Act natural

( Monday, Jul. 08, 2002 2:08 pm )

>Beer-thirty

Yikes, so I'm IM-ing my old roommate Priscilla right now. He hasn't asked about his stuff, which is good. I can guiltily feel his Cuba teacups glowing in my box of kitchenware behind me though. Guilt is a good way to occupy my time, I've found. Without guilt, crushes, delusions, and television, I would have no hobbies whatsoever.

I spent the last week or so in PA, visiting family over the 4th. It was a really fantastic time. Some days there, things get so idyllic it's almost ridiculously beautiful and peaceful. Blue sky, green trees, swimming in the river, looking forward to dinner and drinking beer on the porch...ridiculous. Ah, sweet mystery of life. Anyway, the 4th was tremendous as well, with many, many explosives. Down the street, some guy who may or may not be a registered pyrotechnician or something had put together a great display with real fireworks, so my family basically stood in the street 500 yards from our house to see a professional show. Afterwards we set off our own Class C fireworks until everyone was bored with it and a cloud of acrid smoke was hanging over the neighborhood. My uncle got drunk and fired off roman candles from the front porch, and we looked up to watch the rockets shoot up through the branches of the pine tree, through the power lines, past the roof. It was dangerous but beautiful. I saw three shooting stars that night, because they appeared just above the fireworks. And the next night, sitting on the porch, we saw a fireworks show just across the river, appearing over the mountains, with the bang coming at a delay.

My aunt had a friend staying with her who could drink beer like she was ringing a bell. She was a champ, drinking and chain-smoking from breakfast on. I really liked her. She would say "It's beer-thirty," meaning the time you're allowed to start drinking, which I thought was the most clever, outstanding thing I had ever heard in my entire life. My cousin explained that she hadn't just coined the term though, it's apparently common in the south.

My cousin is from Mississippi. I was half-sleeping up in my room, and I heard her downstairs telling my parents that she met Jools, the Naked Chef's wife, in a coffeehouse in Biloxi. Or maybe I was just dreaming.

I had said I was definitely not under any circumstances going to go see "Ya-Ya Sisterhood" with my mother this summer, but that is exactly what I ended up doing this weekend. I went with my mom and my aunt, and we were wandering around town afterwards killing time before dinner. We went into a hotel bar that was effin weird, with a very elderly basement feel about it. We were drinking beer in there around four o'clock (ie beer-thirty) and were the only people in there for a while until four HVAC (heating venting air conditioning) guys came in for whom beer-thirty had obviously come around lunchtime. The bartender was a middle-aged woman who asked if we were watching the TV and then changed the channel to the Lawrence Welk show. If you're too young to know what Lawrence Welk is, you'll have to trust me that had you seen it, you would have said "What in the hell?" I've heard great things about the bubble machine, but there was nary a bubble to be seen.

I don't want to be such a cranky baby, but I really miss having someone be in love with me. That was so effin nice.

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