New Levels of Lameness

Ever since my mother died I've made it a point to visit my aunt and uncle in Tennessee. Their only daughter Ashley died when she was 36 leaving them childless - the death of my parents left me an orphan. A bond was formed. The first year I came my aunt showed me how easy it was to quilt something, so we did. We also went to Wal-Mart and had a terribly American style white trash background photo taken just for kicks. The camp value was off the charts.
This year marks my fourth trip down. I think it's important to make this trip, to spend time with my family. The only thing is.....I'm super lame here. Like unreasonably lame. Take, for example, my day. After sleeping a hefty 10 hours I rose and retired to the couch where I played sudoku for a good half an hour. I then cut and sewed some material for this year's quilt - up until my back started to ache, at which point I sat down for more sudoku. I had lunch. Then more cutting and sewing. My back started hurting again so I took a nap. More sudoku. We listened to the radio all day - some easy listening station from Crossville. All the stars came out - Jewel, Celine, Hootie, Lionel, Phil. The works. But - the worst part....I enjoyed most of it. Fuck me. Maybe it was the cardigan I was wearing, maybe it was the material gliding through my fingers into the sewing machine, maybe it was the lack of anything foreign or illegal coursing through my veins. But something has gone horribly, horribly wrong.
We left for dinner at the "restaurant" at 5:45. AJ and UB live in a retirement community in Pleasant Hill called Uplands. Understandably, everyone here is old. As we arrived, the road crew from Cocoon was finishing the early bird special. It wasn't even 6.
Tomorrow will be filled with more sewing. Then dinner at 5:30 at Jim Flynn's house. He promised me beer and whiskey. He and I are now BFF.
And on a hilarious note, I heard a commercial on the radio that went something like this:
"Get your Valentine something special this year. Come down to Crossville Pawn and Guns and show her you care."
Well. Personally, nothing says I love you like a used .45 - or perhaps a widow's wedding ring.
All I know is this: after all this "clean living" I'm going to have to take some drastic steps. Upon my return to Montreal I will require the following to undo all the good:

• tickets to a heavy metal concert
• 1 case of Jameson
• a pile of cocaine
• a carton of cigarettes
• 1 ounce of weed
• anonymous sex, preferably with someone diseased
  

Until then, think of me, living it up in the Bible Belt, uttering phrases such as "goodness gracious" and "my word". And doing so with a southern accent. I just can't help myself.