Wait...you do WHAT for a living?

Thanksgiving gets increasingly more stressful for me every single year. If I’m not having nightmares about the stuffing running out before it gets passed to me, then I’m biting my nails over the fact that I’ll have to explain my career to my family sixteen times. And let’s not even get started on the fact that I’ve misplaced my expandable waistband jeans and turkey-print mumu. There’s no way I’m sitting down at that table wearing anything else. The last thing I can afford is a busted pair of pants with no buttons and a broken zipper.

I’m pretty sure my own parents can’t figure out exactly how blogging works or how I’m making money — so I have no idea how to even explain it to my grandmother. For years I thought she was computer literate, but it sadly turns out she was convinced that the Windows Paint program was actually the Internet. It certainly explains why she was adamant that my e-mails were never getting to her, but it will also make explaining blogging to her quite the challenge. Perhaps my best bet is to just replace her entire World Book 1965 collection with book covers that say “by Jenni” and tell her that I’ve been writing outdated encyclopedias since graduation.

Even worse than having to explain blogging to a 176-year-old (give or take a few decades) is having to beat around the bush when my younger relatives actually ask to see the blogs. While I’m writing for six different blogs, there is not one that’s appropriate for family members to see. If I’m not writing about one-night stands or pee pranks, then I’m giving advice to elderly men on how to date financially desperate women. And I’ve just ruled out showing this one because I know someone will tattle on me to my grandmother, which means a month from now when my siblings are opening up Chanukah envelopes with crisp 10 dollar bills, I’ll be opening a package marked hazardous that’s filled with my grandmother’s old dentures.

My anxiety ulcers aren’t just coming from having to explain my blogging career, but also from having to spend time with my extended family. When I was little, cramming 12 cousins into 2 beds seemed like a fun challenge. But now that everyone’s grown up (and gained weight) it’s more like every man for himself — if you don’t get a bed or a couch, make yourself cozy under the kitchen table. And beds are nothing compared to the fight over the remote. So help me god if anyone thinks they’re watching anything besides 30 Rock on Thursday night.

For a second I thought that maybe I was overdoing the stress and exaggerating the whole situation. But then my mom just called and gave me the annual lecture about not going out of my way to make my sister cry this year and I realized that I might be better off spending the holiday in my apt — TV remote and bed to myself.

The worst part of Thanksgiving is the dogs. Everyone has that one relative with a German shepherd, two Corgis and a Schnoodle/Pug mix. Some of us have more than one of these relatives, and some of us have many, many more than one. Some of these relatives have named their dogs Bill O’Reilly. All of these relatives arrive at every holiday party.

But you can’t just tell someone that you don’t like their dogs. There is no greater insult around the Thanksgiving table; you may as well have stuffed, dressed and roasted nephew Kenny.

Political beliefs work the same way, and in some ways are more annoying, because there’s no practical limit to how many you can stuff into the same party, and they’re usually invisible, unless Uncle Joe’s got some kind of witty hat (“Republicans Screw The Country, Democrats Usually Raise Taxes”).

And so you’ve got Grandma’s staunch Grand Old Politics jumping on your new dress and cousin Laura’s furious socialist anarchism taking up all the space on the couch and Teddy and Ralph are barking and howling about the liberal media and you can’t just shoot them.

So you’ve got to find a non-violent, pleasant solution to the problem. Just how do you deal with divergently political relatives?

The simple Thanksgiving solution is to compliment their cooking. This isn’t always easy, because people will put anything in a pie these days, and it might be compliment enough to even swallow Aunt Maura’s green bean and rhubarb casserole. But a quick white lie can be an effective deterrent to all-out family feuding (“All I’m saying is that they should learn to speak English — ” “Oh, Maura, I just love the way you’ve pickled the rhubarb!”).

Dropping the ‘willful ignorance’ bomb might sting, especially when this is the year for politically passionate young people, but it’s an acceptable Big Red Button when the situation gets too dire. Refuse to know anything about anyone, anywhere: just for today, you don’t talk about foreign politics, which includes anything outside the circumference of the pumpkin pie.

Alternately, you can simply pretend you’ve got wildly inconsistent political beliefs and simply agree with everything. Play it off as a product of your age: all that multi-tasking us young folk do has taught us to radically re-align our world view every five minutes, and maybe Grandpa will be impressed and give you ten dollars or something.

If you think you’ve got the wit, you can try taking both sides at once. Try playing devil’s advocate, but do it with such dripping sarcasm that your allies think you’re hilarious and your enemies just agree with you. After all, if people disagree with your political beliefs, it’s because they’re stupid, right? They’ll never catch on (“O’Reilly? He’s a genius! He’s got the sexiest pout on TV!”)

Finally, you can try to appeal to the elementary spirit of the day: we should cast aside our grievances and unite in the common spirit of thanks.

But who’s going to buy that?

Sometimes it seems like the only thing keeping the family together is the dogs.

If you are single, that means it is a day to fill that lonely void with family, football, frosting-covered desserts. If you are in a relationship, that means it is time for some meeting of the parents, whether your boy is meeting yours, or you are heading home with him for the holiday.

You meeting his parents? You will do fine – moms always love their son’s girlfriends.

Is he meeting yours? Well, that is a whole different story.

Many of us don’t think much of this moment; we just want our parents to meet the new dude in our lives. But to guys, meeting the parents is huge. Momentous. Monumental. OhMyGodSheWantsToGetMarried!!!

At least that’s what I gathered from my ex boyfriend who ran to the hills when I invited him to my parents’ for dinner. I thought maybe he didn’t like burgers, but as one of my male advisors explained, the meat was the least of his problems. It was the dinner guests that were the real issue.

Why is it such a big deal? Why can’t guys just man up and handle a free dinner? Let’s see what a guy had to say…

Here are our Top 5 Favorite Things About Thanksgiving:

1. The Food: Um. Duh? All of our favorite things on one table, in one night? Heaven! From the stuffing to the sweet potatoes to the millions of desserts, there is nothing better than that feeling of so-full-you-wanna-die that comes after a good Thanksgiving meal.

2. The Conversation: Who knew grandpa had such a dirty mind? The man can tell a sex joke like no other. We don’t know why it all comes out at Thanksgiving, but one minute you are complimenting Aunt Susie on her awesome pumpkin bread and the next minute your Great Uncle Frank is doing inappropriate things with the cornucopia in the middle of the table.

3. Friends: Or, even better, enemies. Thanksgiving is a family holiday, which means everyone is comin’ back home. That also means that you will most likely be running into those a**holes from high school who thought they were too cool for school. Well look who’s on top now, bitches.

4. The Booze: My mom is always giving me a hard time about my drinking: “Honey, you drink too much,” or, “It is not lady-like to chug a beer like that!” But not on Thanksgiving. I don’t know if she’s too drunk to notice, or if she just doesn’t care because it’s a holiday, but the booze is flowing…and I enjoy every last drop.

5. The Parade: Yeah it’s cheesy and really not as cool once you are over the age of 6, but it’s tradition. And it’s a cute tradition. And your mom won’t yell at you if you turn it into a drinking game!