Uncle's Birthday

A little before 7 p.m.

I'm at my uncle David's house for the fourth of July / birthday party. As usual, my mother's husband is drunk off his ass and can barely talk - and he feels that he has to tell every story that he knows while trying to stumble over a tongue tied by alcohol.

My uncle Dave's house is awesome. He's got the property at the top of a hollow out in Rubyville and has built himself quite a set up. The original house in which he raised his girls, my cousins, still stands and has been updated a few times. The garage he built is huge and could accommodate several trucks or a boat or whatever he'd need, but that is not enough for him. He also tore down the hillside and excavated half the remaining sandstone boulders by himself. These boulders are HUGE; the size of a VW Bug. If I could find a way to grab them and move them over to a field, I could build some kind of stone circle, but along with my conspicuously absent army of robots is the masses of peasants that live to do nothing but my bidding.

I consider this life to be just a temporary exile.

I can smell the food cooking and the grill; the smell is intoxicating. I plan on grabbing some extra and taking home with me since I have Heath coming down tonight around 8 tonight. The man can eat with the appetite of an Elder God. Must be something growing inside him.

More people seem to be showing up. Mom's husband is slurring with some good ol'-boys that I believe to be relatives of Dave's wife, Sharon. I'm not familiar with them but the topics of conversations seem to revolving around hunting, coon dogs, fishing, and everything that I have nothing to speak about. This is why I'm sitting at a nearby table with my NEC and typing up this blog entry.

I think that Brandi, David's oldest daughter, and her husband Wayne just got here. Not like I have more to talk about with them, but at least she's a familiar face.

The search for a Ph.D. continues. OU does not have an anthropology program as an option and Columbus is not really an option for me so I might shift over to a program for Higher Education Administration; more money - much more money.

I can't believe that Dave (and my mother) actually brought him beer to the party. He is such a fucking embarrassment.

Patience is the first lesson. Patience is the first lesson.

Picture: Grandfather (left), Uncle (Right)