The most bizarre Thanksgiving ever

Three things I never thought I'd do on Thanksgiving:

1. Avoid turkey altogether.
2. Hang out at dive tweeker bar.
3. Play put-put golf with tweeker bar owner and his daughter in exchange for Ouzo.

Yep, I did all three. No, I'm not proud of it. That's the short version for you skimmers. Here's the rest for those of you not busy cybershopping:

I woke up early and spent Thursday morning preparing the grand no-turkey-for-you-Thanksgiving-seafood-feast of 2005. People arrived, food was consumed, wine imbibed, and my aunt complained about the lack of Thanksgiving fare while gorging herself on Alaskan king crab legs and stuffed snapper. She even called my grandparents to tell on me for not making a turkey or stuffing. My grandfather said he thought turkey was overrated too and declared that he would fly down for the seafood feast next year. Take that bland turkey eaters of the world. I was left with the dishes and a mission to procure a bottle of Ouzo before sundown.

You see, a couple of months ago I discovered Ouzo at a party in San Luis Obispo. Or it discovered me and made me do things that were caught on camera and quite embarassing. Naturally, I had to find some Ouzo to take with me on my next trip north so I could act like an idiot again. My next trip happened to be Friday for a big Hash House Harriers Event that is held every other year on Thanksgiving weekend. That post will follow shortly.

Turns out my local bar, The Hill Top, sells Ouzo and one of the owners (T) has a crush on me so I figured I could score a bottle from him. He offered to trade a bottle of Ouzo for some leftover crab cakes and a date. Don't act so surprised.

So after our seafood extravaganza I filled a plate with a few crab cakes and sauce and took it up to the bar where T was stuck working. There were only two other people in the bar when I arrived so I decided to have a beer and play some pool with the boys for an hour or so. Well, an hour turned into two and before I knew it I was fully engrossed in the extraordinary people watching that is associated with a dive bar on a major holiday. The Hill Top is tweeker central and all the meth freaks were out in full force by 4 pm. It was both sad and funny at the same time: These people are so far gone from what I view as 'normal' society yet they are a community of sorts and were enjoying the holiday together, trading tales of the one day they pretend to be sober for friends and family before scampering off to the bar to score a fix. Eventually, T was off and wanting to take me to dinner before handing over the Ouzo. Having nothing but a sink full of dirty dishes to go home to, I agreed. He then said he needed to pick up his daughter first and that the three of us would go to town together. This sounded good to me because I knew T wouldn't try to make a move on me with his daughter present.

So T and I took his truck up to my parents' old neighborhood (now a hoity toity part of town) where his daughter was having a meal with friends. We, of course, arrived right in the middle of their Thanksgiving dinner. It was mind-boggling to go from a bar full of cranked out drinkers to a nice, down-home Thanksgiving. Turns out the family recognized me and the tension was eased through mutual tales of my crazy parents and their menagerie of critters that had once roamed the neighborhood. Note to self: Alpaca speak is a great ice breaker when crashing someone else's holiday party. After about 15 painfully awkward minutes of small talk and Jello mold avoidance tactics, we fled.

T's daughter is 14 years old and at that gawky braces-and-pimples stage of life. She wanted to go ice skating. I wanted to go home. She begged me to go ice skating with them. We know I'm a sucker. So there I was, stuffed into the cab of a Dodge Ram pick-up with a strange man and his pleasant-but-a-bit-off teenaged daughter, heading to an ice skating rink on Thanksgiving night. Ice skating was closed and I thought I was saved until we passed the local miniature golf course and just had to go play. I should have gone home. The daughter, starved for attention, again groveled so I played and attempted to make the best of an extremely abnormal situation. After 18 holes, she wanted to go again. Again, I wanted to go home. Somehow I found myself on the course for another 18 holes, in a daze, needing some of that Ouzo.

Finally, the golf course closed and we were kicked out. The two of them wanted to continue 'hanging out'. Thankfully, Carrow's (their favorite hangout) was closed and there was nowhere to go but home. At least I got the Ouzo...