The blog of the thirty-something fag- July Edition 2007
July 5th- 2007
My home on the river, and the fire ring where the department of health made me burn the sheets.

Who says you can't go home?
I returned to my Northern NY single wide trailer to find my brother and brother in law disrespectively had been shacking up there because the women in their lives had said "ENOUGH!". There was food all over the place, ants and rat poop in every single cupboard and drawer throughout, and the acrid stench of Old Spice oozing from the bathroom cabinet. I even found a half-eaten McDonald's cheeseburger non-chalantly stuffed under the flap of the butter tray in the refrigerator. I mean, who eats half a McDonalds Cheeseburger? It was modestly horrifying, but I was grateful that I knew who to blame as I cleaned the place up. For some reason, having a face in my head to target my frustration at makes the clean-up that much easier to do. In my family it's the first order of business for any clean up job; find someone to blame. We refer to this as Familiar Anger Management.
Pecia said she'd have it cleaned for me before I get there and I can clearly see why the project was abandoned. Why should she have to endure this torture? I didn't want to do it, and I'm the one who'll be living there. Eeeek!

After pulling everything out, vacuming up the debris, laying fresh shelf papers and washing all the linen, the place was finally in some order as to make it passable as a domicile. Unfortunatley within moments of my leaving the state, my dear brother will be back in calling the place "home" and undoing all the good stuff I just did.

Sweet jesus, does this shit ever end?

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July 10th- 2007
The Old Folk Contigency seated hours before anyone else because . . thats what we do around here. The bride and groom, standing so tall the minister had to stand on a milk crate so as not to aggravate his stiff neck

Chuckie got married

It's always one of those things that makes you feel like a real grownup when you really don't want to. My sisters boy, one of 'em, the one that was supposed to be cute and young forever has taken the plunge and married the only girl(as far as I know) that he has ever loved, ever been crazy about, ever cared for.
The wedding took place in a large outdoor field near his church, everyone on the grooms side in white (because, yes people, we're all virgins in Northern New York). It was neither muggy nor cold, and it didn't start raining until the final I do's had taken place, and we all ran for the cover of
the church before the downpour. How pefect was that? THANKS GOD!
Peter, the crazy father of the groom was given a camera by, I don't know, some IDIOT and did not stop snapping images of the bride and grooms asses for a single moment during the entire ceremony. It was nothing if not completely irritating since I was sittig right behind him. I leaned forward and gently stated "Pete, you're missing the event!" in which he stood up in from of the entire congregation, turned his kodak instamatic at me and fired a few off. Great, that was great. Thanks. Can I get a print of that when they come in? Thanks Pete.

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