12-Jul-2006

The Honeybee has accused me of having, and I quote, "the most boring blog ever.  All you ever write about is car insurance and smog certification."  To which I say, I might be boring, but at least I'm a legit Californian!  Ooohhh... BURN!!!  Now, look, there are things I could write about my trip home that would blow your collective minds, that would re-define the terms excitement, joy, and comfort, but I've never been one to brag about my life (OMG, my OCD ulcer is hurting I'm laughing so hard at that little white lie).  Therefore, the boring, the mundane, and the superficial will indeed persist here at xanga.com/mascriv.

The Flight Home:  As per usual, I am seated next to a young hooligan who thinks the rules of turning off and stowing all portable electronic devices do not apply to him.  I would have boxed his ears a bit and alerted Homeland Security had said device not been blaring Promiscuous.  I'm happy to die in a plane crash as long as I am allowed to sing along... Promiscuous Girl...you're teasin' me/ I know what I want, and I got what you need.  Indeed you do, my friend, indeed you do. 

Mom and Dad pick me up at the airport.  My mother takes one look at me and knows, in her keen way, that I pretty much haven't eaten all week (Look, I'm busy, I swear!).  So once we get to Moonlight in Owensboro, she's poured two Heinekens down my throat before my aunt and uncle have time to show up.  Then it's buffet time.  Please see my winter entry regarding Souplantation (aka the place at which I'd like to be proposed to) for my rave review of the buffet concept.  After all, I am the queen of keeping my options open (again, laughter, laughter, laughter, and... silence).

The morning brings a trip to the Baptist church with my bipolar grandfather and hip grandmother.  Mom is seething the whole time (for both of us, I think, Southern Baptist is likened to judgment, and judgment, if we are any judges, is bad), and Dad is singing at the top of his lungs.  My stomach is growling - apparently, that salad, corn bread, four types of meat, mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, green beans, and two slices of pie were not enough to fill me up.  So we go to another barbecue buffet after church, and I swear, I ate the exact same things, except this one had stuffing!!!  With lard-ridden gravy!!!  And peanut butter pie!!!

Okay, now I've made myself hungry.  The Designated Driver just called with the following statement about what she was cooking for dinner:

Designated Driver:  Okay, I'm going to go pull out some sausages--

Me:  -- That's what he said.

And the perverted 12-year-old saga will continue tomorrow.  Night, night!