A Very Special Southern Indiana Christmas

I promised myself I wouldn't blog until I'd finished a column I had due. Last time I make that mistake. I can barely remember Christmas by now.

So, the highlights. The Saturday before Christmas, my Jeep wouldn't start. Instead of finishing my shopping and wrapping presents, I spent the afternoon resolving complex logistical issues of getting to work that evening and to Southern Indiana the next day.

On Sunday, a Christmas Miracle! The Jeep healed itself and started right up. My brother-in-law sent me to NAPA with a parts list. I spent the morning of Christmas Eve under his tutelage and under the hood of the Jeep, giving it a good tuneup. My hair kept getting caught in the wheels of of the creeper and I ended up with approximately 1/4 of the motor oil in my oil pan in my hair.

FYI, use dish soap when removing motor oil from long hair. Regular shampoo will not work.

I got lectured about how worn my spark plugs were, how much corrosion was in my distributor cap, how the oil looked like molasses, and how the battery terminal cable was probably falling off every time I went over a bump. My BIL did not buy my story that the guys at Jiffy Lube must have backdated the oil filter.

The best part of the trip was Christmas morning. My sister had warned me that she wouldn't be getting me much for Christmas, which is fine. She usually has her husband help her out with buying Christmas gifts, but since he was still paying off medical bills from when she ran over him with the golf cart, she wasn't about to ask him for any Xmas cash.

Imagine my delight, then, when just like the parents in "A Christmas Story," my sister and BIL told me there was one more gift that wasn't under the tree. They brought it out, and there it was, my own version of a Red Rider BB Gun:

You see, one day this summer my sister was visiting me when I was putting new steps on my deck. I threw one of my two shitty drills across the yard when it refused to work. Contrary to popular belief, apparently I WAS a good girl this year!

And yes, it's entirely possible I will put my eye out.

Thanksgiving without a bang

Keeping with the munitions theme...

Upon my arrival Wednesday night in southern Indiana, I called my sister, who reminded me that it's deer hunting season.

Crap.

In the 5 years I've had Big Head Dog, I seem to always forget to buy one of those safety-orange vests for my deer-colored dog. In case you've never seen one, a whitetail deer looks something like this (minus the shirt) running through the woods (or, I suppose, through my living room):

Big as he is, Big Head Dog is not deer sized. He also does not have antlers. Only a complete idiot or drunkard would do something so stupid as to mistake a 75-pound dog for a 10-point buck while holding a gun.

Ahem.

So, I searched the farmhouse for something sorta dog-sized and orange-like. And I hit the jackpot--a bag full of my clothes from the mid-80s. Florals, fuschias, oranges, day-glo....oh, the horror of it all was spectacular.

And so Big Head Dog ran the woods with his t-shirt proclaiming him a participant in the 1985 Lanesville Heritage Weekend 8-mile race.

Even though the Monster is not deer-colored, he looked so....naked. And unstylish. And he is a monster, so he deserves something heinous every chance I get. Behold, the hot-pink muscle sweatshirt:

Are they waiting at the door to go outside, or to run away from their cruel master once and for all? Who knows.

Thanksgiving with a bang

It's difficult for me to pick just one post from Thanksgiving now that I'm back in the land of internet connectivity. It was a great 2-1/2 days.

I never used to care much one way or the other for Thanksgiving, being wedged in between my favorite holiday (Halloween), my birthday, and Christmas. But the past couple of years, it's worked its way up the list, maybe because my family dinner is always "if you're not doing anything else, stop on by" casual, or maybe because it's the only time I ever get a 4-day weekend to do whatever the hell I want without burning precious vacation days.

I think, though, that my favorite picture of many from the holiday is from the shopping excursion my sister and I made. Neither of us care much for shopping, and we sure as hell weren't going anywhere near Wal-mart on the day after Thanksgiving, but nonetheless, I had a few things to pick up, namely, RV antifreeze (to winterize the farmhouse) and firestarters (also for the farmhouse). (To start a fire in the wood stove, not to light the house itself on fire.)

So, after we burned off about 1/2 piece of pumpkin pie at the Y, we crossed the street to the liquor store for a 6-pack, then went to Tractor Supply Co. Words can scarcely describe my love for that store, but this should help:



That's right, 8 feet of empty (I think) Winchester shotgun shells, all festive and lit up for the holly-days! It's gonna be a helluva Christmas!

them's my people

Saturday was my birthday. The first phone call was at 9 a.m., from my brother-in-law. I figured he was calling to wake me up and wish me a happy birthday. I didn't answer it, as I was still in bed and in no mood to converse.

Instead of birthday greetings, however, I had the following message. How could I not be in a good mood the rest of the day?

(delivered in a thick Southern Indiana drawl)
"This is your favorite brother-in-law. I don't know if your sister told you she broke my rib. She ran over me with the golf cart on Halloween night. I figured she might be too embarrassed to tell you. You should give her a call later today and ask her about it. Bye."

Wha? Hooo hooo ha haaaaa!

Best damn lookin' porch in Southern Indiana!

I can hear you asking, "what color did you paint the trim at the farmhouse, B.I.G.?"

No? That wasn't you? Oh. Sorry, must be the damn neighbors acting up again.

Anyhoo, here's what color I wanted to paint it:

Can't really tell there? How about here:

Yes, it is a lovely bluish-gray, thank you! Unfortunately, very little of it is covering the god-awful green, because Big Head Dog wound his chain around the entire gallon of paint, which my sister left open and unattended on the porch, knocking it over. When I returned to the scene, Big Head Dog was so happy to see me, he wound the paint-covered chain around my leg.

The resulting conversation went something like this:

Me: aaaarrrrrgghhh! You big stupid, you left the paint open!

Sister: Your big stupid dog knocked it over!

Me: You're the big stupid!

Sister: Nuh uh! You're the big stupid!

Me: Fuck it, let's have another beer.

Sister: Good idea.

Since the entire gallon of paint was then on the porch, we really had little option but to spread it out. So now the top-of-the-line exterior paint I bought (charged to my ex's account, whatever) is covering a concrete slab porch. I can't wait till the first time somebody tries to walk on the damn thing when it's wet--it's gonna be slicker than snot on a glass doorknob.

what day is it??

Yeah, about that experiment.

Tuesday I went to a neighborhood thing at someone's house. They had so much wine, it seemed inhospitable to not have a glass. But, it was a tiny plastic cup. And then my friend wanted a cheeseburger, and well, it seemed inhospitable to not keep her company while she ate, and while they DO have Diet Pepsi at the Red Key, a beer really sounded good...

But, I did drink in moderation. So that's something of a victory.

And then there was Wednesday night. Geek Boy and I were supposed to be playing tennis, but he had a meeting that got rescheduled, and couldn't meet till 9. I didn't know of any public courts with lights, plus, it had been raining all day, and I hate playing with soggy balls, so Geek Boy suggested meeting for a beer.

I have known Geek Boy for a couple of months. We went out a couple of times. We get along incredibly well and have interesting, geeky conversations about subjects that would bore many people to tears. He's smart, he thinks I'm intelligent and attractive. As a bonus, we agree that we have an off-the-hook physical chemistry, as in, omg, did we really just spend an hour making out in the parking lot outside the bar, in semi-public??

Given all that, naturally (wtf?) Geek Boy decided he just wants to be friends. But "really friends, like, do stuff together."

Sex is doing stuff together.

Geek Boy didn't think that would be a good idea, for reasons that still mystify me. Something about just getting out of a serious relationship, blah blah blah.

Whatever. We do have a good time, so Wednesday we did stuff together that did not, unfortunately, involve sex. It did, however, involve darts and a hell of a lot of Bells Oberon. God, that's a good beer. And it was on sale--$2.75 a pint!! You can't beat that with a stick!

Not for the first time, it occurred to me that I should not try to keep up with Geek Boy in the drinking department. Because I can, but he's about 6' 3" and 220. I'm not, and should not drink like I am.

So I completely fell off the wagon. But, it was the full moon! Nora, I would claim that as your excuse, too.

All in all, however, I clearly didn't overindulge, because I am completely unrelaxed. Again, a small, empty, hollow, bitter victory.

This weekend, it's off to a Redneck Adventure Weekend with my sister and her friends. This installment of RAW is camping in southern Indiana (if you saw my sister's camper, you'd know there's not much adventurous about that. It has a stereo system, for god's sake) and going to the World's Largest Sorghum Festival in Hawesville, Kentucky. I'm not even going to pretend I won't drink my body weight in Miller Lite.