The Weekend Recap 12.19.05

Holiday Festivities!

Friday
Dad's birthday, so I offer to take him out to dinner...his choice. What's he pick? Outback. WTF? Dad. C'mon now. Outback Steakhouse? I mean, its not bad, but its Outback. Regardless, we arrive and saddle up to the bar while waiting on a table. In honor of Early Happy Hour™, I have a Blue Moon or three.

Now, my parents live in rural North Carolina (what one might call the heart of Steve America's constituency). And I'll preface this with the note that I'm a pretty simple guy. I have few prejudices because I remember from whence I came. But I gotta tell ya, heading out to eat in rural North Carolina is a veritable treat for the senses. In North Carolina, you have to understand that once one is 15 miles removed from any major population center, every man will a) hunt and fish, b) love NASCAR to the point at which he becomes violently aggressive at the mention of another driver and/or car manufacturer's name, and c) call every other male in his general vicinity, Bo, Cuh, or Good. The only requirement on the womenfolk is to have a hair style that is, at minimum, 4 years out of style. For the record, I grew up in rural NC, and partake in watching a NASCAR race or two each year.

Don't fuck with Tony Stewart, else you'll get punched in the mouth. Hard.

Anywho, it was good fun. A chuckle was had by all, and people watching continues to be one of my favorite pasttimes.

Back home to play with Puppy Bear and close out the night.

Saturday
Drop Kiko off at the puppy boarding house, then travel to do the Extended Family Christmas Gift Exchange And BBQ Luncheon™. Now I have an interesting and dichotomous separation in the dynamics that is the two sides of my family.

My Mom's side are as country as they come. My grandfather, Papaw, is a grizzled WWII tank driver. At 77, you can always find him with a chaw of tobacco in his mouth, reading a Robert Ludlum spy novel, and would just as soon cuss you out as look at you. My grandmother, Mamaw, is a coutry gal with a heart of gold and the quickest wit this side of the Appalachains. Not to mention, she cannot be killed by conventional means. Since 1996, she has suffered 3 strokes, countless mini-strokes, 3 types of cancer, liver disease, a broken hip, a broken foot, dementia, and a heart attack. And she's in better spirits and just as good health as she's ever been.

My Dad's side of the family is full of conservative, fundamentalist Christians. My grandfather on that side, Pop, is ex-Navy, and has little patience for anything outside what is important to him. He's a brusque man and as honery as they come, but he's still Pop. He's mellowed over the years, taking care of his ladyfriend of the past 10 years, who has terminal cancer. The rest of that extended family is an eccentric cast of characters, including my Aunt Pauline, who despite hailing from Dallas, NC, believes herself to be a 1950's Hollywood starlet, a cantakerous, senile Uncle Bubba who still thinks I'm 16, and a cousin who refuses to speak to me because I'm divorced.

All that said, it was great seeing everyone.

I returned home that evening and prepared for a date. We'll call her PhD Girl. The date was fantastic. Better than I could've hoped for. I honestly don't want to say too much, for fear of what I'm calling, The Blog Jinx™. I'll just say that I have been impatiently waiting on seeing her again tonight.

I will say that I did sleep alone.

Sunday
I went to go pick up Baby Girl from the kennel and I had a surprise when I arrived. It seems that the little dominating princess got into a scuffle. And not just any scuffle. My 35 pound ball of fur scrapped with a 120 pound Alaskan Malamute. We'll just say that the Malamute won this round, since Kiko had to take a trip to the vet for a puncture wound. I'll have to have a talk with her before the next trip to a kennel, on how to avoid getting shanked in the Yard. The funny thing is, the owner of the boarding kennel said that Kiko had the other dog on it's back and had him thoroughly dominated, but that the Malamute got scared and bit her defensively before she had a chance to separate them. I guess little Kiko can't be the Alpha Bitch with everyone. At least not while she's as small as she is now. Of course, when she gets to her full 85 pound weight, we might be singing a different tune. That said, she's doing fine. It wasn't deep wound, but the antibiotics made her groggy and a little nauseous, so I had to follow her around the house with paper towels and carpet cleaner.

After Kiko's traumatic weekend, I cancelled my plans for that evening to stay with her. We hung out, Daddy and Baby Girl, watching football and eating nachos.

The Panthers won, the Colts lost. I was really rooting for Indianapolis to go undefeated. I think Tony Dungy is a helluva coach, and seems like a man with excellent character. Still, they have a damn good shot at the Super Bowl.

Relaxed the rest of the evening. It was nice to enjoy some tranquility. The evening chat with PhD Girl wasn't so bad either. Heh.