lie perfectly still so that Mrs. Drew thinks I’m still asleep and goes to get her.

7:05AM – Mrs. Drew goes to get Girl.

7:06AM – Masturbate. Fall back asleep.

8:00AM – Wake up for real. Go downstairs. Check email. Get glare from Mrs. Drew. Stop checking email and feign being a good husband and father. Consider having first drink.

8:05AM – Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

9:30AM – Put Girl down for 1st nap. Check fantasy lineup. KJ is out. I’m officially uninterested in Dolphins-Lions.

9:35AM – Uh… what do I do now? Okay, okay. I take it back. I’ll watch a shitty football game. When does it start? Three fucking hours from now? Christ.

10AM – Wait.

10:05AM – Wait more.

10:10AM – Watch the Macy’s Parade on TV. Listen to Meredith Vieira use the same script for the Bart Simpson balloon that’s been used every year since 1990: “Cowabunga, dudes! Bart Simpson is hanging loose up over 5th Avenue. Don’t have a cow, man!” Those morning show anchors just exude spontaneity.

11:00AM – The Girl wakes up. Change her diaper and her outfit. Bring her downstairs. Have Mrs. Drew tell me the Girl’s outfit isn’t acceptable. Let out five-minute, audible sigh. Go back and change her again. Repeat as necessary.

11:30AM – Eat bagel and omelet for light snack.

Noon – Turn on NFL Countdown.

12:01PM – Turn off NFL Countdown. Wonder why I even fucking bothered.

12:30PM – Lions-Dolphins kick off. Yay, I can start drinking!

12:32PM – Dolphins 23, Lions 0 (They get a safety in there somewhere).

12:37PM – Flip around. That Barefoot Contessa is a fucking snob. Not all of us live in East Hampton like you and your precious Jeffrey, slutbag. And, while I’m at it, fuck Alton Brown. Bossy sack of shit.

12:45PM – Ooohhh, Death to Smoochy is on Comedy Central!

1:00PM – Start making stuffing. I volunteer to make stuffing every year. I’ve heard of people who put oysters in their stuffing. That’s fucking gross. I’ve never eaten stuffing and thought to myself, “Hey, you know what would improve this? Shellfish.” Why don’t I make shrimp raisin bread while I’m at it? Disgusting.

2:00PM – Halftime. Dolphins 97, Lions -1. Matt Millen gets a seven-year extension and is legally adopted by William Clay Ford.

2:30PM – Pack up shit for 15-minute drive to the in-laws. Make sure there’s backup wine for the backup wine.

2:45PM – Arrive. My mother-in-law has the appetizer spread already set out. Fucking tremendous. Scoop entire bowl of hummus onto single piece of pita bread and eat it.

2:50PM – Watch the end of Dolphins-Lions. Final score: Dolphins 156, Lions -39 (in overtime).

3:30PM – Start of Bucs-Cowboys. I have TO on my fantasy team, so this game actually interests me. Except when the Bucs are on offense, in which case it can fuck off. I’d also like to announce that I will, from here on out, refer to Bill Parcells as the Titty Monster.

3:31PM – Fall asleep.

4:30PM – Mrs. Drew wakes me up for a haircut. Yes, Mrs. Drew cuts my hair. No one crimps like Mrs. Drew.

5:00PM – Haircut over. Shower. Officially allowed to start binge drinking. Grab beer and head downstairs.

5:01PM – Cowboys 14, Bucs 0. TO has already caught one TD pass and dropped seven others.

5:02PM – Mrs. Drew tells me to turn off the TV and come upstairs to be social with everyone. Oh, okay.

5:59PM – Hey, I’m drunk! Nice.

6:00PM – Dinner. Do you like white meat? Then fuck off. I’m a dark meat man. None of this bland white meat shit. Dark meat is moister and has more fat. It’s like Kate Winslet. And who doesn’t enjoy Kate Winslet?


The rest of the evening’s menu:

-Stuffing
-German stuffing (It’s stuffing, but with bacon. I approve of that addition.)
-Cranberries
-Sweet potatoes (which get cold in exactly 4 seconds)
-White trash church basement green bean casserole (the one with cream of mushroom soup and fried onions. So. Fucking. Good.)
-Gravy (NOTE: There is never enough gravy at Thanksgiving. Everyone says, “Hey, don’t use too much gravy.” God dammit, it’s Thanksgiving. I want to rub gravy all over my body and lick myself clean. Make more gravy, people.)
-Pumpkin pie

Pretty simple. If we were at my folks’ house, there would also be mashed potatoes (good) and creamed onions (guhhhhhh).

6:30PM – Fourths.

6:35PM – Check final score. Cowboys 28, Bucs 3. Since Madden left FOX, I think Aikman gives out an award for the best Thanksgiving Day player. I think it’s a crystal scrotal clamp, but I don’t remember.

6:45PM – Bourbon. Chocolate.

7:00PM – Leave.

7:15PM – Bathe Girl. Feed Girl. Put Girl to bed.

7:30PM – More bourbon.

8:00PM – Watch Broncos-Chiefs. This is the only good game of the day. My eyelids barely function.

8:01PM – Plummer throws an interception. Mike Shanahan benches all his running backs and throws in Sammy Winder, just to fuck more with Tatum Bell owners like myself.

9:00PM – Interrupt Broncos-Chiefs for Mrs. Drew’s 2-hour Grey’s Anatomy event. Shit. Hey, people with TiVo: I fucking hate you. I’m assuming George’s dad dies because the uptight Asian doctor lets the black guy with bad hand operate on him. What a bitch.

11:00PM – Turn back to Broncos-Chiefs. Broncos 28, Chiefs 27. Amazing finish. I missed it.

11:01PM – Biiiiiiiiiiiiig dump.

11:15PM – Throw up.

11:16PM – In bed. Thanksgiving rules.

Happy Thanksgiving to all of you. Hope you all have a great time with family and friends. And, if you’re traveling, I hope your trip is as painless as humanly possible. Enjoy the food and games, everybody.