The nicest part about the weekend, like most of the weekends I spend down there visiting my mom, was being able to live the suburban life for a short while. Going down to my mother's little cottage ranch house and sipping a beer with my brother while we watch a steak cook on a grill shooting the shit to the tune of children frolicking in the background is a lot like what I imagine a Grandmother feels when she has the grandkids come around: it's a nice place to visit, but I've spent enough of my life letting my soul get eroded by this scene to want to do it full time. This fact was drilled straight home while I was waxing my car and had to listen to my mom and her neighbor crack wise to one another about how my mom’s lawn looks like the Serengeti, not the "Lawn of the Millenium" she had earlier claimed it would be, then off they chatted about blade thickness, weed ratio, and required mowing frequency.
Per tradition, Mom also took us to the Price Club so we can stock up on Listerine and tuna fish and razor blades. I had been kicking around the idea of getting a new TV for some time, as my present TV is dying and can no longer hold a channel for more than about four minutes before it starts rolling. The TV isn’t really mine, technically. It actually belongs to my brother’s fiancee’s former-now-estranged-college-roommate, but since neither me or my brother or she or some of our friends actually have our own televisions in our living rooms (I think my TV is at Dr. Cocky’s house) this is not unusual. Nevertheless, the TV has seen better days. Price Club had a TV for about a hundred dollars less than the ones I was looking at in Best Buy the other week, so I did my part in making my mom’s yearly membership worth its cost and got me a big new movin’ picture box.
So all in all, the weekend was a success. Just what the doctor ordered: relaxation, consumption, and socializin’ with the family unit.