Small request: should your Thanksgiving not involve sitting around a table that’s topped with a platter upon which resides a chicken that has been shoved inside of a duck which has then been crammed inside of a turkey, can I please spend the holiday at your house? I’ll bring dessert.
See, my sister Amy insists upon making a turducken for Thanksgiving – and she then wraps that sucker in bacon because three animals apparently aren’t enough to consume in one bite so she tosses in some pig too. Having this monstrosity served to my family involves some careful strategizing. My sister Leigh, who eats no meat, must maneuver her way to a spot at the table that is in no way turducken-adjacent lest she vomit on the placemats. My mother needs a spot that’s near the kitchen because, even though we’re not at her house, she can’t stop herself from clearing the table while mentally calculating the carbohydrate intake just consumed by her nearest and dearest. When the staggering sum finally settles into her head – it takes her a little while to do the math – she locates a quiet place to quickly do some lunges. (She probably ate very little of the meal herself, but just being around such gluttony requires some immediate cardio. I try not to judge.) My brother-in-law likes to be near the soupy green bean casserole that has shriveled up onions on top. The entire dish looks like something the turducken might have puked up after a bender, but it makes him very happy. As for me, I’ve never been a big eater of the actual Thanksgiving meal. I like to use my calories on appetizers and cake, so I spend most of dinner trying to furtively remove items from my stepfather’s plate that I fear could immediately clog his arteries. Sometimes he catches me as I slip a hunk of duck into my napkin and his reaction depends on his mood. I’ve gotten, “I love you, sweetheart” as a response to stealing his food and once I was stabbed with a fork so you really never know.
In spite of Thanksgiving being a working holiday for me since I’m on the clock as Food Lieutenant, it’s always been one of my favorite days. I’m a part of one of those families where we go around and say what it is we’re grateful for and this year I’m grateful for the supportive people in my life; the opportunities that have come my way; my hair, which has been looking really good lately; Kim Richards being unceremoniously fired from The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills; Springsteen’s upcoming appearance on Saturday Night Live; and that I finally know for sure what love feels like – and what it doesn’t feel like. And it is with my own generating gratitude list in mind that I have started to wonder what our favorite Vanderpumpers might thank the heavens for on this special day.
Lisa Vanderpump probably feels grateful for her family, all of her dogs, and for the purses she owns that are large enough to tote some of those furry friends around with her as they ride shotgun in her Rolls Royce Phantom. She probably also appreciates that she lives in a house guarded by swans who swim in a moat and that she somehow has the ability to still appear classy whilst starring on two reality shows that are populated by f*cking heathens.
Katie is appreciative of the ring that’s wrapped around her finger, her hair returning to a normal color, and that Stassi might just have been a really long and really bad dream.
Sandoval is grateful that he can roller-skate like a 70s starlet and that Kristen is no longer sharing space in his living quarters. Actually, I’m willing to bet that the entire Sandoval clan – including aunts, uncles, and that guy who slept with his fifth cousin once – are also thrilled that Kristen will not one day show up at the family reunion, though come on, this is Kristen we’re talking about and she will be there with bells on – and nothing else. Let’s face it: if she went over to Sandoval’s house that one time to pick up her mail in a dress with a neckline so plunging that it was clearly modeled after a dress a stripper once had during a delirious fever dream, one can only imagine what our favorite psychopath will wear to The Sandoval Family Reunion.
Realizing that Kristen, much like Michael Meyers, will never truly go away, Ariana is currently busy constructing a wardrobe made entirely from bulletproof fabric and has thus decided to forgo Thanksgiving this year.
Schwartz is thankful he has a sweet dog, a fiancé who demanded a ring, new business opportunities on the horizon, and that he’s not Jax.
Kristen is grateful that her capacity for delusional thinking is seemingly limitless, that there are still people who pretend that she is sane, and for the invention of night-vision goggles.
James is wildly appreciative that a discount clothing store right near SUR sells drapey tank tops for scrawny men and that some girls are so broken inside, they don’t realize that he’s just a walking piece of dogsh*t who should probably be deported.
Jax feels gratitude for his newest nose and for the fact that he has stumbled into the world of reality television, a landscape where lessons never really have to be learned and culpability is rarely internalized. He appreciates the scores of people in our society who crave being in the limelight so desperately that they are willing to view a d*ckhead like him as a veritable star. He is also grateful that shows like Celebrity Rehab exist so he can bless us with his talents forever.
If you’re going through the kind of hell Scheana is dealing with right now, it’s hard to feel any kind of gratitude. Still, she is grateful that she can put on her makeup in under three hours, that she has friends to lean on during the dark times, and crop tops.