Sunday- A Day of Family, Environmental Waste, and Wine

So today was a really busy day. After getting my church on, I read a chapter from my COUN 500 textbook. Then I got online and shored up my lineup for today's fantasy football matchup. I decided it was time to kick Hines Ward to the curb. Much as I love old Hinzey- how can you not love a guy who refuses to wear a mouth guard and still has the most beautiful smile in the NFL?- the dude has not played in three weeks. Following the law of survival-of-the-fittest, I had to get rid of the old, the sick, and weak. That means you, Mr. Ward.

After that, I hurriedly packed up b'day gifts and such and headed off to Prudhomme City for a Sunday vist with the first family. Ted and Molly and their small tribe were all there. Bydee made an appearance as well. I got some cute pics of the latest and greatest addition to the Daigles with her grandfather, the mayor.


I also got schooled on Babe the Blue Ox by Gabe. He proceeded to tell me that Babe, anatomically, resembled a normal ox but, and I quote, "In this case, he was an ox who had horns as big as trees." There's nothing cuter than hearing a six-year-old say, "In this case..." about anything. Yes, my little Ph.D. Indeed, do tell.

Conversation ran the gamut, as usual. Some topics covered were home schooling, presidential candidates, this blog, instructions on how to work the DVD player, the importance of sundaes, miscarriages, and my mom's wishes for her ashes. Regarding this last topic of mention, Molly suggested to my momma that we scatter her ashes in the parking lot of the National Republican Party's headquarters. I suggested that we fertilize the Bush compound in Kennebunkport, Maine, so that she can haunt them for eternity. Momma, tree-hugging femi-Nazi that she is, said she'd rather we deposit her remains in the gas tank of the Bush family speed boat. God, I love my mom. She has to be one of the last liberals left in south Louisiana, I swear. She and Susan Sarandon could totally be BFF. They'd bond over anti-war protests and ways to kill Ann Coulter. When I grow up, I wanna be just like my mom. She must listen to NPR and watch PBS 24-7 because I have yet to meet anyone who knows as much as she does about the state of our nation. She does have a few X-Files-style conspiracy theory beliefs, like the one she told me today about Laura Bush killing someone while driving intoxicated. You'd think she'd have a little more sympathy for a fellow first lady. Nonetheless, my moms is one of the most intelligent and well-spoken people I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. I am ecstatic that I was born of her womb. She rocks!

Unfortunately, I had to take off sooner rather than later because I had to make a stop at Dupre Library on campus. I had to pick up an article that one of my professors put "on reserve" there. I'm sorry, was I just teleported back to 1989? Lady, I know you have a grad assistant. Please, get your slave to scan that s**t into a PDF file and email it to me. For reals. Anyway, at the library, I realized that misery loves company. These kids were the most miserable looking SOBs I've seen. It was nice. After I'd made a copy of the "on reserve" article (copyright, schmopyright, I say), I proceeded to burn through a ream of UL's paper, printing out articles for a literature review I have to do. I felt bad for killing the trees, but it felt great to stick it to "the man." Free paper and ink? Yeah, I'll be getting my tuition's worth of that, thank you very much.

After that, I had to brave Wal-Mart since the cupboards were beyond bare at my house. The fridge had one peice of moldy cheese, rotten ricotta, and a Dixie beer in it. I cannot begin to express my deep and intense loathing of Wal-Mart. This place is bad for me. You see, I apparently have a pre-disposition, genetically speaking, for alcoholism, and upon entering the doors of this joint, I always promise myself I'm not leaving with wine. After about thirty seconds with the freaks at Wal-Mart, I throw in the towel and head for the merlot. I cannot wait until I am working again and can afford to shop anywhere but there. I'm sorry, but somehow I do not want my shopping experience to include a person who decided to wear, in public, a t-shirt sporting the slogan, "I'm not a gynecologist, but I'll take a look at that for you." That is no lie, my friends. I know you feel me on this one.

Finally, when I got home, Alex told me he was just about to call me. He was afraid that I had decided to give up and just move back home to Momma and Daddy. To which I replied, a little too vehemently, "God, I wish!" This prompted a raising of eyebrows and hurt look on the Zandy's part. So, I had to explain, "It's not you. I'm just feeling regressive and wanting to be kid again and have my parents take care of me...forever." At which point his look said, "Stop reading those counseling books. Regressive...whatever." Then I read some more from my counseling books.

Hope all of you had a super-great weekend. See ya on the flip side...what does that mean anyway?