Tuesday, August 02, 2005

THIS is where I can from?

I love 4-day weekends. When you get so busy with work/school/taking over the world, you get to a point where you need a break. And along comes a gloriously long weekend, like mana from heaven, awaiting to relax and rejuvinate you. Now you can spend Friday through Monday sipping pina coladas and ordering cabana boys around without a care in the world! Awe...

Sadly, this was NOT the case of this past weekend for me. I was in Tennesse, with bugs, and trailer parks, and tractors, and kudzu, and a whole lotta WASPs who still use the "n" word for black people. There I was, visiting my relatives for the weekend. This visit generated much reflection on my part and caused me to ask a question that really needs some Freudian/couch-laying/Dr.-Philian/sedative-induced reconciling:

Did half of my genetic makeup REALLY come from this? I had to spend all weekend biting my tongue and intellectually stooping down to their "level" just to keep me sane. It's almost like time just flat out stopped there. Literally. My relatives still think I'm 10 and, therefore, still treat me like a child! Saturday, we took my nephews to the Children's Museum of Memphis about an hour away. It was one of those interative/learing/keeping-kids-entertained/ADD-heaven places with different "stations" of "learning". We get back to Millington, where my genepool rests, and they ask my parents, "Did Mandy have a good time?" Yes, *shudder*, they call me Mandy. Da! I seriously have a physically painful reaction whenI hear that "name" spoken in reference to me. I just hate it. They try to get me to eat the barbacue turkey they just made for dinner. When I tell them that I'm a vegetarian, they look at me with a blank stare and I can see the wheels trying their hardest to turn to process what I just said. They then respond with, "Well, we have some chicken and some cheese." When I tell them that I spent the spring in Italy, they ask me questions like "Are people different over there?"

Lastly, I think being in Tennesse this past weekend has led to to make an important decision in my life, perhaps the most imporant one I'll ever make: Somebody needs shoot me now, please. I'm serious. I'm like a rabid dog or a lame horse. For the sake of the human race, these hidden genes of mine need to stay hidden so they don't pop up in my offspring and later generations.

Mandy?! *shudder*

9 comments:

  1. The "chicken and cheese" response is always my favorite. My extended family treats me like the prodigal son now that I eat meat again.

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  2. At least your family doesn't try and set you up with Steve from the Megaplex. (And megaplex in Stirling means 4 screens)

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  3. Just say "no" to Barry Manilow.

    And I have a cousin named Mahonri Moriancumer. And he has a brother named Jared. And their parents are the most "normal" people on that particular branch of the family tree.

    *sigh*

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  4. Don't we all have great extended family? ...I'm sure they same the same about us...

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  5. Never fear, Nama. There is something called selective breeding in which the retards don't get picked for breeding (learned that in my bio class). So, this means you can marry a guy with a brain, and your kids will be ok. You don't have to live in Tennesse either.

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  6. oh mandy.
    well, you gave and you gave without taking.
    but i sent you away.

    sorry, but it's one of the best songs EVER.

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  7. someone once told me the South is backwards (sorry nessa). But I do want to visit Tenn. b/c both my dogs came from a breeder there and I want to visit her.

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  8. don't worry! i'll make lamb!

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  9. The South is forwards, ya'll are backwards. And you find weirdos all over the place, not just in the South.

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