Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts

Friday, May 08, 2009

Afterglide charm school: how to lose friends and throw down the cluck

Inspired by Bunny's recent incorporation of Dale Carnegie's How to Win Friends and Influence People into his life in an effort to be more charming, I have decided to do the exact opposite. I shall be a complete and unrepentant ass -- moreso. I will interrupt people in the denouement of their stories with skeptical questions. I will come to work in the morning, ask my coworkers how they are doing, and before they can finish their first sentence, wave my hands in front of my face and growl a disgusted status update of "Feign interest!" and walk away. Ang's attempts to initiate intimacy will be met with me immediately beating off and announcing, "No thanks, I'm done." And instead of a Mother's Day gift, my mom will open her local paper this weekend to find a planted fake obituary for me. So I hope you'll join me on this odyssey. I may not die alone, but dammit, folks'll wish I would.

Wednesday, December 10, 2008

Afterglide 257th annual holiday gift guide

I realize you're busier than a humping dog in a prosthetic leg factory doing all of that shopping for me, but take a break for a minute and try to think about someone other than me for a change. Think about your kids, your pap pap, your mee maw, and your dim sum for a moment. What haven't you done for them yet? That's right, you haven't bought a single one of them a Christmas gift yet, you selfish prick. What's that? You don't celebrate Christmas? Shut up. I didn't fucking ask you. Just strain to pop your head out of your tight ass, and suck my missive. Here now is Afterglide's 257th annual holiday gift guide.

I know you hate to admit it, but your mom is a total piece of ass. Ass like that doesn't grow on trees, it grows on the potted MILFberry bush in the back seat of a Volvo station wagon with a 15 year old boy. So get your slutty mom what she really wants.

1. Lace Bow Thong ($14 from Victoria's Secret) - She won't keep them on for long, but they'll help her at least pretend she's capable of subtlety and coyness.

2. Eroscillator 2-Plus vibrator ($127.95 - $240.90 from Eroscillator) - With a series of attachments with names like "Grapes and Cockscomb" and "French Legionnaire's Moustache," the Eroscillator might be just enough to keep yer momz out of the junior high hockey team's locker room for the next 15 minutes or so.

3. My dick ($0 from - I know she's had it before, but is a dozen times really enough? Maybe this time I'll throw it in her pooper for a special treat.

Everyone else

1. Abortion Burger t-shirt - Line my pockets and show your love for fetal meat.

2. Abortion Burger cap - Line my underwear and cover your head with interrupted bovine potential.

Sunday, June 08, 2008

Tell me BEFORE you're going to be on television!

Hey, god dammit! (where god dammit = my brother Troy) Next time you're going to be on television, give a motherfucker some warning will you? Out of sheer coincidence, I went through my Tivo Wish List menu, which keeps an eye out for shows with "Minneapolis" as a keyword, and saw a show called "My First Home" on TLC where a couple was arguing about whether to live in the city or in the 'burbs. That sounded somewhat interesting, so I added it to my record list. I watched it tonight, and first recognized the real estate dude as my sister-in-law Danielle's former boss. "Well isn't that something," I thought. Then halfway through the episode, there are Troy and Danielle front and center, convincing the couple to move to Savage. Well for the fuck sake! I thought I had recognized the couple, but couldn't place them. Troy and Danielle returned at the end of the episode sharing champagne with the couple as they celebrated getting the home.

I'm thinking this had to be shot last summer, as T & D moved to Philadelphia back in January. I didn't hear about it then either.

You guys are fuckers.

UPDATE: So apparently this episode first aired IN FEBRUARY!!!!!

Fuck you guys. Seriously.



Tuesday, March 04, 2008

A shit and a smoke

One particularly vivid olfactory memory I have of childhood is waking up each school day to the heavy smell of my dad's shit and cigarette smoke. The bathroom he used to get ready in the morning was across the hall from my bedroom. There, he situated himself on the toilet, puffing away on a Winston and uncoiled a smoky grump without shame, door wide open.

For as many striking similarities as I find between my late dad and me in my adult life, we clearly have never seen eye to eye on the issue of openly pooping. Sure, I talk freely and gleefully about pooping, but I want solitude when I'm milling mahogany. Unless I'm in the house by myself, even if it's just Ang and me, I close the door. We pee around each other (in the toilet while in the presence of each other, not like in a circle on the floor while the other sits there Indian style), but pooping is a different animal entirely. Pooping is a time for quiet contemplation and sometimes for struggling with your inner demons in physical, gaseous, and spiritual forms. That's Jeremy time.

Dad did eventually quit smoking, so the smoke disappeared from my mornings when I was in junior high. Eventually the shit smell was gone, too. What I wouldn't give to smell them both again.

Tuesday, February 26, 2008

"Then he sent me a video of a guy whipping a giraffe in the ass with a garden hose. And I was like, 'What the fuck is this shit?'"

Dear family members and friends, please stop emailing me video files. Seriously, is this fucking 1996? And not just little video files but 10 and 20 megabytes worth of long-dead chimpanzees peeing on Big Wheel-riding toddlers who have since graduated from law school. HA HAAAA -- stop it! If a video file is sent to you as an attachment, I guaran-fucking-tee you that it's been circulating around the internet for a decade or more. Ever heard of a little thing called YouTube? I'll bet you can find that video there or on any of the myriad video sharing sites created in recent years. But either way, don't send it to me. Mom, this includes you (even though you will likely never read this since you vowed long ago never to return to my blog after deeming it "just awful").

Thursday, December 20, 2007

I'm pretty sure this fits right in

Even in an animated potty-training video the Japanese have mastered The Cute. I assume some of you already know how to use the potty but don't get distracted before it's over. Put down your chocolate pudding, though.

My favorite moment is the animated representation of a turd. I'd almost like to forget the techniques I've learned just so I can re-learn them with the assistance of this most wonderful video.


Monday, December 10, 2007

Jeremy's Christmas gift roundup

"I just love what you've shoved into my box!"
Well, it's that time of year again, folks. It's finally time to review the best and worst of this year's holiday gift items. Whether you're looking for a tech toy for Dad or the latest fashion accessory for your girlfriend, I've got all the figurative poop on what's bright and what's shite.

Girlfriend or Wife

I've bought Ang a few nice things. But since she keeps a close eye on this blog, I can't really tell you what I got her. But I'll review the items in such a way that won't spoil the surprise.

Gift #1 - My only complaint is that this gift is too heavy. I pulled a groin muscle lifting it off of the store shelf. I can tell you that it's got a quality build, wasn't terribly damp, and that you eventually get used to the smell, particularly if you grew up on a farm or near an oil refinery. Overall I give this gift an A-.

Gift #2 - This one was a little difficult to find. In fact, I had to order it from overseas due to some legal issues surrounding getting caught buying or selling them in the United States. I tracked down a guy selling them online. I gave him my social security number and bank account number. It looks like he took a few thousand dollars out of my account as a deposit. I trust I'll get that back when the item arrives. I can't wait to see the look on Ang's face! B+

Gift #3 - Ronny sold me a couple pounds of this stuff. Kind of looks like oregano. For some reason, he put raw eggs in it. But he gave me a 25% discount and said I was "OK to buy." I'm not sure what that means, but it must be good shit. B+++


My mom, though she has verbally vowed to never visit my blog again, could be reading this, so again, I can't really tell you specifically what I bought her.

Gift #1 - This one looks pretty good. The box is classy (you could also say that about my girlfriend), and I think there is a button on it. I had to open it up to make some modifications to it, but I think Mom will appreciate that. It also came with a bale of hay. A+

Gift #2 - It's red and shaped like part of my anatomy. I tried to find a purple one to make it more realistic, but the gun shop wouldn't sell it to me. A+

Gift #3 - I bought this one in California. No eggs in this batch, but I was blacklisted from the buy list after I tugged on the dude's tunic. C+


My brother doesn't read my blog much, but just in case...

Gift #1 - I wasn't allowed to get just one of them, so I had to buy like 5, which is total bullshit. He's getting all of them. I just hope he has enough room in his pants.


She reads my blog for sure, so I can't say what it is.

Gift #1 - There was only one of them. There's some sort of button on it, but it didn't do anything when I pressed it (you could also say that about my girlfriend).


I'm still shopping for this gift, but I'm thinking of getting him a CD of trance music or maybe some lavender-scented hand lotion with lilac crystals to keep his hands moisturized when he's hunting deer. I'll bet he'd like that. A+ for my idea and F- for you if you don't agree.


Mostly your friends shouldn't get gifts if you see them regularly because they get the gift of seeing you so much. I tried to convince Angie that was particularly true for a girlfriend, but then she rolled off of me and told me to go home. She wouldn't even let me collect my trousers and sweater vest first. I don't care: A+

Everyone else

Signed photos of me masturbating. Enough said. A++++++ and a sticky cuddle.

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

Brotherly love

My brother Troy's employer has transferred him to their Philadelphia office. I suggested he leave a set of keys to his ginormous house in Savage (they don't plan on putting it on the market until next spring) so I could check in on it occasionally. So big NYE beer bash at Troy's crib, y'all! Don't bother taking off your shoes, using coasters, using the trash cans, or aiming for the toilet. We are going to fucking TRASH that place! WOOOOO!

Oh, and Troy, I'm also going to need the keys to your liquor cabinet and gun safe.

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

The San Francisco treatment

The night before we left for San Francisco, we decided to take a detour through wine country on the way from Sonora. At first, I resisted, because I wanted us to have as much time as possible in San Francisco. In the end, I agreed that we probably wouldn't have a chance like this for all of us to get drunk together on wine right next to the grapes that made it. After a stop for lunch in Napa, we ventured out into mile after mile of grape vines and vans full of drunken housewives.

Grapes grow on vines apparently. I always thought they grew on my ass and could be cured with a tube of Preparation H.

Mom and her boys.

People sure have fancy houses there. This house is up on a hill with a long, winding driveway. I'll bet they built it all the way up there to get away from the rotten smell of grapes permeating the air down below. Seriously, it smelled like someone spilled wine a few weeks ago and never bothered to clean it up. It smells like my living room carpet come to think of it.

I realized that I had no clue where to go, so I sent a text message to Mary. She responded, and indicated we should check out V. Sattui Winery. Our first clue of the clusterfuck to come should have been the fact that their parking lot was full, and we were directed to park in a field along with hundreds of other cars. We couldn't even get to the counter for a tasting, so we got the hell out of there after 15 or 20 minutes.

Our new plan of action was to just randomly select a winery that looked halfway non-shitty, and down some booze. Enter Grgich Hills. It was smaller and nowhere near as busy. Blam. They didn't have as wide of a selection, but it wasn't too bad. Tastes of their 5 wines went for $10, which you didn't have to pay if you bought a bottle. Ang bought one. It was cheap and tasted good. It had hints of oak and warm chest hair with overtones of fish tank water and Flintstones Vitamins. It goes well with steak, pasta with red sauce and Kit Kats (in reality, it was quite good). Here Ang and I enjoy our delicious wine.

Now getting to this delighted, relaxed state wasn't all that easy. I had no problem driving through San Francisco, but once we crossed the Bay Bridge early Saturday evening, I started stressing at the heavy traffic, pedestrians who didn't give a rat's ass about crossing with or against the light, and driving a red fucking minivan up hills with a 5,000 degree incline. Our luggage fell to the roof, and I had to put the van into negative 15th gear. I get nervous in these unfamiliar situations, particularly when we couldn't find where the the parking entrance for the hotel was, so 30 minutes of driving around sent me into a snit. Finally, I had to get out of that fucking van, so we parked in a ramp a few blocks from the hotel and hoofed it with our luggage. We couldn't have looked more like hick tourists, running over toes with our luggage and weaving through crowds, if we had put our belongings in handkerchiefs and hung them from the end sticks slung over our shoulders. But at long last, we dragged our sorry asses through the revolving door of the Westin St Francis, one of the fanciest hotels my uncultured balls have ever rested upon. I mean check out this fucking shower head! You can clean your face and your dick at the same time!

Don't get used to it, Ang. Priceline might put us in the Ax Murder Inn next time.

After a delicious meal and horribly slow service at Santorini Restaurant (I had the Mousaka, and we shared Dolmas as appetizers, almost worth the interminable wait for service and our bill), we retired to our rooms for a good night of sleep. We had a big day ahead of us.

As I showered the next morning, my ass crack was feeling a little buttery, so I decided to use the washcloth to spruce up back there. Hey, I was in a hotel! You gotta live life like it was meant to be lived. And that is by cleaning your ass with a hot washcloth. Imagine taking that hot towel they give you before dinner at a sushi restaurant, dropping your fancy zippered trousers, and treating your chili chute to a pore-opening steam cleaning (don't worry, I won't do it when I shower at your house -- I know the invite is coming). Unfortunately, Ang didn't appreciate the luxury of my self-rooting when she discovered the washcloth on the floor after her own shower. "What the hell?" I heard echo against the marble tile. "Oh, SHIT!" Oops. I didn't expect her to pick up my shitty cloth tucked away in the corner, but I didn't take her neat streak and compulsion to tidy the bathroom into account. When I asked her if she'd found my browned rag, she confirmed my suspicion and told me she first wondered why there was makeup on the washcloth. Good thing she didn't smell it to find out what brand it was.

After the washcloth incident, we headed out for our scheduled tour of Alcatraz. The billowing fog rolling across the bay only added to the mystique.

Warning: Persons concealing shanks betwixt their hairy buttocks are subject to a shower room ass pounding.

Signs of an Indian occupation in the late 60's and early 70's are still visible.

Some areas of The Rock are still closed off to visitors.

Some areas reminded me of the jiggling boobs of Baywatch more than a prison. But I use pretty much anything as an excuse to think about jiggling boobs.

Hey, that looks like my basement bathroom!

This is one of the most brightly lit areas of the prison. Prisoners in this block paid for the sunshine by having to hear the sounds of party-goers on boats in the marina across the bay. On a clear night, the sounds of music, women laughing, and monkeys stabbing each other drifted through the windows. It was a stark reminder of what the prisoners couldn't have. And who doesn't want to check out monkeys stabbing each other? No one, that's who.

Angie follows the audio tour's instructions to step into this cell. She was t3h sad over her brief imprisonment. Also visible is her purse she proudly purchased in Sonora. I think there is the bride of Frankenstein's monster on there and maybe some sort of transient's rucksack(?)

I made the best of a bad situation and perpetrated an undocumented drop-off. I then cried aloud in horror when I realized the prison did not serve hot towels.

The shell of the burned-out warden's house looms over the parade grounds.

Ang, Troy, and Mom heave their Pop Tarts over the railing.

Ang checks out a bird pooping on a tourist.

After returning to the dock in the Fisherman's Wharf area, we had lunch, wandered around and gawked, then noticed movement in the distance. Seals! The horking and barking was unmistakable.

Daylight was getting short by this point, so we took a harrowing cab ride to the Golden Gate bridge with a driver harboring some sort of neurological disorder. Perhaps it was Tourettes or an unfortunate combination of nervous tics, but the man's arms, neck, and head were in constant motion as we approached our destination. These spasms were interrupted by the occasional loud interjection of "HARRRRNNNGHHHHHH!" And when he heard his precious 49ers lose to the Rams on the radio, his tics went into overdrive. "HUHHHNNGUUUUUUHHHHH! UNGH! HOW COULD THEY GRRNNNGGGRRRRRHHH... LOSE?!" He calmed down when an ad for a restaurant came on asking us to try their new wasabi and teriyaki chicken. "GUH-HUNNNNNNGGGHHHHH! WASABI AND TERIYAKI!!!!!" Um, yep, that's what he said dude. After he dropped us off, Troy expressed his fear that he would drive us all off the road to end it all when the 49ers lost. "I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE! BWUH-HAHHHHHNK!"

The fog made it difficult to see the bridge towers, but this ended up being one of my favorite shots from the trip.

This plaque lists all of the workers who ended up eternally lodged in portions of the bridge during its construction.

That night, Troy and I took everyone out to dinner at The Slanted Door, an upscale Vietnamese restaurant. He had heard of it the last time he had been in San Francisco on business and had the foresight to make reservations before our trip. The food is served family style and the presentation is almost as stimulating as the food itself. I highly recommend it, but it gives you kind of stinky farts as this guy in the park across the street found out. And his buddy was none too happy either.

Near the sculpture there was an ice rink, where we saw the most four-syllable fahhhhh-bu-luh-uhhhsss display of figure skating by a gentleman in a Superman t-shirt. Video will be posted.

The next day, Troy and I relaxed in our respective rooms as the women shopped. Angie almost saw two homeless people get into a race war, and she bought a bunch of shit. We ate at In-N-Out for lunch and flew home. The end. Well, it's not really the end. I have a feeling Miss Angie will have plenty more to add about the flight home and have her own commentary on the pictures I'm awaiting from Danielle. I hope she deleted the one where I had a boner in the lingerie department at Sears.

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

I left my fart in Sonora

On Monday night, we returned to Minneapolis from San Francisco. Our trip started early Wednesday morning with a convoluted vehicle exchange. My mom flew in from Devils Lake, ND on Tuesday night and stayed with my brother Troy and his wife in Savage. The plan was for them to come to my place in Troy's gigantic Yukon to pick up Ang and me. My friend Mary came over, rode with us to the airport, then drove Troy's vehicle, the only vehicle we had access to that could fit 6 people, back to leave at my place and get her own car. It worked perfectly and saved us the cab fare. With an expensive trip like this, every little bit helps. I even hired a hobo instead of a professional bag boy to carry my luggage. That's called making your money work for you.

Sonora is a small tourist-friendly town about 2.5 hours from San Francisco and is home to my cousin Kellae and her husband A.J. This year, we decided to have ourselves a little family reunion in the form of an early Thanksgiving at Kellae and A.J.'s house. We rented a minivan at the airport (a shiny, red one at my brother's special request) so we could comfortably haul the 5 of us and our luggage from SFO to Sonora. And with very little convincing from the rental counter lady, I also rented a nifty Garmin GPS that would prove to be equally handy and aggravating.

Right out of the gate with the GPS, we had ourselves a problem. I blindly followed the hot GPS lady's voice (I'm assuming she's hot -- she sounded pretty hot), which instructed me to go in the ass-opposite direction on 101, a fact we didn't realize until we realized the GPS screen wasn't updating with our location. Suspicious, Ang checked the Google Maps printout and confirmed that we were on the wrong path. Multiple fuckerings with the GPS just resulted in the same command. "Drive ahead and and turn right." Turn right? We're on the god damn freeway you piece of shit! Finally Ang got the thing working by turning it off and turning it on again. Who knew? After that, it was good as gold, and by the time it directed us to Kellae's doorstep, I knew I had to get me one of those things.

On Thursday morning, Ang, Troy's wife Danielle, and Kellae went shopping in the many, many stores full of shoes, glittery yarny things, hats, ceramic kitties, and other things that the vagina-laden folk seem to like. Troy, A.J., and I dutifully followed our women around for a while, then broke into a sprint down the street when they suggested we head down the the bar for a few beers. It wasn't quite 11 am.

I was excited by all of the shopping opportunities that Sonora offered to Ang.

A.J. and Troy (background) discuss what excuse to use to get away from all of this shopping.

They couldn't think of anything, so we just went to the bar at the aforementioned suggestion of the girls. In the bathroom there, I was glad to have Protecto watching over my whizzing penis.

Ang bought a jaunty little chapeau and cool purse in one of the shops, and I had to agree that they were just to die for... on me. Better buy some for yourself, too, angel pie.

I'm supposed to say the hat looks better on Ang. But I won't until she gives it back to me (and even then, I'll still say it looks better on me). Give it back!

Danielle has herself a drink at the Iron Horse, aka the "Iron Lung," known for being one of the few bars that have managed to get around California's strict anti-smoking laws. You can smoke in there. For serious and for true. It smells like road work and cancer in there.

Later at the house, we had several (a shit ton) of additional drinks. Danielle shows Kellae a photo that she took. "I just took a photo of you drinking. Should we review all further drinking-related photos before continuing?" Kellae said that wouldn't be necessary, as we'd just spend the rest of the trip looking at photos of us drinking instead of actually drinking.

Red cups are for booze.

Kellae gets all up in there. I think she touched herself in the mind.

Marlboro Lights have one-third the calories of Marlboro Chunky Style.

Aunt Joanie's (Mom's sister) flowery Crocs.

Photos are cool. They just capture the looking part and not the sound and smell part. That way you can't tell that Ang is filling her trousers with shame.

On Friday, we went to nearby Columbia, a town that preserves its history by closing off one street to automobiles and only allowing pedestrians and horses. Why horses need to be wandering through Blockbuster and the superette and shitting all over is beyond me, but whatever the fuck, dude.

This place wasn't what I thought it would be.

Tourist pose #1,559,298,284

I'll tell you one thing the Assay Office doesn't need, and that is goods of the dry variety. I like my goods pre-moistened, thank you very much!

These guys know what I'm talking about. "We fix your cracks." They had just come from the Assay Office with a banker's box dripping with cloudy moisture.

Up in Pinecrest, we visited the lake.

And the low water levels gave me an opportunity to prop my camera up on a normally-submerged boulder to take this photo of all of us.

That night, we went into Jamestown for dinner at Azzo's. If you're ever in the area, I highly recommend it. I can only fault them for putting fucking cucumber in their water. I hate cucumber almost as much as racism and slightly more than unfettered fucknuttery and unrequested diddling.

After dinner, we did a little more shopping and came across Yoda. After he wiped his face down, he yelled at us and used the force to throw rocks at our balls.

Saturday morning, we woke up, and Kellae made us a fitting breakfast. In honor of the theme of the weekend, which was "Poop and Fellowship in 2007," she made us shit on a shingle. It was the best shit on a shingle I've ever had. While she was making breakfast, I discovered she had herself a fresh ant infestation on her washing machine.

I hope it's not because I smeared my P.B. & J. all over it the night before.

Ants also eat corpses.

Kellae has been remodeling her house for about 5 years, and in one fell swoop, much of her work was ruined when a water pipe burst a few months ago. Right up until the days before our arrival, she worked frantically to restore the house to a livable condition. Sometimes desperate times call for desperate measures. Here is the doorknob and improvised latch on our bedroom door. We were hesitant to bone in there.

Mom and her sis at the hotel. They like doors inside of doors that open independently of the doors they are inside of.

After gathering Mom and her things at the hotel, we bid Kellae and Joanie adieu (A.J. was at work) and hit the road for wine country en route to San Francisco. I was driving, so I would get to watch everyone else drink. Poor, poor Jeremy.

To be continued...

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

Where I get it from

Tomorrow morning, my mom, brother, sister-in-law, Ang, and I leave for a trip out to California to visit my cousin in Sonora for a few days and do a couple days of sightseeing in San Francisco. I just got off the phone with Mom to confirm the plans for tonight and tomorrow. She flies into Minneapolis from Devils Lake, ND late this afternoon (it still floors me that you can fly out of DVL to MSP).

Me: We'll plan on meeting at my place tomorrow morning at 6:30. Mary will take us out to the airport. Then we can have plenty of time grab some breakfast, and have a cup of coffee.

Mom: That sounds perfect. We can just relax that way. Oh, I'm so excited I could just crap myself!

Me: I already have! But I don't think it's related to the trip.

Wednesday, September 05, 2007

North Dakota is a nice place to visit (end of thought)

I spent this past holiday weekend in North Dakota. My brother Troy, his wife Danielle, Ang, and I piled into Troy's gas guzzling, yet mercifully roomy Yukon for the trek to visit Mom and her husband. Troy had his 10 year high school reunion, and since my original plans of flying up to Toronto this weekend fell through, I decided this was a great opportunity to visit the family, otherwise I probably wouldn't see many of them until Christmas.

We finally hit the road around 5 on Friday, agreeing that we would stop to eat at the Subway in Monticello. Unfortunately we arrived to find that it had been torched by an arsonist. Perhaps some pissed off former sandwich artist wanted to see myriad posters of Jarrod and his crooked smirk melt into a pool of oblivion. With our first choice at risk of structural collapse, we ate at the DQ Grill & Chill next door. I haven't eaten an actual meal at a DQ in years, so I thought I would use this as an opportunity to try one of their Flamethrower Burgers they've touted on television so much. I love hot and spicy food and hoped the grease and spices would loosen my stubborn stools that had been backing up for a couple of days. The burger was tasty, but I'd rate its heat somewhere between black pepper and a moistened towelette on the Scoville scale. Unfortunately, it loosened up nothing more than my noxious gases. The rest of the ride to Mom's place, I filled the Yukon with the most horrid cloud of ass imaginable. It smelled of fried meat, spoiled eggs, and a trash can topped with fruit-filled vomit on a hot summer day. Poor Ang attempted to retaliate later with her own contribution, but there simply was no comparison to my putrid colorectal emissions.

We rolled into Mom's around 11:30 pm. More accurately, we shuddered into Mom's. It was no surprise that driving the many miles of heavily traveled, winding gravel roads leading to her house was like rolling over a washboard in a Radio Flyer on triangular wheels. This, however, was the worst condition in which we had ever found these roads. The roads lead to several popular fishing spots on Devils Lake. Add to that a new lake home development, and it makes for an excessive amount traffic for a gravel road to handle, regardless of how often it is graded. Smooth the road, and two days later, it's a washboard again.

We were all exhausted when we got to Mom's, so after staying up briefly to chat, everyone went to bed. Ang and I retired to one of the very private spare bedrooms in the basement, but there wasn't even any boning. Now that's pretty damned tired!

On Saturday evening, after spending a lazy day relaxing and catching up with Mom, we headed to Cando (pronounced CAN-doo), about 60 miles away to catch up with our cousin Ryan and check out the drug and alcohol rehab center where he works just outside of town. At the center, Ryan cooks meals, takes residents on outings and leads various activities, and in typical Ryan fashion, is a general smartass. Afterward, we had a beer at a local bar, after which Troy and Danielle left for the reunion. Ang and I drove separately in Mom's car, so I drove her around town. Five minutes later, we were done. Actually, we tried to track down my uncle, but he apparently was out riding his Harley with his wife.

Before leaving town to drive past the farm I grew up on (Mom sold it about a year after Dad died), we realized we were starving. Dining options are limited in Cando, so we stopped at yet another DQ. Across the parking lot from the restaurant is a faded sign shouting Cando's quarter-century-old motto, "You Can-Do Better in Cando." I've taken issue with this slogan from its inception. First, why the dash in "Can-Do?" "Can" and "do" are two completely distinct, unhyphenated words last time I checked. I would accept it if the slogan was "We have a can-do attitude in Cando!" But it's not, so I must stamp it as WRONG!

Also, I would like more specifics in that motto. What is it I can do better in Cando? Can I play the piano better? Be better in bed? Run faster? Increase my fire-to-kill ratio? I'm not making any plans until you provide to me in writing a bulleted list of things I can do better there. I don't want to quit my job, rent a U-Haul, pack my shit up, and drive 7 hours just to find that I can knit 5% faster and improve my dried cow shit tossing accuracy.

Not being in any particular hurry, we took the meandering back roads running past our old farm to get back to Devils Lake. Not that Ang didn't believe me, but I wanted her to see just how far in the middle of BFE I lived throughout my childhood. We chatted with Mom and her husband for a while and were in bed by 11. Since my phone was roaming, I had turned it off, so I missed a series of text messages from my sister-in-law that are amusing now, but would have been progressively alarming at the time.

12:07 AM: Where aree you guys? You're not doin it are you?

It's distinctly possible we were.

2:14 AM: I think troy is getting a dui. I'm not even sure what I should be doing. I'm sitting in the car while he's in the cop car. Should I get out?

State patrol officers and cops in general love it when the plastered significant other stumbles out of the car toward the squad. They enjoy playing a guessing game as to whether you are coming over to shoot them or not. It adds unexpected spice to the situation. And as the saying goes, spice is the spice of life. Um... no, wait...

2:28 AM: Just in case, we are fine. Troy blew ok. Cop loved it!! Well be home soon.

Whew! I should also note that I simply can't come up with a better joke than she did there. It turns out that Troy was pulled over for having a tail light out. He had enjoyed several spiritous beverages throughout the night, which he admitted to when asked (though "a couple of beers" were actually "a couple of six-packs of beer"). Thankfully he had slowed down as the evening progressed, and was under the limit. The lesson learned is that if you have a tail light out and KNOW you have a tail light out (he had known it was out for quite some time), it's probably not a good idea to be drinking any amount of alcohol and getting behind the wheel, particularly at 2 in the morning during Labor Day weekend. Or anytime for that matter.

Sunday was yet another lazy day of visiting, reading, and watching TV. Troy and Danielle took off for another reunion-related event and returned in time to head into Devils Lake to meet our uncle Doug and his wife for dinner at Pizza Hut. Just what I needed to calm my quivering, quacking sphincter. But first we stopped so Mom could pick up a few groceries. I realized I need to wander through the bulk aisle more often.

Monday night we arrived back at Troy's place around 9 pm, far later than I had anticipated or hoped. By the time Ang and I got back to my place and took care of some pressing business, she didn't get home to feed her lonely kitty (her literal kitty, not a euphemistic kitty) until 11 or so. It was great to see my family, but I was relieved to sleep in my own bed (well, in my own home -- I fell asleep on the couch again). And next time, I'm bringing some matches for the car ride.